Page 134 of The Plus One Contract

That’s when it really hits me. It’s coming. The goodbye we’ve been tiptoeing around.

I have no idea how to say it.

The air between us is suffocating. He hasn’t spoken a word, but I sense the unspoken tension pressing down on both of us. I grip the handle of my suitcase, my knuckles going white. It’s stupid, it’s meaningless, right? Just like this was supposed to be.

But it wasn’t. We blurred the lines, and now we’re paying for it.

“We never should have complicated things.”

His words slice through me like a blade. Sharp and unforgiving. I swallow, ignoring the tightness in my throat and the crack forming in my chest.

“Right,” I say, forcing my voice to stay even. “This was just a contract, after all.”

His jaw tics, and for a split second, I think he might say something else. Something that isn’t ripping a bandage off a wound still bleeding.

“I have to fly to Chicago.”

Like I don’t already know. Like I don’t know he will be gone for a month, maybe two. Like the number matters.

It doesn’t. He’s leaving, and when he goes back to New York, it won’t be for me.

I nod.

He shifts forward, closing some of the space between us, and my stupid body betrays me. I want to lean in, want to reach for him, grip his suit jacket and see if maybe he’d hold on.

But he won’t.

He can’t.

His voice is quieter, edged with raw honesty. “I can’t be that guy, Sienna. The one who makes you wait, who makes you wonder where I am all the time.”

My chest clenches. I never asked him to be that. I wasn’t supposed to want him to be that.

I force a small smile, ignoring the burn behind my eyes. “That would be ridiculous. Waiting for you? Sounds like a nightmare.”

He huffs a humorless laugh, but there’s no real mirth behind it. There’s just this thing between us that never should’ve existed.

Then he moves, turning toward the door, his shoulders stiff, his steps measured, like every part of him is fighting something. I bite my lip, forcing myself to stay still.

I need to let him go.

When his hand lands on the doorknob, he stops. His head tilts like he’s rethinking everything.

There’s no warning when he spins back around, dark eyes brimming with torment, crossing the room in three long strides. Before I can breathe or process, his hands grab me. One moment, I’m standing next to my suitcase; the next, I’m in his arms, his palms framing my face, his mouth crashing into mine in a kiss that’s desperate and punishing, like he’s mad at himself, mad at me.

I gasp against his lips, my fingers flying to his chest, gripping his suit like it’s the only thing keeping me upright. If I hold on tight enough, maybe this doesn’t have to end.

I let him consume me. I let his mouth take what it wants, let his fingers press me against the wall like he needs me closer, like he hates how close still isn’t enough.

A raw sound tears from his throat. His thigh wedges between my legs, his hands sliding down to my hips, hooking around me. In one swift motion, he lifts me, my back against the wall, my legs instinctively locking around his waist.

My chest heaves against his, and I can’t stop my hands from roaming, yanking his belt free, the leather slipping through the loops. I tug at his zipper, my palm brushing against his cock, hot and rigid. He drops his forehead to my neck, teeth scraping my skin as I free him from his pants.

“Fuck,” he growls, hands tightening on my thighs.

He finds the lace of my panties and yanks them aside. His cock slides against me, and my breath stutters. Holy shit, there’s no preamble. No courtesy. Just raw need. He thrusts inside in one savage stroke, and I let out a ragged cry, nails biting into his shoulders through the fabric of his suit.

He’s fully dressed, while I’m half-naked, pinned against the wall. It shouldn’t be so unbearably erotic, but it is because this isn’t gentle or playful. It’s desperate. It’s punishment for both of us.

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