I crossed the threshold and then I was in his arms, the door clicking shut behind us like punctuation. His mouth found mine with no hesitation, no gentleness, just heat and intent and the unmistakable sense that he’d been waiting for this as long as I had.
I kissed him back just as fiercely, savoring the taste of him, the way he smiled against my mouth like he was exactly where he wanted to be. His hand slid into my hair, not pulling, just holding, anchoring me there.
This was reckless, familiar, and everything I’d been telling myself I didn’t need.
But I wasn’t going anywhere.
Two years earlier…
No sooner had I said yes than he smiled—really smiled—and it lit him up from the inside out. The kind that reached his eyes and made something bright and dangerous flare there. The gleam stole the air from my lungs, like I’d just stepped too close to the edge of something high.
I wasn’t sure he could have looked happier if someone had handed him a winning lottery ticket.
The why of that flickered at the back of my mind, but I didn’t have time to chase it.
He stepped inside without crowding me, deliberate and respectful in a way that somehow made everything feel less safe. The door closed softly behind him, the sound final enough to set my pulse skidding.
“For the record,” he said, setting the boxes down on my desk with exaggerated care, like they were sacred offerings, “I gave you live updates.”
“You did,” I admitted, hating how much I’d enjoyed them. The timestamps. The commentary. The brief moment of chaos when a typo slipped past his otherwise crisp typing. “I especially liked the part where you almost got into a fight over thin crust.”
“It was heated,” he said solemnly—too solemnly—while his dark eyes danced with mischief. Everything about him said professional. The open-collared button-down, the tailored slacks, the way he moved with quiet confidence. But his eyes? There was nothing professional about them at all. “I defended your honor.”
I snorted, folding my arms as I leaned back against the door. “You don’t even know me.”
He set his keys down beside the pizza boxes, then his wallet, unhurried. When he looked back at me, his gaze was warm, intent. “I know enough.”
That should have unsettled me.
Instead, it sent something low and dangerous unfurling in my chest.
He opened the first box and steam curled upward between us, carrying the scent of garlic and cheese and promise. My room felt smaller all at once. Warmer. Charged in a way it hadn’t been before he knocked.
I told myself—again—that it was just pizza.
But even then, standing barefoot in my cut-up sweatshirt with a man who’d crossed a city because I’d dared him to, I knew better.
He left the pizza where it was.
One second the boxes were the center of the room, steam curling lazily upward—and the next Dominic was in front of me, close enough that I felt the shift in the air when he moved. He braced one hand against the door above my head, caging me in without touching me at all.
Everything about the move felt intentional, planned, and I had to imagine successfully executed because he didn’t even hesitate. Nothing about Dominic Walsh was a high school boy or even a college freshman.
I tilted my head back to look at him, my spine pressing lightly into the wood, and even with the room thick with the scent of hot pizza and garlic, he still smelled impossibly good—clean, warm, unmistakably masculine. “What are you doing?” I asked, my voice way steadier than I felt.
His mouth curved, slow and thoughtful, like he was considering multiple paths and enjoying every single one ofthem. “Exploring my options,” he said lightly. “You invited me in. I’d hate to be rude.”
Heat rushed through me, fast and disorienting.
Before I could respond, he leaned in—not all the way. Just enough that his breath brushed my lips, that pause stretched thin and electric. The kiss that followed was unhurried, almost delicate. An inquiry. A question asked with his mouth instead of words.
I answered by rising onto my toes. That was all the permission he needed.
The shift was instant. The kiss deepened, sharpened, heat blooming everywhere at once. His other hand came up, steady at my waist, anchoring me as the world narrowed to sensation and momentum and the unmistakable spark of his tongue—cool metal stroking briefly against mine, a surprise that sent a jolt straight through me.
Fire, sudden and undeniable.
I gasped into his mouth, fingers curling into his shirt without conscious thought, and he made a low sound that felt like victory.
