There’s no pretense now. No polite distance. Just the low whisper of the machines in the room and the sound of our uneven breathing.
He breaks the kiss long enough to whisper, “Sean, if you want to stop?—”
I shake my head. “I don’t want to stop.” My hands land on his chest, and by gods, he’s built like a boulder. “I want… more.”
He swallows hard, eyes searching mine. “Good.”
He tugs me closer, lips finding mine again. His hands slide under my shirt, fingers spreading across my skin, and the world narrows to the press of his body, the warmth of his breath, the faint taste of pizza, and something sweeter, all him.
He pulls back, panting slightly, eyes full of a mix of reverence and hunger. “You turn me inside out,” he murmurs. “Every damn day.”
“Guess that makes us even,” I whisper back.
He laughs softly, brushing his thumb along my jaw before kissing me again—and that’s where everything fades into heat.
11
A WALK TO REMEMBER
GREG
If someone had told me this morning I’d end the day staying late, half-undressed, with Sean Rivers on my lap, making out like our lives depended on it, I’d have assumed they’d mistaken me for literally anyone else.
But here we are.
It’s happening. Again.
Sean’s hands are on my shoulders, in my hair, on my chest—everywhere at once. His body fits against mine like we’ve been orbiting each other for ages, finally colliding. He kisses like he means it—intense, hungry, with a little sound in his throat that’s going to haunt me forever.
My nails drag up the back of his shirt, careful not to tear the fabric. He gasps, pressing closer. The scent ofhim hits me—clean laundry, sweat, and something underneath that’s pureSean.
Gods, he’s amazing.
I can’t stop touching him. His mouth opens under mine, and I’m lost. He tugs at my shirt, fumbling with the buttons, muttering a curse when one pops loose.
“Sorry,” he breathes against my jaw.
“Don’t be,” I manage, though my voice comes out rough. “You can tear them all off if you want.”
He laughs—low and breathless. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”
I grin against his mouth. “Only with you.”
And then he rolls his hips.
It’s instinct, the way I groan—loud, helpless. Every nerve in my body lights up, demanding more. My fingers flex against his back, but I resist grabbing, dragging, taking. I’ve wanted this man since the day he walked into the office with that scowl on his face and his sleeves rolled up to the elbows like he didn’t realize he was a walking sex bomb.
Now he’s mine—at least for this moment—and it’s everything I can do to not lose control.
He tilts his head back, whispering my name like it’s a prayer. “Greg…”
That’s it. That undoes me.
I kiss him hard enough that the chair creaks in agony. His hands grip my waist, steadying us, and for one dizzy second, the room narrows down to heat our heartbeats.
And then—I pull back.
My whole body protests, burning, trembling, begging me to keep going. But I can’t. Not like this.
