The stairwell smelled like industrial cleaner and old smoke, the overhead light buzzing with that barely-there flicker that made everything feel temporary. Miles had his back against the metal railing on the third-floor landing, his dress pants shoved down to his knees, and Chelsy was taking exactly what she wanted-moving with that unhurried, deliberate rhythm that made him lose his goddamn mind.
"God, Chels," he breathed, fingers digging into her hips, trying to urge her faster, deeper. "You feel-you feel like mine."
She laughed, low and mean, rolling her hips just to watch him shudder. "Do I?"
"Be mine," he said, the words coming out ragged. "Totally mine. Just-say you'll be mine."
Chelsy stopped moving. Actually stopped, her thighs tensing where she straddled him, her expression sha
