Page 7 of Relentless Touch

“Very Zen.” Kevin turned, taking in the office. Rio glanced around, seeing his office through his mate’s eyes. The large desk with dark wood. A leather couch against the far wall. There was an absence of personal items, except for a single photograph on the bookshelf. Rio’s sister at her college graduation.

“Minimalist. I dig it.”

Rio closed the door. The click of the latch sounded louder than it should have.

Kevin’s attention snapped to him, and there it was—that awareness again, sharper now in the smaller space. “So…”

“So.”

“This is happening, right?” Kevin moved away from the windows, stopping just out of reach. “This whole thing where we’re pretending you’re letting me crash here out of the goodness of your heart and not because your snow leopard is probably doing backflips right now?”

A part of Rio unclenched. “You feel it too.”

“Feel it?” Kevin laughed, but there was an edge to it. “My impala started composing sonnets the second you crouched down in that kitchen. Which is embarrassing, frankly. I don’t even like poetry.”

Something loosened in Rio’s chest. He’d been holding that tension without realizing it, the possibility that this pull was one-sided, that his snow leopard had made a mistake.

“For the record,” Kevin continued, “I’m not usually this easy. I have standards. A whole list, actually.”

“What’s on the list?”

“Oh, you know. The basics.” Kevin counted on his fingers. “Must have a job. Must not live with their mother. Must not hit me in parking lots. Must not hide bodies in their freezer.”

“The bar seems low.”

“And yet so many fail to clear it.” Kevin’s expression shifted, humor sliding into something else. “But here’s the thing, Rio Vasquez, with your telenovela name and your weirdly calm energy about finding an impala in your kitchen…”

Rio waited.

“You’re really fucking hot, and I’ve had a terrible night, and if you don’t kiss me in the next thirty seconds, I’m going to do something drastic.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Reorganize your bookshelf. Mix up your filing system.” Kevin took a step closer. “Terrible things.”

Rio closed the distance between them in two strides. Kevin’s back hit the wall beside the window, and Rio’s hands came up to frame his face.

“This what you had in mind?” Rio asked, mouth close enough that Kevin’s breath ghosted across his lips.

“Getting warmer,” Kevin said, and then Rio kissed him.

Kevin’s mouth opened immediately, hands coming up to grip Rio’s shoulders. His mate tasted like garlic and bread and something bright that made Rio press closer and cage him against the wall with his body. Kevin made a sound low in his throat, not quite a moan but heading in that direction, and Rio’s control slipped another notch.

“Office makes more sense now,” Kevin gasped when Rio moved to his neck, finding the spot where his pulse hammered against thin skin. “Very convenient.”

Rio bit down gently, just enough pressure to make Kevin’s hips jerk forward. “You talk a lot.”

“It’s a coping mechanism.” Kevin’s hands found the hem of Rio’s shirt, tugged it up. “Among other things.”

Rio pulled back long enough to strip the shirt off, tossing it somewhere behind them. Kevin’s hands immediately explored the exposed skin, fingers tracing the lines of muscle with an appreciation that was both tactical and aesthetic.

“Snow leopard,” Kevin murmured. “Should have known. The whole silent-predator thing.”

“Still talking.”

“Make me stop.”

Rio kissed him again, harder this time, swallowing whatever comeback Kevin had been forming. His hands found Kevin’s hips, thumbs pressing into the hollows above the waistband of the sweatpants. Kevin arched into the touch, shameless and wanting.