Page 162 of Knot Baked Out For This
I don't need to think about Luca's thorough education right now.
"What?" She leans forward slightly, hands braced on my chest, and the new angle is going to kill me. "Does my dominance turn you on? Didn't think you were a bottom?—"
I hook my hand around the back of her neck and pull her down, crushing her mouth to mine.
The kiss is nothing like the careful ones we've shared before. This is consuming, demanding, my tongue sliding against hers in a way that makes her moan into my mouth. She tastes like the sports drink she's been sipping and determination and something uniquely Hazel that makes me want to devour her.
Her hands fist in my shirt, either pushing me away or pulling me closer—neither of us can tell. I nip at her bottom lip, and she makes a sound that goes straight to my cock.
When we finally break apart, we're both panting harder than we were during training.
"You better get off me," I manage, voice rough. "Or we're not leaving these mats until you're naked and your slick is decorating them."
Her whole face goes crimson, but she doesn't move. Doesn't even shift back. Just stays there, straddling me, looking down with eyes gone dark with want.
Move, Hazel. Please move. My control is hanging by a thread here.
Instead, she leans in closer, close enough that I can feel her breath on my lips. Her tongue darts out, wetting her bottom lip slowly, deliberately, making sure I watch every second of it.
"And what if I don't want to move, Captain?" Her voice is barely a whisper, but it might as well be a shout for what it does to my self-control. "What if I'm comfortable right here?"
Jesus Christ.
My heart is hammering against my ribs like it's trying to escape. Every instinct is screaming at me to flip her over, to claim her right here on these mats where anyone could walk in. The risk of it, the publicness, the fact that she's looking at me like she wants to be devoured—it's all combining into a perfect storm of bad decisions.
"Hazel," I breathe, my hands tightening on her hips. "You don't know what you're asking for."
"Don't I?" She shifts deliberately, and we both feel exactly how affected I am. "Seems pretty clear to me."
"Anyone could walk in."
"It's past seven. Everyone's gone home."
"The security cameras?—"
"You showed me the blind spots during situational awareness training." She smiles, wicked and beautiful. "We're in one."
Of course we are. Of course she paid attention to that particular detail.
"This is a bad idea," I tell her, even as my hands slide up her sides, thumbs brushing the underside of her sports bra.
"Terrible idea," she agrees, arching into my touch.
"We should stop."
"Absolutely."
Neither of us moves.
The air between us is electric, charged with three hours of physical contact that was supposed to be professional but felt like foreplay. Every throw, every pin, every escape—building to this moment where she's above me, in control, looking like every fantasy I've ever had.
"I burned the roses this morning," she says suddenly, and the non sequitur should kill the mood but doesn't. "Screamed at the sunrise about everything they did to me. Luca helped. Watched my past turn to ash."
"Good," I manage. "You needed that."
"I needed a lot of things." Her hands slide up my chest, feeling the muscles that training and firefighting have built. "Needed to know I could fight. Needed to know I could be strong. Need to know I can take what I want without apologizing."
"What do you want?"
