KISS'S POV
The city lights blurred past the car window as silence filled the space between us.
Adrian didn't speak.
Didn't look at me.
His hands were steady on the wheel, knuckles pale beneath the glow of passing streetlights. The air between us was thick—charged with everything we had refused to say since leaving the hotel.
When the car finally stopped in front of my apartment building, my heart was pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it.
"I'll walk you in," Adrian said quietly.
I turned to him. "You don't have to."
"I know."
But he got out anyway.
We stood there in front of my building, the night wrapped around us like a secret. The distance between us felt fragile—one breath away from breaking.
"Why?" I asked suddenly.
He stiffened.
"Why are you trying so hard to resist me?" My voice trembled despite my effort to stay calm. "You kiss me like you're starving, then act like I'm poison."
His jaw tightened.
"Because wanting you is dangerous," he said. "For you. For me."
I laughed softly, bitter. "Then why are you here?"
He stepped closer.
"So you don't walk inside alone," he said. "So I know you're safe."
"That's not the truth," I whispered.
His eyes darkened.
"Then don't lie to me," I said. "Not now."
Something in him broke.
In one swift movement, Adrian cupped my face and kissed me.
Hard.
Fierce.
There was no hesitation this time—no restraint. His lips moved against mine with raw urgency, like every second apart had carved hunger into his bones. I gasped, my hands gripping his coat as my back hit the door.
"Adrian—" I breathed.
He kissed me again, deeper, his body pressing close enough that I felt the tension in him, the restraint he was losing.
"Open the door," he murmured against my lips. "Now."
My fingers shook as I unlocked it.
The moment we crossed the threshold, the door shut behind us with a decisive click.
And that sound felt final.
He kissed me again—slower this time, devastatingly deliberate—as he backed me into the living room. His hands slid to my waist, firm, possessive, pulling me closer like he needed to feel me there to believe this was real.
"I tried," he said hoarsely between kisses. "God knows I tried."
I tilted my head, breathless. "So stop trying."
That was all it took.
Adrian's hands moved with intent now—removing his jacket, letting it fall forgotten to the floor. His fingers brushed my arms, my shoulders, lingering just long enough to make my skin burn where he touched.
Every movement was controlled… until it wasn't.
His mouth traced along my jaw, my neck, sending shivers down my spine. I felt myself unraveling, every thought dissolving under the weight of him.
"Tell me to stop," he murmured. "And I will."
I didn't.
Instead, I pulled him closer.
---
ADRIAN'S POV
I should have walked away.
I didn't.
The moment she pulled me toward her, whatever line I had left vanished.
Kiss stood there—eyes dark, lips parted, breath unsteady—and all I could think was how long I had denied myself this moment.
Her.
I kissed her again, slower, deeper, letting myself feel everything I had buried. My hands followed instinct—learning the curve of her waist, the way she fit against me like she belonged there.
She responded without hesitation, without fear.
That nearly destroyed me.
"Kiss," I breathed, resting my forehead against hers. "You have no idea what you're doing to me."
She smiled softly. "Then stop fighting it."
I slid my hands up, brushing back her hair, letting my thumbs trace her cheekbones. My touch was reverent now, like I was afraid she might disappear if I moved too fast.
I guided her toward the couch, never breaking eye contact.
Every breath, every inch between us felt electric.
When my fingers brushed the edge of her dress, I paused—waiting. Asking without words.
She nodded.
That permission undid me.
I kissed her again, slower, deeper, as the world outside her apartment faded into nothing. The city, the danger, the rivalry—none of it mattered.
Only her.
Only this moment.
I knew then that whatever came after—
There was no turning back.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
The couch was closer than either of us realized.
I felt it against the back of my knees before I could think, before I could decide if this was a mistake I should stop making. Adrian followed the movement instinctively, guiding me down with a gentleness that didn't match the storm burning in his eyes.
We sank into it together.
His hands framed my face again, thumbs brushing my cheeks as if he needed reassurance that I was still here—that I hadn't changed my mind. His kiss slowed, deepened, turned almost reverent, like he was memorizing the shape of my mouth.
I tangled my fingers in his hair.
The low sound he made against my lips sent heat straight through me.
"Look at me," he murmured.
I did.
The intensity in his gaze stole my breath. This wasn't the Adrian Goodwill who ruled boardrooms and bent men to his will. This was a man barely holding himself together.
"You're undoing everything I built to protect myself," he said quietly.
I swallowed. "Then stop holding back."
That was the last fragile thread.
His forehead rested against mine as he exhaled, long and slow, like surrender. His hands slid to my waist, thumbs tracing small, grounding circles, as though he was anchoring himself to this moment.
"I won't hurt you," he said. It sounded like a promise. Or a vow.
"I know," I whispered.
He kissed me again—softer now, unbearably intimate—before lifting me with careful strength, as if I weighed nothing at all. My arms wrapped around his shoulders instinctively, my heart racing as he carried me past the couch, past the living room lights.
The bedroom door stood open.
The room was dim, lit only by the glow of the city outside the window. He paused at the threshold, hesitating for just a second, like this step meant crossing into something irreversible.
"Tell me if you want me to stop," he said one last time.
I met his gaze. "Don't."
He carried me in.
The door closed behind us with a quiet, final click.
He set me down slowly, his hands lingering, his touch deliberate—unrushed. The tension between us shifted, deepened, became something heavier than desire alone.
Something dangerous.
Something intimate.
And as the city continued breathing outside, indifferent and unaware, the space between us disappeared completely.