Page 14

It wasn’t a gentle kiss, not like the chaste, performative pecks we’d shared for cameras.

This was desperate, searching, a raw collision of pent-up desire and a hunger that had been simmering between us.

It was breathless and urgent, a mutual claiming.

His lips were firm, demanding, yet there was a tremor of vulnerability in the way he tasted me, as if he couldn’t quite believe this was real, that I was real, and yielding.

My own lips parted, inviting him in, and his tongue met mine in an exploratory dance that spoke of unspoken longing.

His hands began to roam, eager and a little unsteady at first, tracing the curve of my back, then bolder, one hand sliding down to cup my ass, pressing me more firmly against the rapidly hardening ridge of his erection.

A gasp, small and broken, escaped me and was swallowed by his mouth.

That tiny sound seemed to fuel his fervor.

He deepened the kiss, his arm tightening around my waist, pulling me so close I felt molded to him.

We stumbled, a tangle of limbs and desperate kisses, towards the living area.

I vaguely registered the cool marble under my heels, then the plush rug as we moved further into the vast space.

He guided me, his mouth never leaving mine, until the backs of my knees hit something soft – the edge of his enormous, luxurious couch.

We sank onto it, the change in elevation only intensifying our embrace.

Somehow, I ended up straddling his lap, my dress riding high up my thighs, the friction of our clothed bodies sending shivers of sensation through me.

The make-out session became a heated, almost frantic exploration.

His mouth left mine to blaze a trail down my jaw, nipping and tasting, to the sensitive skin of my neck.

I arched back, my head falling, granting him greater access, a silent invitation.

He groaned, a low, guttural sound of pure appreciation, as he nuzzled the pulse point at the base of my throat, his breath hot against my skin.

“I’ve wanted… God, Riley, I’ve wanted this,” he rasped, his lips moving against my neck.

“Me too,” I managed to breathe, the admission startling me with its honesty.

The need to feel skin against skin became an unbearable torment.

He fumbled with the zipper of my dress, his fingers surprisingly deft despite their trembling.

The soft rasp of the zipper was deafening in the otherwise quiet room, a sound that seemed to strip away the last vestiges of our pretense.

He peeled the fabric away from my shoulders, his gaze hot and possessive as it drank in the sight of my skin, the delicate lace of my bra.

I felt a blush creep up my neck, but there was a thrilling sort of power in his gaze too.

Emboldened by his raw desire and my own burgeoning, reckless courage, I reached for the lapels of his blue suit.

I worked it off his broad shoulders, feeling his muscles in the process before I let it drop to the floor.

Then my fingers went to the buttons of his crisp white shirt, fumbling slightly, my knuckles brushing against the warm, solid expanse of his chest. Each touch, each newly bared inch of skin, seemed to erase another line of our carefully constructed, contractual world, fueling our mutual, undeniable hunger.

He groaned softly when my fingers finally freed his chest from its confines. “You have no idea,” he muttered, his eyes dark and intense.

The kissing resumed, a wild, varying cadence – tender nips and soft, adoring caresses interspersed with ravenous, open-mouthed kisses that left us both breathless and wanting more.

His mouth found the swell of my breast above my bra, and he laved the skin there, his tongue sending shivers through me, a silent, intoxicating promise of what was to come.

I shivered, my fingers tangling in his thick, dark hair, urging him closer, wanting more of whatever this was, this delicious, terrifying feeling.

He unhooked my bra with a practiced ease that made my breath hitch, and then his mouth was on my bare breast. The sensation was electric – warm and wet, his tongue teasing my nipple into a tight, aching peak.

A choked moan escaped my lips, a sound I barely recognized as my own.

This was so far beyond anything our contract stipulated, so far beyond the careful lines we’d drawn.

And right then, I didn’t care. I only wanted more.

I retaliated, my own mouth seeking out his skin.

I pressed kisses to his strong collarbone, tasting the faint, salty tang of his heated flesh, then lower, to the hard planes of his chest. My lips found one of his nipples, and I flicked my tongue over it, then nipped gently.

He groaned, a deep sound that vibrated through me, his hips bucking slightly beneath me.

“Oh, Riley,” he gasped, his hands tightening on my waist.

This was no performance. This was raw, unadulterated need.

We were just two people, lost in a storm of sensation and emotion that had been brewing for far too long.

The exploration of each other’s bodies was a delicious, consuming prelude.

Each touch, each kiss, each gasp, was a step further away from the roles we played and closer to something terrifyingly, exhilaratingly real.

After, Caleb turned to me, his expression unreadable. "Riley, I—"

Whatever he was about to say was lost as I leaned in and kissed him.

For one terrifying second, he froze, as if he was regretting everything. Then his arms were around me, pulling me closer as he returned the kiss with an intensity that made my knees weak.

When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing hard. Caleb's hands cradled my face, his eyes searching mine.

"That wasn't in the contract," he said softly.

"Consider it a captaincy bonus," I whispered back, trying to make light of what had just happened.

He smiled, but there was uncertainty behind it. "A one-time thing?"

I should have said yes. That would have been the smart answer, the safe answer. Instead, I said, "I don't know. Maybe we should try again to be sure."

His answering smile was all the warning I got before his lips found mine again, and all thoughts of contracts and arrangements disappeared entirely.