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And his hard kiss against my mouth is all the response I need.
Chapter twenty-three
Julieta
When we walk intothe elevator, we’re met with a frustrating turn of events. A loud group celebrating Bailey’s Birthday Bash—according to the glittery pink sash worn by the birthday girl—crash into the elevator, separating Logan and me. We stand on opposite ends, watching each other over the rambunctious group. His smirk remains on me and the heat between us must be off the charts by now.
Once the doors open, we stumble out, walking briskly to my apartment door, unclear where this is even going. At least for me. His hand reaches for mine, and it feels completely natural. We reach my door at record speed, but he just presses me against it, stopping me in my tracks, stopping me from reaching for my keys.
His mouth hovers above mine and I want to just melt into it, this feeling something lush like velvet.
“Want to come in?” I ask, against his lips. “You should, um … dry your clothes.”
His answering laugh might be a little pained. It must be close to two o’clock at this point, way past my bedtime, but I amabsolutely wired. In response, he presses his mouth to mine, soft and sweet. But it quickly takes a turn into something deep and dirty, quiet groans, and his tongue meeting mine like he’s ravenous. I know the feeling.
“I just want to take my time with you, Julie,” he grits out between kisses, almost frustrated by his own logic.
“That’s good. That’s okay,” I pant out. “Time is good.” Maybe if I repeat it enough, I’ll believe it myself. Even though all I want right now is to drag this man through my door and rip his shirt off.
“Nothing left to be desired,” he mumbles against my neck he’s sprinkling with kisses. “You deserve all my time.”
Oh God, my drunken words have come back to haunt me.
“Shhh,” I mumble, shaking my head.
He kisses me once more, sighing deeply. “Let me see you this weekend.” His hips meet flush with mine, and I can’t help but push back, feeling just how much he wants me right now.
I’m not rushing to leave his arms, not clamoring to let go of the death grip on his dress shirt. “Okay,” I agree.
But neither of us stop. If anything, the kissing just intensifies, like everything is coming out. Like weeks of private tango classes have been the most intense foreplay.
He nips at my lip, then he moves down along my jaw, my neck, sprinkling me with the most perfect kisses. There’s a rumble in his throat as I bring him back to my mouth, kissing him again.
But maybe he’s right, keeping him here so late at night, so I pull away and grab my keys to unlock the door. His hands find my waist, continuing to kiss along my neck.
“I can’t wait to come back,” he mumbles against my ear. “Tell me I can come back.”
I open the door and turn to face him. He grips the doorframe like he might rip it off the hinges any minute.
“You can come back whenever you want,” I tell him, laying everything out on the table for the first time in a very long time. I will allow myself this perfect moment of joy.
But he just stares at me, holding eye contact, his eyes burning. I can feel the heat from here. I can feel the sizzle and spark that’s molding between us. Maybe he feels it, too, because suddenly he blurts out, “Fuck it. Just a little bit longer.”
I should be embarrassed by how I practically lunge at him, but he just catches me, mouth immediately meeting mine. This time I do drag him into my apartment, not parting for one second as he kicks the door closed behind him,
“Is this a good idea?” I ask, ever careful. Somehow the guilt is never too far away.
“This is agreatidea,” he replies. The way he says the words, with such sureness and clarity, strikes something within me, and I can’t help but agree. This feels too good, too delicious, too much likeeverythingto be wrong.
“God, this is a great idea,” I repeat. I can’t stop running my hands along his body, can’t stop kissing him.
His hands are everywhere, too—on me in places they haven’t touched yet. The boundaries placed by proper dancing and professionalism are being thrown out the window. It feels strikingly brand new, deliriously perfect.
“Tell me,” he pants out. “Tell me what you want.”
The answer comes out of me in a rush, no thought just feeling, “I want to be selfish.”
I don’t even know what I mean by it, almost ready to apologize for it, but he just kisses me harder and cradles my face as he says, “Be selfish. Be so selfish.”
