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H oly. Fuck.

I am married.

To Sammy Ramirez.

I should be panicking. Right?

Or questioning my sanity.

Or doing literally anything other than standing here, staring at him like he’s some kind of dark fantasy come to life, my heart beating itself into oblivion.

But nope.

All I can think as the elevator moves is— he’s going to kiss me again.

And when he does?

I’m screwed.

But with any luck?

I actually will be. Screwed, that is.

Any minute now.

Though preferably in a private room and not the elevator. Not that I’d say no.

I swallow hard, my pulse a riot, my body torn between screaming in terror and launching myself at him like a lunatic.

Because I’m not stupid enough to think this means he loves me or anything.

This isn’t about forever.

This is about sex.

Keep repeating that, Aella.

I have to.

Because that’s the problem. I think I already love him. And I’m not sure I’ll survive it if he walks away.

Which he will.

Eventually.

Still—better to have loved and lost than not to have loved at all.

Didn’t someone smart and important say that?

Well, fuck them.

Sammy takes a step closer, and my brain goes white-hot blank. The heat in his hazel eyes is searing, his jaw tight, his body nothing but tension and intent.

Oh God. Sweet Jesus.

He’s kissing me again and my entire body is lit up like a neon sign.

I am so fucking screwed.