"We shouldn't," she whispered, her gaze dropping to the floorboards, afraid that looking at him would be a betrayal of self-control.
"No," he agreed immediately. His thumb twitched near his palm.
And yet neither moved. They lingered in that impossible, charged pause. Her chest throbbed, her nerves humming, and his gaze was tethered to her lips.
"We just met," she tried again, forcing rationality into her tone.
"Mm. Inappropriate," he murmured, nodding, yet the corner of his mouth twitched in a devilish grin. His eyes were alive, dark with amusement—and the magnetic pull between them tightened with every heartbeat.
Neither moved.
Logic crumbled to ash under the weight of the moment, and lust surged. One heartbeat. Two. Then—contact.
Their lips collided, a raw, desperate crash of mouths and heat that erased every rational thought. It was hunger—reckless, impatient, all teeth and trembling exhalations. Her fingers fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer, needing him closer.
Alex responded in kind, matching her urgency with his own. The kiss deepened, turned rougher, wetter, needier. He dragged his palm along her spine, fingertips grazing bare skin beneath the soaked fabric of her blouse. She didn't know when he'd undone her buttons, only that cool air kissed her chest a second before his mouth followed.
His shirt hit the kitchen floor with a soft thud. Somewhere in the haze of breath and friction, she registered the faint clink of his belt buckle, the scrape of her back against the counter's edge, the sound of her pulse hammering in her ears.
For one ridiculous, fleeting heartbeat, she thought—thank God for the red lingerie. The silk-and-lace set she'd worn on a whim. She almost laughed into his mouth at the absurdity of it. Normally, she'd wear something plain, grey, comfortable. But today—today the universe had dressed her as if it had known this collision was coming.
Alex's lips traced a path down her neck, over her collarbone, toward the tender curve where the hot coffee had burned her skin earlier. He paused there, his breath warm and shallow, and then—his tongue. Eva shuddered, her body arching instinctively toward the sensation, offering him more.
His touch was exploratory. Her fingers found his jaw, and her thumb brushed the corner of his mouth. His lips parted against her skin, and the sound he made vibrated through her bones.
"Still think this is inappropriate?" he murmured.
"I think we passed inappropriate about five minutes ago."
"Then I suppose we're in dangerous territory."
"Definitely," she whispered.
And then his mouth was on hers again, deeper this time, slower, as if he wanted to taste the truth she wasn't saying. Her hands slid into his hair, her nails grazing his scalp, drawing a quiet, strained groan from him.
And when Alex finally broke the kiss, his lips hovering a breath away from hers, both of them were trembling. His eyes were dark, stormy, and full of questions neither dared to ask.
"Eva," he whispered with a warning.
Her lips parted, trembling. "Don't stop."
She shouldn't be doing this. Every rational cell in her body screamed that truth at her, even as every nerve beneath her skin begged her to ignore it. She should stop—push him away. She was a woman with scars, with a past, with too much to lose. But reason had a way of evaporating when faced with a man who looked like him.
His hands were large, warm, tracing the curve of her ribs. His palms slid up her back, leaving trails of heat that made her arch closer, helplessly drawn. The low growl in his chest vibrated against her skin as his mouth moved from her jawline to the delicate slope of her throat.
Eva's fingers dug into his back, feeling the solid ripple of muscle beneath his shirt. Her breaths came in shallow bursts, shaky, disbelieving. She hadn't realized until now how long it had been since she'd been touched like this.
It's just a fuck, she told herself desperately.
Nothing to it. Just a body. Just relief.
But her body didn't believe her. Not when every brush of his thumb sent lightning through her veins. Not when his lips hovered just above her collarbone, his breath uneven as though he too was fighting the same impossible pull.
With one confident flick, her bra clasp came undone—a tiny click that sounded far too loud in the silence of the kitchen. The sudden exposure made her gasp. Her skin prickled beneath his touch. She felt bare, vulnerable, beautiful.
He paused for half a second, his gaze meeting hers. Her pupils were blown wide, her lips parted in invitation. That was all the answer he needed.
His mouth descended.
The first touch of his lips against her breast was devastating. Hot. Wet. Unapologetically greedy. His tongue traced lazy circles around her nipple before closing over it with a low, hungry sound that made her knees tremble. She clutched his shoulders for balance, her breath catching as pleasure rolled through her in dizzying waves.
"Alex…" she breathed.
But he didn't respond. Couldn't. His mouth was busy worshipping her. He switched to the other breast, his hand sliding down her waist, anchoring her to him.
Her body betrayed her. It moved with him—arching, trembling, demanding. Her mind was a haze of heat and sensation, of half-formed thoughts that melted into nothing every time his tongue flicked or his hand tightened.
He made a sound then, deep in his throat. It vibrated against her skin, and she realized with startling clarity that he wasn't unaffected. His breathing was just as ragged as hers; his hands trembled slightly where they gripped her waist.
And then, he pulled back—just enough to let her catch a trembling breath—before guiding her gently down until she was lying flat across the breakfast table. Her hair spilled over the edge, her legs dangling helplessly, shaking with anticipation.
"Wait… this is… oh—God," she gasped.
He slid her panties down. Then, he lifted her legs over his shoulders, holding her firmly, bending down with a slow, deliberate hunger that sent shivers racing through her spine. His mouth found her, and it was… transcendent.