Page 78 of No Turning Back
But he steps closer, slow, deliberate. “You were upset.”
A small laugh escapes me, shaky. “Of course I was. I thought people broke in to have sex.”
He shakes his head, gaze locked on mine. “You didn’t know that. You thought it was me.”
My breath hitches. “Sam-”
He keeps walking toward me, closing the space between us inch by inch. His voice drops even lower, rougher, like gravel. “Did you really think I’d bring another woman home… while we are…”
I can barely breathe. My pulse thrums in my throat.
“We are?” I whisper.
He stops just close enough that I can feel his warmth, his height crowding me, my back almost brushing the door.
“We arenot nothing,Quinn,” he says, voice full of heat. “Don’t pretend you don’t feel it. Don’t stand here looking at me like we’re just friends.”
The wordfriendsdrips from his mouth like it’s poison, and my stomach flips. My pulse is everywhere, neck, wrists, thighs, like my body’s already betrayed me.
I manage, barely, “Sam…” but it sounds weak, like a plea.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispers against my lips, his breath hot, his body crowding mine.
I don’t. I won’t. My voice is shaky but sure. “I’m free now. Don’t stop.”
That’s all he needs. The last inch vanishes as his mouth crashes against mine, rough, desperate, like he’s been holding back for years and refuses to anymore. His hand finds the back of my neck, anchoring me, pulling me deeper, and I melt, no, I burn.
Every thought of Markus, every doubt, every hesitation is gone, scorched out of me until there’s only Sam and this kiss that tastes like fire and inevitability.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Sam
I try to make this kiss different from the first, softer, slower. But then her teeth catch my bottom lip, sharp enough to send a jolt through me like I got hit with a live wire. That little sound she makes in the back of her throat? Breaks me wide open.
I’ve wanted this for years. Wanted her when I had her, wanted her when I didn’t. Pretended I could ignore it. Then when she came back, I tried to play it cool, just be her friend. Christ. That damn near killed me. Seeing her every day, sleeping under the same roof, giving her space because she needed to heal.
That all went to hell yesterday when she sent me that text. And I’m done being the nice guy.
I back her up against the door, one hand in her hair, the other gripping her hip. I want to be careful, I do, but the way she kisses me back, hungry and wild, tells me careful is the last thing she wants.
“Quinn,” I breathe against her mouth, hanging on by a thread. “You sure?”
“Yes.” Her fingers dig into my back. “Please, Sam.”
That’s all I need. I lift her, her legs wrapping around my waist like she’s been waiting for this too. Our mouths never break apart as I carry her to the bed, laying her down careful even though my body is screaming at me to hurry.
I pull back just enough to look at her. Flushed cheeks, swollen lips, eyes dark as midnight. Her hair spread out across my pillow like I’ve pictured a hundred damn times.
“I’ve wanted this for so long,” I admit, my voice rough.
“Me too.” Her fingers trace my jaw. “I just never let myself admit it.”
I kiss her again, slower, savouring her. When her hips roll up against me, a groan rips out of my chest.
“Clothes,” she mumbles against my mouth.
She doesn’t have to tell me twice. I tug her shirt up, and she arches to help me. When it’s off, I pause. My breath catches. She’s laid out in a simple black bra, and it hits me harder than anything fancy ever could.
