Page 88 of Bombshells
More kissing.
“We’re good together. Don’t even try to pretend that it’s not true.”
Like that would even work. Instead, I lift her up in my arms until she wraps her legs around me and whimpers. Quitting Sylvie has proven much more impossible than quitting late nights and hard alcohol. “This what you want?”
“Yes. More.”
“I got more for you.” I give her a dirty grind. But it backfires, because my aching cock is damn close from its favorite place in Brooklyn. And I don’t think we even come up for air for several more minutes.
When I hear voices close by, I break our kiss and lower her quickly to the floor. “Meet me outside.”
Before she can even respond, I duck out of the far side of the makeshift changing room. A split second later I hear Sylvie stammer a greeting to her teammates, as I hustle toward the exit.
When I find my coat and step outside, the cold Brooklyn air hits me. The photo studio is located in the Brooklyn Navy Yard, so we’re an easily walkable distance from home.
Sylvie emerges onto the sidewalk not two minutes later, and we set off silently together at a fast clip down the street.
“My place?” I ask as the building comes into view.
“Back entrance?” she prompts.
“You dirty girl.”
“I meant the building.” Her glance cuts in my direction, and I grin. “Oh. You were joking. Fine. Tease the virgin. I see how it is.”
I jog the last few steps and unlock the back entrance which is—as she suggested—closer. “Just trying to keep things light. Besides—” Inside, I tap the elevator button several times in hasty succession.
“What?”
A door slides open, and I nudge Sylvie into the car with a haste that’s not very polite. “Besides,” I repeat as the door slides closed, leaving us alone. “I don’t see any virgins here.”
Then I kiss her again until the elevator dings for my floor. We stumble out and hurry down the hallway toward my place, where I fumble the keys until we’re finally inside.
We barely make it into the apartment before I’m all over her again, her back against the door, my fingers threaded into her hair. Another few seconds of this, and I’m going to lose my capacity for speech. “This is still complicated,” I remind her.
“I know.”
We come together in another brutal kiss, whether this is a bad idea or not. “Sylvie, you drive me crazy. Every time I get into bed, I wish you were underneath me.”
“So shut up and do that already,” she pants. “Consequences later.”
“You want to go upstairs?”
“Unless you’re going to do me against the door.” Her brown eyes flash with impatience.
And my poor heart quivers as I stand here on the precipice, trying to figure out how badly I’m going to regret this.
It’s chemistry, she said. I wouldn’t question that logic from any other woman, but I’m all tangled up when it comes to her. Only part of my confusion can be blamed on her relationship with my teammate.
It’s also me, I realize. I’m the one who’s afraid of this. Nobody has made my heart beat so fast in years. I’m probably going to fuck up our friendship before this is through.
And now I’ve got us locked into a staring contest. Neither of us blinks as my achy heart does battle with her fiery will.
It’s probably a bad sign that I cave first. I let my eyes fall closed and take her mouth in a kiss that’s sweeter than before. If we’re doing this stupid thing, then I’d better slow down and enjoy it.
I tilt my head and kiss her again. “Come upstairs, baby.” I thread my fingers through hers and lead her to the stairs, then charge up there ahead of her, so I can grab the book I’m reading off the pillow and toss it to the floor.
Otherwise, it’s tidy up here. The loft is small—just a bed and a small table for whatever book I’m reading. And there’s a round old window, too, spilling daylight on my white comforter.
