Page 68 of Stuck with my Boss Daddies

Progress.

We walked toward the back entrance, and when we reached the stairs, she hesitated again.

Her hand hovered for a moment, then, almost absently, reached for mine.

It was barely anything—her fingers brushing against mine, the lightest of touches—but it sent a sharpness through my chest.

I didn’t question it.

Didn’t push.

Just curled my fingers around hers, loose, easy.

Like I wasn’t drowning in her. Like the feel of her hand in mine wasn’t setting me on fire from the inside out.

We climbed the stairs slowly, neither of us speaking, but the air between us was charged with the feelings we’d been ignoring for too damn long.

When we reached the loft, I pushed open the door and let her step inside first.

She took a breath, her gaze sweeping over the space, her fingers still loosely tangled with mine.

Then, finally, she let go.

And fuck, I felt the loss of it.

She moved deeper into the room, standing in the middle of the loft, arms crossing tight over her chest.

I didn’t move. Not yet.

But I watched her.

Watched the way her shoulders tensed, the way her lips pressed together, like she was holding something back.

She was pissed, frustrated… maybe even a little lost.

And I wanted her.

Badly.

I stepped closer, slow enough to give her the chance to back away.

She didn’t.

“You really want to talk right now?” My voice was low, rough.

She swallowed, her throat working. “I?—”

I didn’t give her the chance to finish.

Because the second she tilted her chin up, the second she looked at me like that—like she was daring me to do something—I was done.

I closed the space between us, my hand sliding to the back of her neck, fingers threading into her hair. I pulled her to me, and then…

I kissed her.

It wasn’t soft. Nor careful.

It was heat and frustration, restraint finally snapping.

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