Page 51 of Controlled Burn
It was complicated.
Not because he hadn’t wanted her.
Because he had.
Desperately.
After two years of a cold bed. Of silence and polite avoidance and the lie of “we’re just busy.” Rachel hadn’t touched him in months, not since before Christmas. And even then, it hadn’t meant anything.
But Talia?
Talia had grabbed him and kissed him like she needed to feel alive. Moaned his name like it mattered. Come apart on his tongue like she’d been holding it in forever.
And it made him feel—
Alive.
Sick.
Human.
He scrubbed a hand down his face, gritty with sweat and soot.
He should’ve walked away. Let her shower alone. Done anything except slam her back against a cold dryer and bury himself inside her like a man possessed.
But she’d looked up at him with those smoke-ringed eyes and parted lips and said nothing—just opened for him like she already knew.
And he hadn’t stopped.
Didn’t want to.
Didn’t regret it.
That was the worst part.
He should feel shame—panic—terror about HR, about Rachel, about the crew sniffing something out.
But all he felt was this deep, clawing hunger for more.
More of her mouth.
More of her heat.
More of her.
And that made him dangerous.
Talia
The shower didn’t help.
She stood under the stream, forehead against tile, water scalding her back—but it couldn’t wash away the feel of him. Not the fire call. Not the mouth between her thighs. Not the way he looked at her like she was something he had to have.
Her body was still trembling, raw and aching and hollowed out.
She wasn’t sure if it was from the fire or the aftermath.
The dryer had been cold. Hard. Unforgiving.
