Page 25 of Keller

He wasn't kidding about liking old buildings.

"Your place is gorgeous."

Keller closes the door behind us. The lock turns with a soft snap. "Thanks. I love the sense of history in these repurposed buildings."

I don't need the full tour. We both know why I'm here.

He steps closer, not touching, just closing the distance. His gaze drops to my mouth, then back up. The air between us shifts from potential to inevitable.

I meet his eyes and hold them.

He moves first. One hand settles at my waist, fingers pressing through fabric. The other slides along my spine. He watches my face the entire time, waiting for confirmation.

I give it by leaning into him.

The kiss starts controlled, deliberate. His mouth is warm, skilled, patient. But the restraint cracks fast. My hands find his shoulders, his neck. I pull him closer and he responds by deepening the kiss, tongue sliding against mine.

He walks me backward until my back hits the brick wall. The rough texture scrapes through my shirt. The pressure of his body pins me in place. I feel the hard line of his cock through his pants pressing against my stomach.

Four nights ago we were doing this in a storage room.This time there's no party a floor away.

His hands move lower, gripping my hips. I arch into him and he groans against my mouth. His fingers find the hem of my shirt to tug it upward. I break the kiss long enough for him to pull it over my head. It lands somewhere behind us.

I reach for his buttons, fumbling slightly, moving too fast. But I can't get to his abs quickly enough.

He helps, shrugging out of his shirt and tossing it aside. His chest is lean, defined. I run my hands over the washboard, and my mouth waters as the muscles tense beneath my palms.

"Do you have a condom? I’ve got an IUD but want to be careful."

"I do."

He kisses me again, harder this time, then pulls back just enough to unfasten my jeans. I push his pants down, and he steps out of them. We're both breathing hard now, hands urgent, mouths finding skin.

"Hold on."

He crosses to the loft area where his bed sits beneath another tall window. He opens the drawer of the nightstand and retrieves a foil packet. When he turns back, I'm already out of my bra.

His gaze drags over me, slow and deliberate. "Fuck."

I meet him halfway. He tears the packet open with his teeth. I watch him roll the condom on, my stomach clenching with anticipation.

Then he's on me again, lifting me slightly, bracing me against the wall. I wrap my legs around his waist and feel the head of his cock press against my entrance.

The storage room part deux.

"You good?"

"Yeah. Don't stop."

He pushes inside, and I gasp. The stretch is immediate and intense. He pauses, letting me adjust, watching my face.

"Keep going."

He does. Slow at first, measured thrusts that make my breath hitch. His grip on my hips tightens as my nails dig into his shoulders.

"Harder."

His pace increases. The sound of our bodies meeting fills the quiet apartment. I moan against his neck, and he groans in response, hips snapping forward with more force.