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He muffles the sound somehow, but I feel it vibrate through his back—desperate, wanting. My stolen hoodie bunches over my wrist as I work his cock faster, matching the rhythm of my hips. He’s trembling now, all that practiced composure finally cracking, and this—

This might be better than strangling a nameless victim. This is watching him fall apart under my hands.

The thought makes my vision swim sideways.

There are footsteps in the hallway.

Voices getting closer.

I fuck him harder, using the noise they’re making to cover the wet slap of skin. Ira’s fingers claw at the back of my head, pulling my hair hard enough to sting, and I grin against his spine.

“You’re close,” I mutter, and it’s not a question. I can feel it in the way he’s tensing, the way he’s squeezing my dick in erratic bursts. “Don’t you fucking dare make a sound.”

The footsteps pause. Allison’s voice, maybe forty feet away: “—thought they were watching the movie, not making out.”

“Let them be gross,” Gavin calls back. “There’s a line for the stupid bathroom.”

Ira shudders and comes in my hand, silent as promised, but I feel it in the pulse of his cock and the sudden slackness of his shoulders, the way he forgets to breathe for three full seconds. I keep stroking him through it, milking him until he’s twitching and oversensitive.

Then I grind up into him as quietly as I can manage, pleasure ripping through me with enough force that I forget where we are, forget everything except the heat of him and the way he’s still trembling against my chest.

I stay inside him longer than I should, my forehead pressed between his shoulder blades, breathing in the sweat-sweet smell of sex and the dryer-sheet scent of my hoodie. My hand is still wrapped around him, sticky and warm, and I don’t want to let go.

I don’t want to let this specific moment end.

I really think I’m falling in love with him.

Chapter 14

Ira

I zip to the left, my sneakers pounding against linoleum, heart stuck in my throat. I can’t stop grinning, even though my cheeks hurt so bad it feels like they’re going to burst. Beckett’s footsteps are close behind—but he’s nowhere near as fast. He’s stronger. He’s bigger. But I’m a fucking cheetah. The bottom of his shoe squeaks against the floor loud enough to make me wince, and I duck at the very last second.

The ball explodes against the wall behind my head—piiiinnnngggg—and my giggle breaks free before I can stop it.

“Excuse me.”

I clamp my hands over my mouth and look up, quickly rearranging my face into neutral innocence when the bright red shirt rounds the corner. She glares down at me. Her hands are on her hips, and the giant “Manager” tag dangling from her neck looks super-duper important.

… Whoopsie.

“I’m going to have to ask you two to leave,” she says, glancing over her shoulder to include Beckett in the scolding. “Go outside and play tag, or whatever the hell you’re doing. You’re making my employees uncomfortable.”

Beckett’s breathing hard, staring at me as if I’m somehow to blame.

Okay.

Well.

Maybe it’s like, sixty percent my fault.

He pushes his hair out of his face and flips the baseball cap backwards. Then, he slowly lets the other bright green ball drop from his hand—it bounces sadly for a second before rolling under the shelf into the Hunting and Fishing aisle.

“Sorry, ma’am,” he mumbles. “We’re going, I promise.”

He glares at me. “We’re very sorry, right?”

But I don’t want to go, and I sure as hell don’t want to apologize when she’s acting mean for no reason. We didn’t run into anyone. We didn’t rip apart aisles. We put all the balls back. Nothing’s broken.