His hand found the hem of my shirt, fingers sliding beneath to touch bare skin, and I felt my last shred of resistance crumble. He was here, in my home, choosing me despite the danger, despite the secrets, despite the risk to his career.
My hands caught his hips and pulled him onto my lap in one swift motion. The startled gasp he made went straight through me, and then his thighs were straddling mine and we were kissing again—harder this time, desperate, two months of denial combusting between us.
His hands were everywhere. Sliding under my shirt, nails scraping lightly across my chest in a way that made me groan. I grabbed the hem of his shirt and yanked it over his head, breaking the kiss just long enough to get it off before my mouth was on his again.
“Theron,” he breathed against my lips, and hearing my name like that—breathy, wanting—made my dragon surge forward with enough force that I had to fight to keep my eyes from shifting.
I stood, lifting him with me. He made a sound of surprise that turned into something else entirely when I pressed him against the nearest wall, using my body to pin him there. His legs wrapped around my waist instinctively, and the friction of him against me made coherent thought nearly impossible.
“Is this okay?” I managed to ask, even though stopping now might actually kill me.
“God, yes.” His hands were in my hair, tugging hard enough to sting. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
I kissed down his throat, feeling his pulse hammering against my lips. Bit down gently where his neck met his shoulder and felt him arch into me with a moan that was going to replay in my head for the rest of my life.
My shirt was in the way. I held him effortlessly with one arm just long enough to tear it off—heard a button ping across the hardwood floor—and then he was pressed against me again, skin to skin, and the sensation was overwhelming.
“Bedroom,” I growled against his mouth. “I need—we should—"
“Don’t care.” His hands were working at my belt, fumbling with the buckle. “Here is fine. Here is perfect.”
I caught his wrists, pinning them above his head with one hand while the other went to his jeans. “Let me.”
The sound he made when I popped the button was obscene. I worked the zipper down slowly, deliberately, watching his face as I did. His eyes had gone dark, his lips parted, his whole body trembling with want.
“You’re beautiful,” I said, because it was true and because I’d been holding those words back for two months. “So fucking beautiful.”
“Theron,please.”
I kissed him again, swallowing whatever else he’d been about to say. Got his jeans and briefs down his hips, then lifted him again so he could kick them off. The wall was cold against his bare skin—I could tell from the way he gasped—but he didn’t seem to mind.
“Yours too,” he panted, his hands going to my belt again. This time I let him, watched him work my jeans open and off with shaking hands. When he wrapped his hand around me, I saw stars.
“Fuck,” I breathed, pressing my forehead against his. “Dante—"
“Need you,” he said, and his voice was wrecked.
I knew what he needed. Knew what we both needed. But we were pressed against a wall in my great room with no supplies within reach, and as much as I wanted to just take him right here, I had enough functioning brain cells left to know we needed to slow down.
“Bedroom,” I said again, more firmly this time. “Five seconds. I promise.”
He made a sound of protest but unwrapped his legs from my waist. The loss of contact was almost painful. I grabbed his hand and pulled him down the hallway to my bedroom, barely registering the space as we stumbled through the doorway.
The bed was massive—California king-sized, probably excessive for one person, but right now I was grateful for the space. I pressed him down onto it, following him immediately, covering his body with mine.
“Better?” I asked, kissing along his collarbone.
“Much better.” His hands were in my hair again, guiding my mouth where he wanted it. “Now stop being careful with me.”
Something in me snapped at that. The control I’d been maintaining, the careful restraint—it all evaporated. I kissed him hard enough to bruise, let my hands roam freely over his body, mapping every inch of skin I’d been denying myself.
He arched into my touch, his hands pulling at my shoulders, his legs wrapping around my hips again. The sounds he was making were going to be permanently etched into my memory—breathless gasps and broken pleas and my name repeated like a prayer.
I reached for the nightstand drawer, fumbling for supplies I kept there more out of habit than actual use. Found what I needed and pulled back just enough to look at him.
He was wrecked. Hair messed from my hands, lips swollen from kissing, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His eyes met mine, dark and wanting and absolutely certain.
“Still okay?” I asked, because I needed to hear it one more time.
