Page 10 of One Room Vacancy
“Neither am I.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
“Great.”
“Fantastic.” The word slips past his lips as his eyes linger on my own. He’s still holding back.
My fingers slide upward, finding the edge of his collar, tracing along the base of his neck where the skin is warm,flushed. “Because if we’re going to do this again, I want it honest.”
His jaw ticks. “We?”
I raise a brow. “You said you wanted me.”
“I do.”
“Then stop waiting for permission.”
That’s all it takes.
He surges forward like he’s letting go of the last shred of restraint he’s been holding onto. One hand lands at my waist, the other sliding up to cradle the back of my neck as his mouth finds mine—hungry, careful, like he’s trying to memorize it before I can change my mind. I don’t. I won’t.
I kiss him back just as hard.
And when he pulls me flush against his chest, when his hand fists in the back of my dress and my fingers tangle in his hair, all the hesitation disappears.
This isn’t a mistake.
This is combustion.
His mouth parts mine on a groan, the sound low and guttural like it’s been building in his chest for years. Maybe it has. His tongue brushes mine and my knees nearly give, but he’s there—one arm banded around my waist, holding me up like he’s not letting me go this time.
I clutch his shirt, the fabric stretching between us until I finally yank it free from where it’s tucked into his pants. My hands slide beneath, fingertips grazing bare skin and the hard plane of his stomach. He shudders.
“Fuck,” he mutters against my mouth, pulling back just enough to look at me. His eyes search mine, pupils blown, breath uneven. “Tell me to stop.”
“I won’t.”
That’s all it takes. His mouth is on mine again, rougher this time, less careful. He walks me backward toward the bedwithout breaking the kiss, and when my legs hit the edge of the mattress, he pauses only to yank off his shirt.
I’ve seen him shirtless before—more times than I’ll ever admit out loud—but never like this.
Not with that look in his eyes.
Not with this kind of finality.
Because if he and Kara are really done, then we don’t get to pretend anymore.
Then this isn’t just a quick fuck when we’re both marginally single—it’s a reckoning.
And if he could actually stay…
I have to admit I might want him to.
He kisses me like he hears that thought—like it’s loud and gasping and written all over my skin.
The backs of my knees hit the mattress, and I sink into it, bracing on my elbows, staring up at him as he sheds the last of his restraint. His eyes rove down my body, slow and reverent, like he’s trying to burn the image into memory. Like he already knows this won’t be enough, but he’s going to take it anyway.
