Page 84 of Claim

He tasted of coffee and restraint.

I kissed him harder, wanting it all.

Weeks of concrete and cameras. Of hands that weren’t his. Of nights where his name had been the only thing I hadn’t had to give up. Every unsent thought, every swallowed word, every hour spent imagining this exact moment went straight into my mouth. And he fisted his fingers in my T-shirt as I slid mine up his spine, dragging him closer and letting him groan against my lips.

Then he broke away to breathe, resting his forehead on mine. “I can’t…” He closed his eyes. “I really can’t.”

“Reckon you can.”

“I shouldn’t then. Really fucking shouldn’t.”

“That’s different.” I chased him, wanting him back, kissing along his jaw, down the vulnerable line of his throat, and pushed his long, absurdly soft coat aside so I could get closer. So I could feel him. I needed skin. His warmth. Something real under my hands.

And when his fingers slid up my back and he tipped his head, baring his neck without thinking, it told me everything. This wasn’t a decision he could make. It was instinct. Me and him. Always had been. Wired too deep to reason with. Too old to undo. There was no discipline in it. No strategy. It was gravity. And there was no point pretending either of us was strong enough to fight it anymore.

Christ.

He smelt of that familiar, maddening mix of aftershave and clean soap. Warm cotton. Sweat from a day he’d survived without me. Every single thing about him set my body on edge, and I shoved his coat off, letting it drop to the floor to crowd him.

“Wait…wait.” He pressed his palms to my chest. “Fuck. This is so unethical.”

I stilled.

He met my gaze. “I can’t do this if I’m your barrister.”

The words were serious. His mouth wasn’t.

“So what? You here to hand me paperwork?”

“No.” He shut his eyes, then opened them again. “Fuck.” He cupped my face, holding me as if afraid I’d vanish. “Fire me.”

I blinked. Then laughed. “What?”

“Fire me. Please. Don’t argue. Don’t question my ethics or why I need this one stupid technicality when everything else is already fucked. I just do. So please. Fire me.”

I stepped into him again, slow this time. Close enough for our breaths to tangle. So that he could feel exactly what he did to me. And I settled my lips by his ear.

“You’re fucking fired.” I gripped his arse, yanked him to me. “So fucking fired.”

He smiled. Amused.

Then he surged forward and kissed me. And it went all mouths and hands and heat after that.

“You were a shit barrister anyway,” I breathed into his mouth.

He pulled back to glare at me.

“Too far?” I tilted my head.

“Marginally, yes.”

I kissed him. “I’ll make it up to you.”

Then I was back on him. Stripping off his jacket, his tie, unbuttoning his shirt to get to his chest, skin to skin at last. He dragged my T-shirt over my head. Our bodies met properly for the first time, and the frenzy ebbed. Slower. Darker. Charged.

I dropped my forehead to his sternum, breathing him in.

The madness was over.