Page 6 of Babies for the Big Shot

I claw at his ruined shirt, fingers grazing bare skin, hard muscle, heat. His hands are under my dress, palms sliding up my thighs, finding the edge of my underwear with a sound that’s almost reverent.

“Tell me to stop,” he mutters against my mouth, voice hoarse.

“Not a chance.”

He groans, something inside him snapping loose, and then I’m lifted, pinned higher against the mirror. My dress rides up,gathering at my hips, my legs lock around his waist, and the room tilts with the rush in my head.

Not from fear.

Fromwant.

From the way every inch of my skin is too tight, too hot, too alive.

His mouth is everywhere, jaw, throat, collarbone, like he needs to taste me just to stay grounded. One of his hands fists in my hair, tilting my head back, and I let him. Iwanthim to.

This is insane. I don’t do this. I don’t press myself against mysterious elevator strangers who smell of sin and stare as if they’re burning me into memory.

But I am.

And God, it’s so damn good to stop. To shut off the noise, the constant grind of second-guessing, the twitchy, panicked need to stay three steps ahead in a game I was never meant to win.

Right now? I’m not broke. I’m not stressed. I’m not a girl two weeks from eviction and one sad breakup away from becoming a podcast cautionary tale.

Right now, I’m just wanting.

Craving.

Burning.

His hand skims up my thigh, under my dress, knuckles brushing against the damp lace between my legs.

“Damn,” he rasps. “You’re soaked for me already.”

Heat explodes in my belly. I clutch at his shoulders, digging my nails into muscle, panting against his mouth.

“This is so stupid,” I gasp, even as my hips grind against him.

“Yeah,” he breathes, lips tracing the shell of my ear. “So stop me.”

But I can’t. I won’t.

I want tofeeleverything.

I want to let go.

His belt clinks open. My heart hammers, wild and frantic, a caged thing crashing against bone.

“Condom,” I gasp.

His hand fumbles into his wallet, fast, practiced, and oh my god that should be a red flag but I don’t care.

The tear of foil.

His mouth finds mine again.

And then,oh god, he’s inside me in one slow, thick, unrelenting push, and I gasp so loudly I might’ve scared a bird off a ledge two floors up.

My head hits the mirror behind me. My back arches. His hand on my ass pulls me closer, deeper.