Page 83 of With the Assist

“I figured,” I say softly, “I’m already breaking all my rules, I might as well go all in.”

Then I kiss him again.

Harder this time. Hungrier. His hands finally come up, settling at my waist like he’s been fighting the instinct, and the way he exhales against my mouth feels like relief.

22

Nathan

The kiss hits me before I’m ready for it.

Her mouth is warm and sure against mine, and her hand is fisted in my shirt like she’s anchoring herself. For half a second, my brain blanks entirely. All I can register is the softness of her lips and the way the counter is digging into my back.

Then everything comes rushing in at once.

Wesley. Here. Kissing me.

Shock flares first, sharp and disorienting, followed immediately by want so intense it makes my entire body thrum. I stay still for a heartbeat longer, every instinct screaming to slow down so that I don’t fuck this up.

She pulls back to breathe, her lips still brushing mine, but I lean forward, my lips searching for hers instinctively.

This is a bad idea. I don’t date. She doesn’t date. She’s made that painfully clear. She’s disciplined and focused and allergic to anything messy, and I’m very much a complication.

If I hesitate, even for a second, she might decide this was a mistake and walk out the same way she walked in, leaving me standing here replaying it.

I’m a selfish bastard because I’m not willing to risk it.

I kiss her back, slow at first, like I’m asking instead of taking, and the sound she makes when she melts into me wrecks whatever restraint I have left. My hands come up, sliding to her waist, feeling the curve of her, grounding myself in the fact that she’s here and kissing me for real.

There is nothing on this planet that feels better than Wesley’s lips. I’d bet my contract on it. At this moment, I’d bet everything on it. Hell, that might be exactly what I’m doing by allowing this to happen. Because when we both have a moment to remember ourselves and our responsibilities, this will only complicate everything, putting it all at risk.

I can’t bring myself to care.

I spin her without thinking, turning us so she’s the one against the counter now, her breath hitching when she realizes what I’m doing. I crowd into her space, trailing my lips along her jaw before I find her mouth again. The way she tilts her head back for me feels like permission I’m not going to waste.

Her hands tighten in my shirt as I lift her, setting her on the counter. Her legs fall open instinctively, my body settling between them, and for one dizzying moment, I forget everything outside of her body against mine.

Something clatters over the counter.

We both freeze.

Then she laughs breathlessly, forehead dropping to my shoulder. I start laughing too, the sound ripped out of me by pure disbelief.

“That was my water glass,” she says.

“RIP,” I reply, still grinning like an idiot.

The laughter fades, the space between us charging all over again, quieter now but no less intense. My hands are still on her hips. Hers are still in my shirt. Neither of us moves away.

I swallow.

“So,” I say, voice rougher than I want it to be. “What does this mean?”

She looks at me, calculating her next words before she says them. Not regret. Just control reasserting itself.

“I don’t date,” she says again, gentler this time but no less firm.

I nod. “So you’ve said.”