Page 44 of Montana Justice

The space between us hummed with electricity. When he leaned past me to check under the desk, his shoulder brushed mine. Skin contact, brief but scorching.

“I don’t see it under here,” he said, turning to face me.

Inches. We were inches apart. Close enough to see the gold flecks in his brown eyes that appeared in certain light. Close enough to count individual eyelashes. Close enough that his exhale became my inhale, sharing air in the most intimate way possible.

“Piper.” My name on his lips, reverent and hungry. He felt this between us too.

Every smart part of me screamed to run. To make excuses and flee to the safety of my room where I could rebuild walls and remember why this was impossible. Instead, I stayed frozen, moth to his flame, waiting to burn.

His hand rose slowly, telegraphing intent. Time to refuse. Time to be smart. Time to save us both.

I didn’t move.

He slid his fingers into my hair, calluses catching on the strands. My scalp tingled at the contact, nerve endings suddenly alive and singing. He tilted my face up with gentle pressure, studying me in the dim light like I was a puzzle he needed to solve.

“I’ve thought about you,” he admitted, voice rough with confession. “Even when I was angry, even when I tried not to… I couldn’t stop thinking about that night.”

“Lachlan—”

He kissed me, and every carefully constructed defense crumbled.

This wasn’t the gentle exploration of a year ago. This was months of suppressed want given form. His mouth moved against mine with desperate certainty, tongue sliding past my lips to taste and claim. I made a sound—needy, embarrassing, but I didn’t care—and gripped his shoulders for balance.

Muscle shifted under my palms, solid and real. He was so warm, so hard. My fingers mapped the geography of his shoulders, finding spots that made him growl low in his throat.

He stood suddenly, pulling me with him. The world spun, then I was pressed between his body and the desk edge. Wood bit into my lower back—probably leaving marks I’d see tomorrow—but the discomfort only heightened everything else. Papers crinkled. Something fell to the floor with a soft thud. Evidence of my betrayal scattered beneath our feet, but he didn’t notice.

And I couldn’t bring myself to stop.

“I’ve wanted this,” I gasped when his mouth moved to my jaw, finding that spot below my ear that shot sparks down my spine. “God, Lachlan, I’ve wanted you so much.”

His response was to lift me onto the desk like I weighed nothing. Standing between my spread legs, he looked at me with eyes gone dark as midnight. This position put us at perfect height, my mouth level with his, my legs able to wrap around his waist.

His hands found the hem of my sleep shirt, fingers teasing the skin just above my waistband. “Can I?”

I nodded, beyond words as he peeled the fabric up and over. Cool air kissed my skin, raising goose bumps across my chest and arms. But then his hands were there, warm and slightly rough, tracing patterns that made my back arch.

“Beautiful,” he murmured against my throat. “So damn beautiful.”

His mouth followed his hands, lips and tongue painting heat across my collarbones. When he found the sensitive spot where neck met shoulder, I had to bite my lip hard. His teeth scraped gently, followed by his tongue soothing the sting.

Lower. His mouth moved lower, taking his time, making me squirm with anticipation. When his lips closed around one nipple, I nearly came off the desk. Hot, wet suction that connected directly to the ache between my legs. I tangled my fingers in his hair, holding him there while he lavished attention that bordered on worship.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve dreamed of this,” he said against my skin, switching to the other breast. “I’ve missed it.”

The words cracked something inside me. Because I’d missed him too—missed being touched like I mattered, missed feeling wanted for more than what I could provide. With Lachlan, I felt like a woman instead of some sort of plaything.

He skimmed his hands down my sides, finding every sensitive spot along the way. The dip of my waist. The flare of my hips. The waistband of my sleep pants that suddenly felt like too much fabric between us.

He paused, looking up at me through those impossibly long lashes. “Can I taste you?”

Heat flooded through me at his words, at the raw want in his voice. “Yes. Yes, please.” I slid off the desk and quickly removed my pajama pants, conscious of the phone in my pocket, and left them bunched up on the floor.

He took his time removing my panties, hands reverent like he was unwrapping something precious. He positioned me back on the desk, the cool wood against my bare skin made me shiver, but his hands were there immediately, warming me with long strokes up my thighs.

“Lie back,” he said, voice gone gravel-rough.

I did, feeling exposed and powerful at the same time. Papers crinkled beneath me—reports and files I’d been stealing secrets from minutes ago. The irony should have killed my arousal. Instead, it heightened everything, adding danger to desire.

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