There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing. Just heat, teeth, desperation.
I don’t resist. I don’t even pretend to hold back.
I kiss him back like I want to ruin him.
“We shouldn’t be doing this.” His forehead rests against mine, breath ragged.
“Why not?” I whisper, my fingers tightening in his shirt. Desperate. Defiant. Already lost.
“You know why.” His voice is rough. “Troy?—”
“I don’t care what Troy thinks.” I lean into his touch, feeling bold. “I don’t need his permission to dothis.”
“It’s not just that. My head’s not... I don’t know where I’m at with everything right now.”
I know what he’s saying. What he’s not saying.
This is a mistake. A moment of weakness. Something he wants to pretend never happened.
I don’t care.
“So don’t think about it.” I reach up, pulling him down until our foreheads touch. “This feels good. You feel good. Isn’t that enough?”
He makes a sound in his throat, something between frustration and want.
“We don’t have to figure everything out right now.” My hands slide up his bare chest, feeling his sharp intake of breath. “Just enjoy this.”
“You make everything sound so simple.”
His fingers tighten on my skin—just a fraction, but enough. His control is slipping.
“What if it is.” I press my lips to his jaw, feel the way his pulse betrays him.
For a second, his breath stalls. I think he might step back. But then?—
His mouth crashes against mine, nothing tentative about it. Heat floods my body as he backs me against the desk, his kiss all hunger and restraint unraveling at the seams. I arch into him, fingers tangling in his damp hair, tugging, teasing, daring him to lose control.
“Fuck, Tara.” His voice is wrecked against my lips, his body impossibly hard against mine. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
But I do. I feel it in the way he shudders when my nails rake down his spine, in the way he fits against me, all heat and tension and unspoken need. My thighs part instinctively, welcoming him in, and he presses against me with a groan, one hand sliding down, fingers tracing slow, deliberate patterns on my skin.
“Then show me.” I nip at his lower lip, savoring the sharp inhale that follows.
“You have no idea how hard I'm trying to be good right now. But every time you look at me like that, I forget why I even should.”
His eyes rake over my face, dark and unreadable, drinking me in like he's searching for something—hesitation, uncertainty. A reason to stop.
“You think you know what you want,” he says, voice thick with something that makes my stomach flip, “but you have no idea what you’re asking for.”
“Then stop talking and prove it.”
Something clatters to the floor. Neither of us care.
His lips find mine again, but this time, it's slower. Deeper. His tongue teases, tasting me like he has all the time in the world—like he's setting the pace, like he’s the one in control. His hips roll against mine, the friction exquisite, and a moan spills from my lips before I can catch it.
His hand slips beneath my shirt, calloused fingers skimming over my stomach, my ribs, my back, his touch setting off sparks in every nerve ending.
“Last chance,” he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of my ear. “We can forget the other night. Pretend it never happened.”
