Page 39 of Brass
“Me?” My pulse kicks. “What am I going to do?”
“Push. Test. Challenge.” He rises to his full height, filling the room, filling my lungs until breathing feels like drowning. “You’ve been doing it since the moment we met. Hunting for cracks in my control.”
“I’m just suggesting we share a bed like rational adults.”
“Are we?” He steps closer, slow, deliberate. “Rational? With whatever this is between us?”
The blunt acknowledgment strips the air between us bare. We’ve been pretending—masking this pull with barbs, irritation, arguments. But it thrums, undeniable.
“There’s nothing between us,” I lie, my voice too quick, too thin.
His laugh is soft, disbelieving, erotic in its certainty. “Then you won’t mind if I do this.”
He moves toward me, each step measured, lethal. Giving me every chance to retreat. I don’t. Can’t. My feet are glued to the carpet as his body closes the space, until I have to tilt my head back to hold his gaze.
“Your pupils are dilated,” he murmurs, gaze raking over me. “Your breathing’s changed.” He leans in, two fingers brushingmy throat. The contact is a brand, light but scorching. “Your pulse—elevated.” His eyes darken, merciless. “Nothing between us? The evidence says otherwise.”
His touch lingers, pressing lightly, a tease that feels more like possession. The air thickens, weighted with the heat of everything unsaid. My body betrays me—breath short, heart pounding, a coil of hunger tightening low and hot.
“Fine,” I whisper, the word trembling out of me. “There’s—something. But that doesn’t mean we can’t control ourselves for one night.”
His fingers linger at my throat a beat too long, the faint press against my pulse a reminder of how fast it’s racing—how fast he’s making it race. The room seems to shrink around us, air thick, unbreathable. I should move. I should shove him back. Instead, I lean into the heat, into him, like my body’s already chosen a side.
His gaze drops to my mouth. Just for a fraction of a second, but enough to send a jolt straight through me. My lips part on instinct, hungry for something I have no business wanting. The distance between us crackles, a live wire stretched to snapping.
“I’ve been controlling myself since the moment I saw you on that platform,” he says, voice pitched low, dangerous, velvet laced with steel. The sound ripples through me, settling in places I can’t ignore. “And it gets harder every time you push.”
The double entendre slices straight through the tension, leaving me breathless. He’s been fighting this—fighting me—as much as I’ve been fighting him.
“Why?” The question slips free before I can stop it, reckless, needy.
His eyes sharpen, piercing, as if he can strip me bare with nothing but a look. “You know why.”
Something inside me breaks—defenses, logic, common sense. Maybe it’s exhaustion. Maybe it’s the chaos of the lastthirty-six hours. Maybe it’s just him. Whatever the reason, I don’t back down. “Tell me anyway.”
A muscle in his jaw ticks. For a long, suspended moment, I think he’ll retreat—pull himself back behind that wall of rigid control. Then something in his expression shatters, and what comes through is raw, unfiltered want.
“Because every time you challenge me, every time you defy a direct order,” his voice roughens, dark with restraint barely holding, “it makes me want to grab you, bend you over the nearest surface, and punish your disobedience until you’re begging. Then fuck you into complete submission until the only word you remember is my name.”
The confession slams into me, brutal and intoxicating. Heat surges through my veins, flooding me until my knees nearly buckle. I should be outraged. I should recoil. Instead, the vividness of his words plays out behind my eyes in humiliating clarity—his body crushing mine, his voice commanding me into surrender I’ve never dared imagine.
My breath catches, ragged. My pulse pounds so loud I swear he can hear it.
“That’s why this—” he gestures between us, every line of him tense, vibrating with control, “is such a catastrophically bad idea.”
I can’t form words, can’t break his gaze. My heart pounds so loudly I’m certain he can hear it. The room feels too small, too hot, too charged with an electricity that threatens to consume us both.
“Then stop fighting it,” I whisper, the words trembling out before I can even decide what I’m asking for.
FOURTEEN
Celeste
For one searing,suspended breath, I think Ryan might give in. Might finally crush the distance between us, pin me against the wall, and show me exactly what it means when he says punishment. The air between us vibrates with it, every heartbeat a countdown.
But then—he steps back. Breaks the spell.
“We can’t afford distractions. Not until you’re secure.”
