The simple honesty in her voice hits me harder than any calculated seduction could have. I park in my designated spot, cut the engine, and turn to face her fully.
"Good." The word rumbles from my chest. "Because I don't want you to either."
The elevator up to my apartment is a special kind of torture. We stand side by side, not touching, both staring at the numbered display as it climbs. Seven floors have never felt so far. The small space fills with tension thick enough to cut, with the scent of her perfume, with the sound of our carefully measured breathing.
I want to press her against the wall, to hike her up and feel those long legs wrap around my waist. I want to kiss her until neither of us can breathe, until we forget where we are, who we are, everything but the need burning between us.
Instead, I stand perfectly still, hands clenched at my sides, hyperaware of every inch of space separating us. Of the slight lift of her chest with each breath. Of the way her fingers fidget with the hem of her tank top.
When the elevator finally stops and the doors slide open, I place my hand at the small of her back to guide her out. The simple contact, even through the fabric of her top, sends electricity racing up my arm.
"Last chance to change your mind," I tell her as we reach my door.
Mia turns and steps closer until I can feel the warmth of her breath against my neck. "Open the door, Sebastian."
My apartment sprawls before us, all glass and steel and emptiness. It's a space that's never felt like home but with Mia standing in the center of it, those wild curls catching the dim light, something shifts. She spins in a slow circle, taking in the minimalist furniture, the bare walls, the distinct lack of anything personal.
What does she see? What does this place tell her about me?
"Why did you show up?" she finally asks, breaking the silence that's stretched between us since the elevator. Her voice is uncertain, vulnerable in a way that makes my chest tighten.
"I couldn't stop thinking about you," I admit, the words coming easier than expected. "After you left my office, I tried to focus on work, on anything but you. But I couldn't." I turn to face her fully. "I remembered you mentioned reservations at Pastis for Laney's birthday, so I went there and waited."
Her eyebrows pull together, a small furrow appearing between them. "How did you know I hadn't left yet?"
I can't help the slight quirk of my lips. "I saw you through the windows." The memory of her laughing with her friend, head thrown back, hands animated as she told some story, warms something inside me. "You were at the corner table, talking with your hands like you always do when you're excited."
She blinks. "You were spying on me?"
"Not spying," I correct, taking a step toward her. Then another. "Observing."
Her eyes track my movement as I stalk closer, something like anticipation flickering across her features. She backs up instinctively, one step, two, until her shoulders connect with the wall beside my bookcase. Perfect.
"Is this about punishing me for what I did in your office?" she asks, voice barely above a whisper as I close the final distance between us.
My fingers find her arm, trailing upward over smooth skin. Goosebumps rise in the wake of my fingertips as I trace her shoulder, the delicate line of her collarbone, until finally coming to rest at the base of her throat where her pulse hammers wildly.
"I don't want to punish you," I tell her, the words rough with desire as I press just hard enough to feel the blood racingbeneath her skin. Thumb tracing the curve of her jaw, I tilt her face up to mine. "I just want you."
I stare at her for one heartbeat, two, and then I crash my mouth down on hers, claiming her with a hunger I've been fighting all day. Her lips part on a gasp, and I take full advantage, sliding my tongue against hers in a demand she meets with equal fervor.
My hand snakes under her tank top, fingers splaying across the warm skin of her back, her waist, her ribs. The need to touch her, to map every inch of her body, overwhelms any thought of taking this slow.
I break the kiss just long enough to tug her top over her head, revealing a simple black bra that somehow looks more erotic than the most expensive lingerie. Her chest rises and falls with rapid breaths, nipples already hard against the thin fabric.
"Fuck, look at you," I murmur, drinking in the sight of her. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?"
Instead of waiting for an answer, I reach behind her and make quick work of the clasp of her bra. It loosens, but before she can shrug it off, I hook my fingers in the straps and pull them down her arms, trapping them at her sides. The cups fall forward, exposing her tits completely—small, perfect, with those dusky pink nipples that have haunted my dreams.
"Sebastian," she breathes, and there's something in the way she says my name that makes my cock throb painfully.
"I've been thinking about these all day," I tell her, cupping the weight of her breasts in my palms, watching as her eyes flutter closed at the contact. "About how they felt in my hands, in my mouth. About the sounds you make when I do this."
I pinch both nipples simultaneously, just hard enough to make her gasp. Back arching off the wall, she presses further into my touch. Her reaction sends a surge of satisfaction through me, a primal pride at knowing exactly how to make her respond.
Lowering my head, I capture a nipple between my lips, sucking hard before soothing the sting with gentle swirls of my tongue. Her hands, finally freed from the bra straps, fly to my hair, fingers tangling in the strands and tugging with increasing urgency as I lavish attention on first one breast, then the other.
"Sebastian, please," she gasps.
