Undercover Desires

Losing Control

Krystal

I forced my feet to keep moving, each step measured, steady. Like I hadn’t just wrecked myself with that f*****g kiss. Like my hands weren’t still shaking, my lips weren’t still tingling, my chest wasn’t still tight with the weight of something I refused to name.

Fuck.

I needed to get a grip.

But the second I tried to shake it off, tried to shove the heat curling inside me down deep where it couldn’t touch me, a pair of strong arms wrapped around my waist, and before I could even suck in a breath, I was lifted clear off the ground.

A gasp tore from my throat, my hands flying to grab onto the only thing within reach—Ryland.

Instinct took over. My legs wrapped around his waist, my fingers fisting the fabric of his shirt as he turned me in his grip like I weighed nothing.

“Ryland—”

“Oh, no, firecracker.” His voice was a dark, amused growl against my ear. “You don’t get to just run away after that s**t you just pulled.”

My pulse slammed against my ribs, every nerve in my body burning at the press of him, the solid heat of him between my thighs, beneath my hands, all around me.

“Put me down,” I bit out, not trusting myself, not trusting this wildfire consuming me

He ignored me completely, stalking toward his car like a man on a f*****g mission. Before I could protest again, he opened the door, climbed in with me still wrapped around him, and settled into the driver’s seat, me still straddling his lap.

My breath hitched, every muscle in my body locking up. “Ryland, we shouldn’t—”

His lips crashed against mine before I could finish the sentence, stealing my breath, my thoughts, my f*****g sanity.

It wasn’t fair.

The way he kissed me. The way he felt.

It was like a cool breeze on a scorching summer afternoon, a drug stronger than anything I’d ever known. The whiskey still coating my tongue had nothing on the taste of Ryland f*****g Johansson.

He swallowed my moan, tilting his head, his fingers tangling in my hair as he deepened the kiss, his other hand gripping my waist like he needed me as much as I needed him.

He pulled back just enough to whisper against my lips, his breath warm, voice rough. “We should absolutely be doing this.”

I shuddered, my forehead pressed to his as I fought to breathe, fought to think past the haze he was wrapping around me.

“You have no f*****g clue,” he muttered, pressing a soft, teasing kiss to the corner of my mouth, then another against my jaw, “how bad you’ve had me hanging on a thin f*****g thread since the moment I laid eyes on you.”

I clenched my jaw, trying to ignore the way my body trembled, the way his words curled inside me, making me ache in places I wasn’t willing to acknowledge.

He kissed me again, slow this time, lazy, like he was savoring me. “I need to know,” he murmured between kisses. “Need to f*****g find out why I’m so goddamn drawn to you.”

Another kiss.

My heart pounded. My head spun.

“I know why.” His lips brushed mine again, sending another wave of heat straight through me. “Because this? This thing between us?” He smirked against my mouth. “It’s mutual as fuck.”

Something in me snapped.

I gripped his shirt, shoved him back against the seat, and pinned him in place with a glare I was barely holding together.

“Stop,” I ground out, my voice trembling, not with anger, but with something worse. Something bigger. “Ryland, I—f**k. We shouldn’t have done this. I shouldn’t have started it.”

He stilled, eyes locked onto mine, reading every single thing I was trying not to say.

Because the truth was—

I was already losing it.

And I had no f*****g clue how to stop.