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I freeze; certain I've misheard. "What?"

"You heard me." She moves closer, eliminating the space between us on the bed. "Kiss me."

"Are you sure?" I search her face for any sign of doubt. "After everything I've told you…"

"I'm sure," she interrupts. "I'm angry and confused and terrified about what's coming. But right now, at this moment, I want you to kiss me."

I don't need to be told a third time. I cup her face with my free hand, my thumb brushing away the remnants of tears on her cheek. She leans into my touch, her eyes fluttering closed.

I close the distance between us slowly, giving her every chance to change her mind. When my lips finally meet hers, she sighs against my mouth, a sound of surrender that ignites something primal inside me.

The kiss is gentle at first, like a question asked and answered. Then her hands are in my hair, pulling me closer, and all gentleness evaporates. I wrap my arm around her waist, dragging her against me as the kiss deepens.

She tastes like coffee and salt from her tears, and something uniquely Dahlia that I've been craving since that first kiss in my office. I can't get enough.

Her hands roam down my chest, tugging at my shirt. I groan against her mouth as she shifts, swinging one leg over to straddle my lap. The weight of her, the heat of her through our clothes, makes my head spin.

"Dahlia," I gasp as she rocks against me, creating delicious friction where I'm already hard for her.

She makes a small sound in the back of her throat, something between a whimper and a moan that nearly undoes me. Her fingers work at my shirt buttons, clumsy with urgency.

"Wait," I manage to say, pulling back slightly. "Stop."

She freezes, her hands still on my chest. "What's wrong? Don't you want me?"

"Fuck… You have no idea how much I want you. How much self-control I'm exercising right now."

"Then why stop?" She shifts on my lap, and I must bite my lip to keep from groaning.

"Because you just found out I helped create a deadly virus," I remind her, my hands resting on her hips to keep her still. "Because an hour ago, you called me a monster."

"I was angry," she says, with her fingers tracing patterns on my chest through my partially unbuttoned shirt.

"You had every right to be," I catch her hands in mine. "I don't want you to do something you'll regret when your head clears."

She leans forward until her forehead rests against mine. "My head is perfectly clear, Evan. I want this. I want you."

"Dahlia…"

"Shut up," she whispers, her lips brushing mine. "Just shut up and kiss me again."

"Goddamn it," I mutter, and then I'm kissing her, deep and hungry, my hands sliding up her back to tangle in her hair.

She moans into my mouth, rocking against me with more purpose now. I'm painfully hard, straining against my pants, and each movement of her hips sends sparks of pleasure shooting through me.

Her hands return to my shirt, finishing what she started, pushing it off my shoulders. I shrug out of it, never breaking the kiss. Her palms are hot against my bare skin, exploring my chest, my shoulders, my back.

"You feel so good," she murmurs against my lips.

I slip my hands under her shirt, feeling the smooth skin of her waist, her ribs. "So do you."

She pulls back suddenly, and I worry she's changed her mind. But instead of moving away, she slides down my body until she's kneeling between my legs.

"Dahlia," I breathe, watching as she reaches for my belt.

She looks up at me through her lashes, her fingers working the leather strap. "Let me taste you."

My cock jumps at her words. "You don't have to—"