Page 57 of The Pact
This time, she hesitates.
“No,” she whispers.
And … that’s all I need.
I move around her desk with measured steps.
I’m giving her the chance to stop me.
But she doesn’t.
She watches me, her breath more uneven with every step I take closer to her.
When I stop in front of her, she’s still sitting, holding on to her last thread of control.
“Presley,” I say, softer now.
“What?” she asks, jaw tight.
“You don’t ever have to pretend with me. You can tell me anything.”
“I’m not pretending,” she says unconvincingly.
“Yeah,” I murmur, “you are.”
I reach out slowly, giving her the chance to stop me. My hand cups her jaw, and her breath hitches.
And that’s all it takes for that last thread to snap.
She stands so fast my hand falls, and her chair rolls behind her.
I look down at her and see the way she’s looking at me. Like she wants a reason or maybe like she needs one.
Her lips part.
“You don’t have to pretend with me.” I cup her cheek again.
The silence between us is thick.
“You’re making this worse,” she whispers, leaning into my palm.
“Am I?” I ask.
“Yes,” she breathes.
“Then I can go.”
Her hands come up and grip the front of my shirt like she needs something to hold onto.
Now my control snaps, and I grab onto the waistband of her leggings, pulling her into me.
“Saint,” she whispers.
I drop my mouth to hers, and she opens for me like she’s been waiting all day for this. I wrap my hand around the back of her neck possessively and plunge my tongue in deeper.
She twirls her tongue with mine, and I feel her hands slide around my waist, holding my thin T-shirt like she wants to tear it off.
I kiss her with intent, just like the way everything always has been between us.
