This kiss is different from the ones in his office.
Those were desperate. Frantic. Born from weeks of denied attraction finally snapping.
This one is... deliberate. Certain.
He cups my face in both hands, tilts my head up, and kisses me like he has all the time in the world. Like he's trying to memorize the taste of me. His tongue slides against mine, slow and thorough, and I melt into him.
His body is solid against mine. I can feel every inch of him—the hard planes of his chest, the strength in his arms, the way his heart is racing just as fast as mine.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard.
"Bedroom," he says, voice rough.
I nod.
He takes my hand—such a simple gesture, but it makes my chest ache—and leads me down the hallway.
His bedroom is just as organized as
