Page 109 of The Rival's Obsession
Fuck, he kisses me back.
It’s the kind of kiss that rewrites timelines.
That makes a man believe in every god he’s ever cursed.
His mouth is molten, desperate, his hands threading into my hair like he’s drowning and I’m the only goddamn thing keeping him afloat.
I groan against him, walking him back until his shoulders hit the elevator wall.
He doesn’t resist.
Our hands are everywhere—gripping, clawing, tugging.
He fists the fabric of my shirt, and I swear he wants to tear it off me.
I press my thigh between his legs and he ruts against it like he can’t help himself.
It’s messy. It’s brutal. It’s everything.
I don’t want to stop.
I want the whole fucking building to know.
I want them to look at him and see he’s mine.
But just as the elevator starts to slow, just as the ding sounds?—
He pulls back.
Not gently.
He bites my lip—hard enough to make me taste blood—and shoves at my chest until I take the step back.
The doors open.
The lobby is empty as we stand there like we’ve just survived a fucking war.
Grant straightens his jacket. Won’t meet my eyes. His chest heaves, his jaw tight.
I lick the sting from my bottom lip. Taste copper.
“Come find me,” I say, voice low, raw, wrecked, “when you’re ready to stop hiding.”
And I walk without glancing back. Without another argument or plea for the truth.
Just the echo of the best fucking kiss of my life burning on my lips.
The knock at my door isn’t who I want it to be.
But I answer it anyway.
Eve stands there in a simple, fitted mini, strapless, holding a paper bag that smells like heaven and a bottle of red tucked under her arm.
“It’s not what you think,” she says before I can say anything. “I’m not here to sleep with you.”
“That’s a hell of a greeting.” I lean against the frame, still not moving. “You’re definitely here with ulterior motives, so what is it? An ambush? A bribe?”
She holds up the bag. “Fresh pasta. Real garlic. And a meatball the size of your ego.”
