Do I know what I’m doing? No.
Am I going to regret this? Probably, yeah.
Do I care? No, not even one bit. I probably left my guilty conscience back at the restaurant, but who cares? I won’t be around in the next twenty-four hours to question or regret my decisions.
It is so quiet in this elevator. I know both of us are probably questioning what the hell we think we are doing and whether it’s even the right thing to do. Worse, after we just had a fight about this whole situation. It feels hypocritical of us—me the most. One thing I know for sure right now is that the air around us is crackling with unspoken need.
The moment the doors slide open to his penthouse, his lips are on mine again, more demanding this time. His hands are everywhere—my coat, my hair, my waist—and I’m losing track
