Page 58 of Sexting the Boss
“You saved me,” I say, not softening it.
Her breath catches at that, and she blinks fast. “Don’t say it like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like it means something.”
I don’t answer immediately, partly because I’m still catching up to the moment and partly because lying feels like the wrong move. I reach up and brush my thumb under her eye, wiping away a tear she didn’t notice had escaped.
“It does mean something,” I say instead.
She goes very still, her pulse jumping under my fingers where my hand rests at her wrist. For a second, the noise of the street fades again, not from danger this time but from proximity.
“I was scared,” she admits, her voice barely above the city hum. “I thought I was going to watch you get hurt.”
“I know.”
She searches my face like she’s looking for permission to feel what she’s feeling, and something in her expression shifts, the panic giving way to something rawer and more vulnerable.
“Can I,” she starts, then stops. Swallows. “Can I kiss you?”
The question lands cleanly, no bravado, no assumption, just honest want threaded through fear. It hits me harder than anything else today.
“Yes,” I say.
She steps into me and kisses me like she needs the contact to breathe, her hands sliding up my chest, her mouth warm and a little unsteady against mine. I keep it slow, grounding, one hand at her back, the other steady at her hip, letting her set the pace until her body relaxes and the tremor eases out of her.
When we pull back, she rests her forehead against my shoulder, exhaling like she’s finally letting the moment end.
“I didn’t mean to break your space,” she says quietly.
“You didn’t,” I reply. “You chose.”
She nods and her breathing begins to slow. “I should?—”
“Don’t go,” I say before she can make up her mind that leaving me is the best option for her. The truth is, I need her here, close to me. “I want to show you something, if you’re up for it.”
A pause falls between us, and it’s so loud I can almosthearit. Then, she dips her head slightly. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
I realize I’m smiling too hard as I lead her to my car. I open the door for her, help her into the passenger seat, and keep her hand in mine for the first few seconds before I let go and start theengine. She doesn’t ask where we’re going. She just watches me with that look she gets when she’s trying not to feel too much.
I drive.
We climb out of the city—winding roads, thinning lights, the skyline shrinking behind us. I take the turnoff most people miss, the one that leads to the overlook I’ve only ever come to alone.
The car slows to a stop on the gravel shoulder and the view opens in front of us—wide, clean, glittering. The city below looks small from here, like it can’t touch us.
I kill the engine. The silence after is thick.
She doesn’t move at first. Then she shifts in her seat and looks at me.
“You okay?” she asks softly.
I don’t answer. I reach across the console, cup the side of her neck, and pull her in.
The kiss is a sharp pull, a release, her mouth parting under mine like we’ve been circling this moment since the second we met. Her hand fists in my shirt, nails biting through the fabric. I tug her closer, until she’s halfway over the console and I can feel her pressed up against me, soft in all the places I’ve already imagined claiming.
She gasps into my mouth when I slide my hand under her thigh, grip strong enough to anchor. Her hips shift instinctively, and I feel the jolt go through her.
