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Bane: Can I admit something?

My stomach tightens.

Emma: I’ll allow one confession.

His reply takes longer this time.

Bane: I almost kissed you again before you got out of the car.

I close my eyes. The memory rushes back so vividly I can still feel his hand against my waist.

Emma: And I almost invited you inside.

Bane: To do what?

I flick my gaze from the rain streaming down the window to my phone. My heart hammers hard enough that I swear it could shake me apart.

A dozen replies flash through my head.

I type one, delete it, try another, erase that too, until I finally settle on the only answer I can live with at one in the morning, alone in the dark with rain and wind battering the house.

Emma: Maybe finish what you started.

I hit send and fixate on the blinking cursor, then the tiny “Read” beneath my message. Every passing second stretches tighter than the last, giving my imagination plenty of room to torture me.

Maybe I’ve pushed too far. Maybe I haven’t pushed far enough. Maybe I’ve crossed a line I never even saw.

Bane: I want to make you lose your mind.

Heat shoots through my spine before sinking between my thighs. I keep seeing him behind the wheel, dashboard lights spilling across his face, the way he softened when he said please, the way my mouth almost found his before either of us could stop it.

Emma: I want that too.

His reply arrives without hesitation.

Bane: What would you like me to do to you?

I stare at the words until they blur together. The question sits on my screen, daring me to answer.

I reach for the version of myself who’d toss back a clever reply without overthinking it, but she doesn’t exist tonight. I’m overheated, wound too tight, painfully aware of every inch of my body.

A shiver ripples along the inside of my thigh. I roll onto my back and press my phone against my chest, as if I can smother the current racing beneath my skin.

I stare at his message, pulse thudding so hard it drowns out the rain against the window, then force my thumbs to move.

Emma: You mean right now?

Bane: Or whenever. I want to know what you want.

I press the phone against my cheek, letting the cool glass soothe the heat burning through my face. My knees draw together until the pressure almost aches, yet it barely takes the edge off. I swallow, unlock the screen again, and type.

Emma: Do you want the polite answer or the real one?

Bane: Real, always.

A shiver catches me off guard. My mind slips back to the conference room, the edge of the table pressing into my hips, his mouth and hands leaving marks that still live in my memory.

Heat rushes through me until drawing a full breath feels impossible.