Page 24 of The Heat Between Us

"Then do it," she says simply. "Touch me, Lewis."

It's like being given permission to breathe after holding my breath underwater. I close the distance between us in two strides, my hands coming up to cup her face as I search her eyes one more time for any sign of hesitation. Finding none, I lower my mouth to hers.

The first touch of her lips against mine is electric. She tastes faintly of mint—my toothpaste, I realize—and her mouth is soft and yielding under mine. I keep the kiss gentle, controlled, even as every instinct in my body is screaming for more.

When we break apart, her breath comes in small gasps, her chest rising and falling rapidly. My hands slide from her face to her shoulders, then down her arms, feeling the softness of her skin, the slight tremble in her muscles.

"Is this okay?" I murmur, needing to be sure.

In answer, she takes my hand and places it on her breast. The weight of it fills my palm perfectly, her nipple hardening against my skin.

"More than okay," she whispers.

I groan, unable to hold back my reaction. My thumb brushes across her nipple, drawing a small gasp from her. I lean in to kiss her again, deeper this time, as my hands explore the curves of her body—the dip of her waist, the flare of her hips, the softness of stomach rolls.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," she breathes against my mouth. "This isn't like me at all."

I chuckle, the sound low and rough. "I don't believe it either," I confess. "But I want it. I want you."

Her answer is to press herself against me more fully, her naked body warm through the fabric of my t-shirt. The feeling of her breasts against my chest, even through the fabric, nearly undoes me. I want to feel all of her, to taste every inch of her skin.

I trail kisses down her neck, across her collarbone, and lower still until I capture one nipple in my mouth. Her sharp intake of breath tells me she approves, as does the way her hand comes up to cradle the back of my head, holding me to her.

I worship her breasts with my mouth and hands, learning what makes her gasp and what makes her moan. Her skin tastes clean and slightly sweet from the soap, and I can't get enough of it.

Slowly, I begin to move lower, kissing a path down her stomach, kneeling as I reach the curve of her hips. I look up at her, seeking permission once more. Her eyes are half-lidded, her lips parted, but she nods, fingers tangling in my hair.

I press soft kisses along the inside of her thighs, feeling her tremble under my touch. When I finally slide one finger gently inside her, she's already wet and ready, a fact that sends a surge of desire so strong through me that I have to pause for a moment to regain control.

"Lewis," she gasps, her head falling back against the wall.

My name on her lips like that nearly breaks my resolve to take this slow. But I want this to be good for her—perfect for her. I focus on the movement of my hand, adding a second finger when she pushes against me, seeking more.

As I work my fingers inside her, I lean forward to taste her, and her reaction is immediate and intense. Her hips buck against my mouth, a moan escaping her that makes me painfully aware of how constraining my jeans have become.

But this isn't about me right now. This is about Chloe—beautiful, brave Chloe, who walked through fire and somehow ended up here, in my hallway, trusting me with her body in a way I never could have anticipated.

I focus entirely on her pleasure, on learning what makes her breath quicken and what makes her say my name in that breathy way that sends shivers down my spine. And when she finally comes apart under my touch, her body tensing and then releasing in waves, my name a prayer on her lips, I feel a sense of satisfaction deeper than anything I've experienced before.

I rise to my feet, gathering her trembling body against mine, supporting her as her legs seem to give out. Her face is flushed, her eyes bright, and there's a vulnerability in her expression that makes me want to protect her from the world.

"That was..." she begins, then seems to run out of words.

"Yeah," I agree, understanding completely. "It was."

We stand there for a moment, her naked in my arms, me still fully clothed but feeling more exposed than I ever have. The reality of what just happened—what we just did—starts to sink in, and I search her face for any sign of regret.

But all I see is wonder, and maybe a touch of the same disbelief I'm feeling. This thing between us, whatever it is, defies explanation or timeline. It just is, as undeniable as gravity.

"We should probably..." I gesture vaguely toward the guest room, not entirely sure what I'm suggesting.

Chloe nods, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Probably. Though I think you're a bit overdressed for the occasion."

The teasing note in her voice makes me laugh, easing some of the tension.

"That can be remedied," I assure her, before scooping her up into my arms.

Her surprised laugh as I carry her toward the bedroom is the sweetest sound I've ever heard. And as I lay her gently on the bed, I can't help but think that whatever led us here—fate, chance, or just an old building with faulty wiring—I'm grateful for it.

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