Page 59 of Beautifully Scarred Omega

“I said no.” Her eyes flash. “Are you going to ask a third time?”

I move toward her immediately. The rack is heavy, and I can see now why she couldn’t push it off. She has no leverage from where she is. Whoever installed this thing didn’t bolt it to the floor the way they should have.

The only thing that saved her was the angle. The frame caught against the wall as it fell instead of coming down flat on top of her. A few inches the other way and it would have crushed her.

Thank God.

“I’m going to pull it off you,” I say. “When I do, slide out to your right. Toward me.”

“I know how to get out from under a server rack, Max.”

“That’s good, Sophie. Then we won’t have a problem.”

I grip the steel frame with both hands and brace my legs. She’s watching me, and I don’t want to think about what she’s reading in my face right now. I pull.

The rack comes away from the wall maybe four inches, but it’s enough.

“Now.”

She moves fast, sliding out along the wall toward me. The rack is digging into my palms and my arms are shaking, and then, all at once, they start to give. The frame drops an inch. Then another.

Fuck.

“Sophie, I need your help,” I grind out. “Push the rack with me.”

Her hands immediately come up flat against the frame and she shoves, and for a couple of seconds we hold the weight together, her strength and mine, long enough for me to slip around the edge and get behind the rack. I wedge my shoulder under the steel and push.

“Move, Sophie,” I bite out. “While I’ve still got it.”

She knows what moving means. So do I. There’s only one way out of this, and it’s through me.

I try to hold my breath as she comes closer, try not to notice how her ponytail has come loose, tendrils of hair stuck to the sweat on her face and neck. Her shoulder grazes my chest first. Then her hip catches mine. Then she has to twist sideways to fit through and her breasts press flat against me, the heat of her bleeding through two layers of cotton like there’s nothing between us at all.

Then I can feel her breath against my throat. Quick and shallow, and I try my hardest to look at anything but her.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

She freezes.

Just for a second, but it’s long enough that I know she feels it too, this strange thing in the air between us. Her face is inches from mine, and I finally give in and look at her. She meets my gaze full on. She’s close enough that I can see the dark flecks in her eyes, and the way her lips have parted.

Don’t move, I tell myself. Don’t fucking move.

I am pushing a server rack with all my strength, a woman pressed against my body, and the only thought in my head is what would happen if I dropped the rack right now, said to hell with all of this, and put my hands on her instead.

Her eyes drop to my mouth.

“Sophie,” I say, barely holding on.

To what, I have no idea anymore.

Fuck, it’s too late. My cock, deciding that this is the perfect time to wreak havoc in my life, hardens instantly against her. The rack is in my hands and her body is against mine and I can’t adjust, can’t step back, can’t do a single thing to hide what’s happening to me.

Her eyes widen and her breath catches. Her lips part a fraction wider, and for one suspended second I think she might lean in instead of pulling away.

Then she must realize the insanity of the situation, because she pulls in a sharp breath and slips the rest of the way through. Her hip drags along mine as she goes. The whole length of her body grazes the whole length of mine, and I feel it everywhere.

Jesus Christ, I must be completely losing it.