Page 38 of Theta

"I've been at war with myself over you for fucking so goddamn long, Story," I whisper, unable to tear my eyes away from the plump pinkness of her lips. "Now that I know you want me too, how am I supposed to resist you?"

"Want?" she breathes. "That’s not even almost the right word."

"What is?" I ask, daring to let my hands wander down her back to the sliver of skin between scrub top and bottom.

She slips a hand under my borrowed T-shirt, rests it on my bare stomach; the other flutters under my chin, and then her fingertips settle on my lower lip, just the index and middle ones, tracing and rubbing over my lip as if she's trying to read the pattern of the skin like Braille.

"Crave?" she murmurs, her eyes watching her fingers on my lip. "That's a good place to start."

My heart thuds in my chest, pounding against the bars of my ribcage; "crave" really is the best word for what I'm feeling. I crave her. More of her. All of her.

Skin, breath, curves, touch.

I just need her.

But how could I possibly stop, if I started?

Story answers the question for me.

Her eyes flit and dart, searching my face, lingering again on my lips, and then she surges forward on me, and her mouth finds mine.

Her lips are hot and wet and eager, and a moan escapes me unbidden as I return the kiss. At the sound of my moan, Story's tongue stabs into my mouth and she exhales and then her lips press into mine all the harder and her hand under my shirt claws into me, fingernails digging into my skin.

I can't stop myself, then. With a soft growl, I slip my hands up under her shirt and scour her bare back and shoulders, my stomach tumbling as I pass over the wide strap of her sports bra. I send my hands downward to the small of her back, hesitating at the waist of her scrub bottoms. And then I wedge my fingertips under the waistband, which is cinched tight by the drawstrings. Not so tight that I couldn't get my hand underneath, however. If I dared.

And god, do I want to. Need to.

As I hesitate, Story pulls away from the kiss just a few inches, toys with the hair at my temples. "Killy?"

"Mmm?"

"Yes."

I nuzzle her mouth with mine. "Yes, what?"

She pushes her butt upward. "Yes." Her mouth crashes against mine in a brief, hard kiss. "Please. Touch me."

"Thank fuck," I growl, and slip my hand under the cinched waistband, find smooth cotton over firm flesh.

Story's fingers trace my lower lip again, and then she brushes her lips on mine, flicks her tongue against my lips. "Almost."

I plunge my hand under the elastic of her underwear and find skin, fill my palm with her ass, groaning in delight. "Mmmm—there we are."

She whimpers softly, rests her forehead on my chest, nodding her agreement with my sentiment. "Finally," she breathes.

But it's not enough.

"Untie them," I say. "Please."

She smirks up at me, eyes glittering with equal parts humor and arousal and defiance. "No."

"You want to," I say. "I can tell. I can read it on your face plain as day."

"Mmm, well, if you want to be pedantic about it, Killian, then I want them untied. I just don't feel like doing it myself."

"Ah, I see." I slip my hand out from her pants, rotate around and sit up with her on my lap. "In that case…"

I surge to my feet, pivot, stalk across the tiny living room with her ass in both hands—and my good god, what an ass it is. I need it bare, now. All of her, as fast as possible.