Page 51 of Obeying

"What does it tell you?"

"That it bothers you. Because you know I won."

"You didn't win. You cheated."

"You sound like you've been rehearsing this argument for a decade."

"Maybe I have." I lean forward. "Because I was better than you in that class and I will go to my grave saying it."

"Then you'll go to your grave wrong."

"You know what your problem is?" I say and stand up from my chair.

"Tell me." He stands too.

"You always have to be right." I take a step toward him.

"Because I am." He steps forward.

"It's insufferable." Another step. We're close now. Close enough that I have to tilt my chin up to look at him.

"Last time I checked," he says, and his voice is lower now, "you're just like me."

We're inches apart. I can feel the warmth coming off his body, and I can smell him, that clean, subtle scent I've been pretending I don't notice for weeks. Neither of us is backing down. His gaze drops to my mouth. Mine drops to his.

I don't know who moves first, but my hands are on his collar pulling him down, and his hands are on my waist pulling me closer. His kiss isn't gentle, it's desperate—hungry. My fingers slide into his hair, and his grip tightens on my waist. We're pressed together, and I can't think, I can't breathe, I don't want to do either.

He pulls back just enough to look at me. His eyes are dark, his breathing is uneven, and his glasses are crooked. He takes them off and drops them on the table without looking, then his mouth is on mine again.

His hand is on the side of my neck, and I'm gripping the front of his shirt with both fists. I'm kissing him like I've been wanting to do this for a lot longer than I'm willing to admit.

Because I have. And this time, I don't pull away.

This time, I don't want to.

16

KRISTEN

His hand is in my hair, and the mouth that argued with me earlier is now kissing me like there's no tomorrow.

The kiss changes. It goes from fierce to deep, and his mouth moves slower, becomes careful. I can feel him holding back, waiting for me to set the pace. My fingers pull at his hair, thick and wavy, as I deepen the kiss. I'm done being careful. I've been careful for too long.

He makes a sound against my mouth and it rumbles through me, then his hands slide down my waist, and he lifts me. Just like that. Like I weigh nothing. My legs wrap around his hips, my back against the wall. He's pressing into me, and I can feel every inch of him through our clothes. I'm dizzy with it.

"Bedroom," I say against his lips. It's more breath than word.

He moves.

We make it there in pieces. His shirt goes first because I'm pulling at it. My hands want skin, warmth, him. He sets me down long enough to get it over his head.

I see him. Really see him. Without his glasses, without the white coat, without any of the armor he wears at the hospital. He's lean and solid, a scar on the left side of his chest that makes me wonder how he got it. His eyes are focused on me, closer than they've ever been, and the way he's looking at me right now, like I'm the only thing that exists in this room, is enough to make me melt. He's always been handsome. I've always known that, even when I would not admit it. But up close, this close, with that look on his face, he's something else entirely.

His hands find the hem of my top. He pulls it over my head slowly, watching me the whole time, checking. I nod. He drops it on the floor. His mouth finds the curve of my neck, and I lose my train of thought.

The bed is cool when we fall onto it. His weight over me is warm and steady, and there's a moment where he stops. He holds himself above me, his forearms on either side of my head.

"You okay?" he asks, as his thumb traces along my jawline. Even now he wants to make sure I feel safe.