Page 39 of My End
“Why?” I whispered.
He stared at me like I was missing something huge. “Doesn’t it make you wonder?” he asked. “Why Boone needs so many guards? Why this place is crawling with men who don’t blink twice at carrying weapons in their suit jackets? Doesn’t it make you wonder what he’s trying to keep out?”
I shrugged and swallowed the tight knot in my throat. “It’s politics. I’ve never really been interested in all that. I’ve always just wanted to… I don’t know, make the world a better and prettier place. The rest of it…” I waved vaguely. “Not my thing.”
His gaze softened, and I didn’t miss the small curl of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “You definitely help make the world pretty, sweetheart,” he murmured.
I smiled as my heart hammered in my chest. “You haven’t even seen my paintings.”
He lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug, but his voice was anything but indifferent. “I don’t have to. I heard you guys talking at dinner.”
I narrowed my eyes. “So you do listen.”
“You think I don’t?” he asked, amused.
“I think you look like a statue most of the time.”
He chuckled low and deep. “I’m not here to stand out. I’m here to blend in. To make sure nothing bad happens.”
“Well,” I said and stepped into his space again, “you didn’t do a very good job of that.”
He raised an eyebrow. “No?”
I laid my hand flat against his chest. Felt the steady beat of his heart beneath my fingers. “I noticed you right away.”
His expression shifted. That amusement melted into something hotter. Thicker. He leaned into me, his nose brushing mine. “That a good thing or a bad thing?”
I didn’t answer. Just tilted my chin and kissed him again.
Slower this time. Less shock. More need.
He groaned as I slid my hands into his hair and tugged gently to coax him closer. His hands dropped to my thighs and lifted me effortlessly. My legs wrapped around his waist, and I gasped as my back hit the wall again.
The friction between us was scorching.
He kissed me like he needed to memorize every sound I made. I kissed him like I was already hooked on the taste of him. I pressed my chest to his and ground against him just enough to make his breath hitch.
“Fuck,” he muttered into my mouth.
My hands ran down his chest, my nails grazing his skin through that thin white undershirt. He rocked against me, one hand gripping the back of my thigh and the other planted against the wall beside my head.
Moans and sighs filled the room, our bodies pressed together in ways that felt inevitable.
When he finally pulled back, we were both panting.
“You should go,” he said with his voice rough as gravel.
I blinked at him, dazed. “Why?”
His jaw tightened. “Because if you don’t leave, you’re going to be in my bed in ten seconds.”
My heart kicked up in my chest. My lips parted on a silent inhale.
God, I wanted him.
But I wasn’t ready forthat. Not yet.
I reached up and kissed him again, soft this time. Sweet. A promise, maybe.
