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“I do not make noises.”

She catches my bottom lip between her teeth. A sharp little nip, then soothed with the tip of her tongue.

I make the noise.

“There it is,” she breathes, and kisses me again. Deeper this time. Hungrier.

My hand moves of its own accord. Down the curve of her spine to the small of her back, where her shirt has ridden up during her fall. Her skin is bare there. Warm and impossibly soft. I spread my fingers wide, and she arches into my palm like a cat seeking sunlight.

Then she shifts. Swings one knee across my thighs so that she is no longer nearly straddling me.

She is quite thoroughly straddling me.

Good heavens.

There is nothing between us now but the thin black cotton of her leggings. I am acutely, painfully aware of that fact. As is she, I suspect, judging by the way she gasps when she settles her weight against me.

My cock, which has behaved for the last several minutes with a restraint I can only describe as heroic, abandons all pretense of good manners.

April pulls back an inch. Her pupils are wide and dark, her lips swollen and pink from mine.

“Hi,” she says breathlessly.

“Hello.”

“You’re…”

“Yes. I am aware.”

She bites her lip. Then, very slowly and very deliberately, she rolls her hips.

The world goes white at the edges.

I catch her hips in both hands. Not to stop her. I am not entirely certain why. To anchor myself, perhaps. To keep from coming apart on a hallway floor like a green boy with his first sweetheart.

“April.” Her name comes out of me as something perilously close to a growl.

“Gabriel,” she answers, in a fair imitation of my tone. Her eyes are dancing.

“You are playing with fire.”

“Good thing you’re granite.” She leans in until her lips brush my ear. “I read it’s very heat resistant.”

“The internet again.”

“The internet is very educational.”

She kisses the edge of my jaw. Then my throat. Then the hollow beneath my ear, where the warmth of her breath sends a shiver through every inch of me. Her hands roam over my shoulders and down my chest, her nails scraping lightly along my skin, and I discover that a man can, in fact, forget how to breathe.

“Do you have any idea,” she murmurs against my neck, “how many times I’ve thought about this? You wandering around in those stupid sweatpants. Glowering at me over a cup of coffee you won’t even drink.”

“I do not glower.”

“You’re glowering right now.”

“I am concentrating.”

“On what?”