Carter #3
“We’re clear now,” he said, cutting me off as he turned toward the door, his movements rigid and far too controlled. “Go. Before I decide my patience has actually run out.”
The dismissal was sharp, intended to make me feel small. Whatever soft, dangerous thing had flared in this room was dead, smothered by the sheer weight of his arrogance.
“Your patience?” I repeated, my voice edged with pure disbelief.
I stepped toward the door, not away from him, making sure he had to look at me one last time.
“You don’t get to talk about patience when you’re the one who cornered me.
And don't think for a second that I’m impressed by your little... performance.”
I gestured vaguely at the space between us, my lip curling.
“Next time you need to stay quiet, try holding your own breath. Using my mouth as a tactical silencer wasn't efficient, Dominic. It was desperate. And frankly? It was beneath even you.”
“Beneath me?” He let out a sharp, humorless sound that was almost a laugh.
He stepped back into my space, his height designed to make me look up, though I refused to yield an inch.
“Don’t act like I had to convince you. You were right there with me.
If it was so 'desperate,' you had plenty of time to pull away. You didn’t.”
“I was in shock,” I lied, the word tasting like copper. “It’s a common reaction to someone being insufferable.”
“Is that what we’re calling it now?” He leaned down just enough that I could see the frustrated tension still simmering in his eyes. “Because from where I was standing, you weren’t fighting the 'shock' very hard. You were actually quite helpful with the 'performance.'”
“I was making sure we didn't get in trouble,” I snapped, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard it was a miracle he couldn't hear it. “Which is more than I can say for you. You’re lucky I didn’t bite you out of spite.”
Dominic didn’t flinch. Instead, he stepped in—one slow, predatory slide of his shoes against the floor—until the frustration from his body was a physical weight, pinning me without him ever having to touch me.
He leaned down, his mouth hovering just inches from my own, his breath lingering at my skin.
“You’re lucky I stopped,” he rasped, the sound low and dark.
He didn't pull away. He let the silence stretch until I could hear the edge of his own breathing.
“Because another five seconds of you leaning into me like that, and I wouldn't have cared who walked through that door. I would have taken exactly what you were offering and left you trying to remember your own name.”
The words hung in the air, heavy and unmoving.
I held my breath, my stare locked on the pulse jumping in his neck, my own body betraying me with a treacherous, echoing ache.
We glared at each other, two people breathing the same charged, oxygen-starved air, both of us refusing to admit that the argument was just a way to avoid what we were really refusing to say aloud.
“I’m going,” I said, my voice finally finding a steady, icy floor. “And you’re going to stay here and wait for me to be gone, or whatever it is you do when you’re hovering like that’s a skill.”
I spun on my heel and headed for the door, half-expecting the heavy doors to click shut and leave me in the blessed silence.
It didn't.
Instead, the door creaked open again. Dominic fell into step beside me, his hands shoved deep into his pockets and his eyes fixed forward. He didn't say a word.
I should have told him to get lost. I should have told him the "loitering" was officially over.
But I didn't want to waste the breath, or maybe I was just too busy trying to keep my head above water.
My mind kept drifting back to the dark corner—to the heat of his mouth and the lethal rasp of his voice.
Five more seconds.
The thought was a persistent itch. My brain kept trying to simulate what those five seconds would have felt like—if I hadn’t pulled away, if he hadn't stopped, if I’d actually taken what he claimed he was offering.
I shook my head, a sharp, physical dismissal of the thought. It was easier said than done with him still at my side, matching me step for step like it was deliberate. Like I’d somehow become his problem.
I clutched my notebook to my chest, my pace quickening. I told myself I was furious. I told myself he was an arrogant, calculating jerk who didn't deserve a second of my headspace—just another headline in a racing suit with too much time and money on his hands.
But as the quad faded behind me, the logic started to fray. My thumb traced the edge of the spiral binding, and my mind betrayed me, replaying the way his mouth had felt—firm, sure, and devastating. It was a sensory loop I couldn't shut off.
I didn't like him. I didn't trust him. And I definitely didn't want him here.
But as I reached the parking lot, my breath still hadn't quite returned to its normal rhythm. Because the worst part wasn't the kiss itself. It was the terrifying, confusing certainty that for those extra five seconds, I might not have cared who walked through that door either.
And that was a calculation I had no idea how to balance.