His hand slides up my arm. Not grabbing. Not rushing. Just settling there, warm and certain, like he’s already decided I’m not going anywhere unless I choose to.
My whole body reacts before I can dress it up as something smarter.
“You’re shaking.”
Not a question.
“Cold,” I say automatically.
His mouth shifts.
“That’s not what it is.”
He steps forward until my back hits the wall. Not fast. Not aggressive. Just—inevitable.
“You going to pretend you don’t want this too?” he murmurs against my ear.
There’s no edge to it. That’s worse.
The truth flickers—sharp, insistent. Then his hand slides to my jaw, tilting my face up, and want drowns it out. I turn my head and catch his mouth with mine before I answer.
Second mistake.
The kiss is immediate—hungry, reckless. My hands fist in his shirt, pulling him closer. He doesn’t resist. That’s worse.
“That’s better,” he mutters against my mouth. Like I just confirmed something for him.
He lifts me before I decide to move. I go with it. My legs wrap around him automatically.
“You do that every time,” he says, voice rough.
“What.”
“Try to make a joke when your body’s already answered me.”
I let out a breath that might be a laugh. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Not flattery.” His grip tightens slightly on my thigh. “Observation.”
That hits low. Annoying. Accurate.
He drops me onto the bed—controlled. Certain. He looks down at me, taking his time in a way that feels deliberate enough to undo me completely.
“You still thinking this is a bad idea?”
“Yes,” I say.
He leans down slowly this time. “Good.” His mouth brushes mine, not quite a kiss yet. “Wouldn’t want you getting comfortable.”
That should irritate me.
It doesn’t.
His gaze drops to my mouth, then lifts again. “But don’t call it fake when you’re looking at me like that.”
My breath catches.
“Tell me this isn’t real when I’m inside you,” he says, voice rough. “Tell me you feel it too.”
