Page 65 of The Overtime Kiss

I yank open the door, pasting on a bright smile. “Time for twists,” I say, trying to make this seem like we’re just two athletes working out. Just two friends.

I almost believe it as we settle onto our mats in the corner. “You set the pace, boss,” he says, having fun with that word.

It sends a charge through me. Or maybe he just does.

“Let’s start with downward dog,” I suggest, stretching my hips back in that pose, lengthening through my arms.

He follows, his movements deliberate and strong. I can’t help glancing over, catching how his muscles shift under his shirt as he transitions into the position.

“Tabletop,” I call out, my voice a little shaky as I guide us. We both settle onto all fours again, the quiet hum of our breathing filling the room.

“Warrior one,” I say as I stand, shifting into warrior one. My arms reach high above my head as I sink into the lunge, and he follows, mirroring my movements.

For a moment, it’s quiet—just the soft sounds of our breaths soundtracking my racing mind that catalogues how close we are. A foot apart, as we move together.

This is just stretching, I remind myself. This is just a workout.

“Easy twist,” I say finally, stepping into the next pose. I rotate my torso, extending one arm to the ceiling as I pivot on the ball of my back foot.

But when I glance up, my heart stumbles.

He’s facing me.

We should be twisting in opposite directions, but instead, his eyes meet mine across the small space between us.

For a moment, neither of us moves. His gaze glimmers with longing, and restraint.

I know both well, and they’re racing through me, owning every cell in my body. I feel warm everywhere as I swallowpast all this aching want. The moment stretches, and soon,soon, it’ll break.

He’ll move.

He’ll shift.

He’ll turn the other way.

His chest rises and falls with each breath, but he doesn’t turn. His jaw ticks, like he’s at war with himself.

After several seconds that feel like I’m on the surface of Mercury, he moves at last—toward me.With zero hesitation.“Sabrina,” he rasps out, his voice thick with desire.

And I don’t know who makes the next move. All I know is we crash onto my mat with a thud and a jolt that radiates deliciously in my bones. He grips my waist. Tugs me against him. Growls. The heat from his body spreads through mine.

All the reasons to resist him burn into ash as his lips crush mine.

And I surrender, shifting under him as he covers me and kisses me like I imagined he would that night.

No, that’s not true.

This kiss—chaotic, ravenous,wild—is better than my imagination.

17

THE WATCH KNOWS

Tyler

My brain is too fried. My skin too hot. My need too high. Every system is overloading, warning me to stop. But I don’t. I kiss her anyway.

I kiss Sabrina like it’s all I’ve wanted to do for months. Because it is.

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