Page 99 of Tessa and Nash

It’s furious and reckless.

A collision. Teeth and breath and anger turning hotter because we don’t know what else to do with it.

Tessa kisses same as she argues. Thorough, relentless, as if she can win something by force.

I kiss her back with all of me.

Her fingers twist in my coat, pulling me closer, and I make a sound I don’t recognize because it’s half relief, half heartbreak.

Because kissing her in a room that holds the truth about our families feels wrong.

And somehow inevitable.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Tessa

January 15th

What am I doing?

Why does this keep happening?

I freeze, just absorbing the heat of it, but then everything clicks.

Every part of me leans into it, into him, no matter the consequences.

I kiss him again, my hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the calming rhythm of his heartbeat beneath his jacket. The world tilts, spins, and I forget about everything… everything except this.

He pulls away just long enough to look at me, his breath ragged, eyes dark with a fierceness.

“Tessa...” he murmurs, trying to control himself but can’t.

His lips are barely an inch from mine, his words sending a shiver straight through me.

I stumble back, and the edge of the desk catches the backs of my thighs.

Paper explodes everywhere.

A stack of documents skitters to the floor like startled birds. A folder slides off the corner and lands with a soft slap. Something metallic, a pen, maybe, clatters once and rolls out of sight.

My heart hammers against my ribs as I twist my fingers into the cotton of his shirt, the warmth of his chest radiating through the fabric. His breath catches as his hands find the straps of my top, his fingertips leaving goosebumps in their wake as he slips it down.

He gasps as he looks at me, his eyes darkening to the color of wet slate. The heat of his gaze traces every curve beneath my champagne colored lace bra, making my skin prickle. His breath catches. His pupils dilate until only a thin ring of gray remains.

He doesn't blink as his gaze follows the edge of lace across my skin. The cold at Juniper House raises goosebumps along my arms, or maybe it's the way he's looking at me.

I bite my lower lip, reach behind my back to unhook the clasps.

The tension in the bra strap releases and drops.

Then he eliminates the space between us in a heartbeat, his body pressing against mine. His mouth finds my nipple, drawing it in, and a moan escapes my lips.

He drops to his knees, with his eyes still firmly fixed on me. His fingers hook the waistband at my hips, and he draws my leggings down with a slowness that almost undoes me. Every centimeter scraped from my skin finds a pulse, a nerve, an electric line straight to my center.

I’m blushing so hot, my whole body might combust, but I don’t try to cover myself. I want him to look, to see. I want someone to finally see me, all of me, and not flinch away.

He cups the backs of my knees and, with a gentle but insistent tug, pulls me a little closer to the edge of the desk. I sit, half on and half off, breathless, legs dangling, heart ready to snap apart. He trails his palms up my thighs, follows with a shiver of lips, then a bite, featherlight, as if testing if I can actually feel anything at all.