Page 38 of Rocky Top

He spun, back against the door, eyes locked on mine.

“Birdie…” he said, voice rough with something I felt in every nerve ending.

I barely got a breath out before he crossed the room and kissed me.

Hard.

Desperate.

Like he was afraid I’d vanish if he didn’t taste me right now.

And I let him.

I let him push me back against the edge of the desk, papers scattering, my laptop falling in the chair as his hands gripped my hips like he’d been starving for the feel of me. I gasped when his mouth moved to my neck, my fingers tangling in his hair.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered against my collarbone, breath hot. “Say the word and I’ll stop.”

But I didn’t.

I couldn’t.

Because the way he kissed me, like he knew every scar, every ache and still wanted more, had my knees buckling and my better judgment out the damn window.

His hands roamed, slow but sure, under the hem of my shirt, calloused palms on bare skin. I arched into him, breathing his name like a prayer I wasn’t sure I believed in anymore.

And Lord help me, I let him go farther than I intended.

Farther than I should’ve.

My body was saying yes in ways my mouth hadn’t caught up to yet, grinding on him. When he lifted me onto the desk, settling himself between my thighs, I felt that shift. Thatwantthat grew between his legs.

“Rocky,” I breathed, barely recognizing my own voice.

He froze.

Just for a second.

His forehead pressed to mine, both of us panting, heat and sweat and heartbeats tangled in the small space between.

“We should stop,” I said, though it came out more like a question.

His eyes burned into mine, pupils blown wide, jaw clenched. But he nodded, slowly. “Yeah. We should.”

He didn’t move.

Neither did I. His hand ran down my body, and I watched it slip past the waist of my jeans. I lifted as his fingers curved, expertly finding their way to my wet center. His teeth brazed my shoulder as he stroked my walls.

“Birdie, I’m gonna fuck you right here on this desk.” He wasn’t asking.

Then—

Knock knock knock.

“Rocky!” a voice called through the door. “You’re late for the 1:30 Smoky Ridge tour. Chopper’s gassed and waitin’.”

I jumped like I’d been caught sneaking out of Sunday school. Rocky groaned and stepped back.

“Jesus,” he muttered. Bringing his fingers to his mouth he cleaned them like he’s been eating ribs. Then he shot me a crooked grin. “We’re gonna have to finish this later.”

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