“When I visited my parents’ house a month ago, you and I were already talking. I had this vision of kissing the woman on the other side of the phone. I had this grand plan if I ever had the chance to bring you here. I pictured sneaking you away, using a terrible line that had you laughing hysterically, pitying me and my pathetic jokes, and kissing you because I wanted to, not because we were forced to. Even after I found out it was you, I still had that thought.”

“Really?”

“Really, Emma.”

She stares at me for a moment. Neither one of us blinks, holding steady, deliberate eye contact. There’s a heat building. A current. My blood runs hot through my veins. The air around us thickens, tension and lust stifling us in their grips. Something sparks at the base of my spine, almost catching fire.

My mouth hovers a hair’s breadth above hers. “Tell me you want it,” I say lowly, voice taking on the authoritative tone I save for courtrooms and client meetings. It’s not nice. It’s not pleasant. It’s demanding. Coaxing. “Tell me you’ve thought about it, Emma. What it would be like, the two of us. No audience. Nothing pretend or fake. You told me to fuck the rules. Did you mean it?”

She inhales, and it’s sharp enough to cut glass. I also see the moment she gives in. “Y-yes. Yes, I meant fuck the rules. Yes, I’ve thought about it. Kiss me again, Henry. I need it. Please.”

The please is my undoing, annihilating the last remaining shred of my self-control. I want to attack. I want to bombard her. I want her so fucking bad.

This time when I kiss her, it’s not cute. It’s not flirty. It’s more intimate. Sensual. My tongue swipes across her lips and they part, granting me access to her mouth. Her hand falls to my thigh, palm running up and down my slacks. I shudder, muscles flexing at the touch and the proximity of her hand moving further and further up my leg.

I bite her bottom lip, reveling in the startled gasp I receive. Taking the sound as acceptance, I pull her into my lap. Her legs fall to either side of my hips, and I groan at the feel of her nearly seated on my cock.

My hand threads through her hair and I tug it back, exposing her neck. My teeth drag up the length of her windpipe, and I press a soft kiss right below her ear. “I’m not going to touch you. Not yet.”

“Why not?” Emma whines. She shifts in my lap, and the change presses her against the head of my dick. Scraps of material separate us, and it would be so easy to pull her underwear to the side and bury myself inside her.

But not yet.