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My breath catches.

“And that’s a crazy idea,” he adds, yet his eyes haven’t left my mouth.

“Crazy,” I agree, even though my body aches for his touch. Even though my fingers itch to grab onto his shirt and pull him closer.

For a second, I think he’s going to do it anyway. For a second, I think we’re about to cross a line we can’t uncross.

With a fractured exhale, he takes a step back, and the air feels cool in his absence.

Voice thick with restraint, he finally says, “Goodnight, Lena.”

The air rushes out of my lungs as disappointment slices through my chest. “Goodnight, Wes. See you Monday.”

He’s right, of course. Walking away now is smart.

Safe.

I rummage for my keys, turn on my heels, and unlock the door as he steps away.

“Fuck it.”

The growled words barely have time to reach my ears before his hand wraps around my wrist, yankingme back to him and spinning me into the warmth of his body. I suck in a breath just as his mouth crashes onto mine, fierce and possessive, so damn perfect that I can hardly breathe.

A startled cry slips from my lips, but he swallows it whole, his kiss deepening and desperate. He tastes of everything forbidden and all I’ve tried not to crave.

Without pausing for even a breath, we stumble into my apartment, where he shuts the door above my head and traps me against it.

God, the sensation of his body pressed hard and hot against mine sends sparks ricocheting through me.

He kisses me like he’s been starving for this, for me. Like he’s been holding back so long, he doesn’t know how to stop anymore.

I press closer, parting my lips under his, my body aching for more.

With a sound that sends heat pooling between my legs, he slides his tongue into my mouth, and my soul leaves my body.

This kiss is messy and wild.

It feels as if we’ve shattered some invisible boundary, and there’s no turning back now.

Possessive hands slide down my sides and grip my hips so tightly, I know there will be bruises tomorrow.

I don’t care. I welcome it.

A low rumble slips from deep in his chest when I arch into him, pressing my hips against his unmistakable hardness.

“Christ, Lena,” he groans. “Tell me you want this.”

“I want this,” I whisper breathlessly. “I want you.” A flicker of hesitation flashes in his eyes, but before he can second-guess himself, I fist his shirt and yank him back. “Shut up, Wes.”

I kiss him, claiming him, branding him, owning him right back.

His control snaps completely. He slides his hand beneath my dress, rough fingertips tracing slow, torturous paths over my trembling thighs. I shiver as his mouth trails searing kisses along my jaw, his breath hot and uneven against my skin.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs.

“Because you’re torturing me.”

The deep vibration of his laugh hits my skin just as his fingers dip under the fabric of my panties.