Chapter 16 #2
One hand grazes the back of my neck while the other strokes up my back. His tongue dips into my mouth, twisting and tangling with my own. Coiling heat and lust infuse my entire being, flooding me with all the feelings I’ve been trying to keep buried because they have no place in this arrangement.
Except now they’re exposed, and I don’t know if I have the strength, or the will, to pull them back in.
I don't think. I can't think. My brain, the one that never shuts up, that analyzes everything, that always has a plan, goes completely silent.
There's just him. His lips. His hands on me. The heat of his body against mine.
For one frozen second, I don't move or give in to the carnal demands of my body.
Then something inside me cracks open and my brain finally lets go of all the reasons why this is such a bad idea.
I grab the front of his t-shirt and pull him closer. I kiss him back with everything I've been pretending not to feel. He makes a sound, a low growl that has my toes curling in my sneakers. Then his other arm wraps around my waist and we're pressed together.
Good Lord, I'm drowning. And it’s so much more incredible than I’d have allowed myself to believe it could be.
He kisses like he does everything else. Focused. Intense. Like I'm the only thing in the world that matters.
And I kiss him back like I'm done lying to myself.
Because I am.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathless — and not from our run. He leans forward, towering over me. His forehead rests against mine, his hand still firmly gripping my hip.
“I shouldn't have done that,” he says. “I told myself I wouldn't push. That I'd let you—”
“Your turn to shut up,” I rasp before pulling him back in.
This time it's slower. Deeper. Our hands are frenzied, unable to grip each other tight enough or pull each other close enough.
My pulse hammers wildly against my throat, my insides igniting under the heat of his touch.
His muscles tense and tighten under the palms of my hands.
I melt into his embrace, my knees morphing into Jell-O as he continues his delicious oral assault.
Holy crap, I’ve kissed guys before but this man? He’s like an Olympic gold medalist make-out champion.
When we finally stop, I don't let go.
“That was—” I start to say.
“A mistake?” There’s vulnerability in his voice, like he's bracing for me to pull away. To run and hide behind my walls.
“I was going to say unexpected.”
He huffs out a laugh. “Was it? Really?”
“You kissing me? Not really.” I pause, a smile toying with my lips. “I meant the part about me kissing you back.”
His thumb traces my cheekbone, so gentle like I’m something to be treasured. “I've been trying not to do that for days.”
“I know. I could tell.”
“Could you?”
I shrug and flash him a coy smile. “You're not as subtle as you think.”
“Newsflash.” He laughs again. “Neither are you.”
We stand there in the fading light, foreheads touching, neither of us willing to break away from the other.
“What now?” I ask.
“Now we walk back. We’ll figure out the rest later.”
“That simple?” I lift an eyebrow.
“Yep. That simple.”
I want to believe him. I want to believe that something in my life can be simple, just once.
We walk back toward the penthouse, and somewhere along the way, his hand finds mine. I don't pull away.
I should. I know I should. This can’t end well. It has to be the forced proximity thing.
Ugh. Freaking romance novels just had to make that a thing.
I've spent my entire adult life keeping people at arm's length.
Not because I was hurt… I never let anyone close enough to hurt me.
I dated, sure. Brief relationships that ended before they could become anything real.
Men who wanted the CEO, the name, and the access it brought.
Men I could manage, control, and keep in neat little boxes that didn't threaten the life I'd built.
This isn't that.
Lochlan doesn't want my company or my connections.
He's not trying to use me or manage me or put me in a box.
He just... sees me. The real me. The one who loves to eat ice cream with him at two in the morning, who has developed a surprising affection for dogs, who can't whistle and falls asleep on his shoulder watching bad reality television.
And that terrifies me more than anything.
Because I don't have a playbook for this version of my life. I don't know how to let someone in without losing myself. I've always been the one in control, of my company, my family, and my emotions. Control is how I survive. It's the only thing that's ever kept me safe.
His thumb traces soft circles on the back of my hand, like he doesn't even realize he's doing it.
I feel too much. That's the problem. I feel things I don't have names for, things I don't know how to categorize or contain. And I don't know if that means I should run toward this or away from it.
But right now, this feels good. I feel good. So I do neither. I just hold his hand and walk beside him in the darkness, trying not to think about what happens next.
Because thinking is what I do. I’m a planner, a strategist. And Lochlan Molloy has my brain short-circuiting, caught between what I want, what I'm afraid of, and the terrifying possibility that they might be the same thing.
I don't know what this is.
I don't know what I want it to be.
And that's the scariest thing of all.