“Jesus, Alex.” He grinds his jaw. “You can’t say shit like that to me.”
I lift my gaze to his. My face is flushed from more than just drinking now, but I don’t care about keeping it together anymore. “Why not?”
“Because you’re driving me fucking crazy,” he growls, reaching to adjust the bulge in his jeans. A muscle ticks in his neck and I can tell he’s physically restraining himself from reaching for me.
I stare at him, wide-eyed, breathing hard. This is a side of him I haven’t seen—this charged-up, hulk of a man who looks like he’s about to wreck me. And, oh God, how I want him to.
I run my tongue out and over my bottom lip. “Come here.”
He doesn’t hesitate to close the distance between us. I’m backed up hard against my dresser now, and he places his arms on either side of me, caging me in. His dark eyes bore into mine but he doesn’t try to kiss me. Impatience burns hot between my thighs, melting away every single one of my vows to stay away from him, and I know I’ve lost the battle. Hell, I’ve lost the whole war.
“Michael,” I say hoarsely. “Kiss me. Now.”
His mouth lands on mine before I can even take a breath, but the relief is overwhelming. And it’s nothing like the kiss at Rockefeller, which was tentative and gentle. No; this time he takes charge, pushing his hands up into my hair, tilting my head back so my mouth opens for him. Then his tongue slides over mine in a dirty, wet kiss, and my hands fist in the front of his shirt. I moan right into his mouth and he sinks against me, molding the length of his body to mine. Lust blazes through me in hot, blinding waves when I feel how hard he is.
Holy fuck, I knew it. I knew as soon as I kissed him, I’d be done for. But I don’t even care anymore. All I want is his naked body on mine—at whatever cost.
I break the kiss, grabbing his hand and tugging him towards my bed. I want to taste his salty, musky taste, to feel the weight of him pin me down against the mattress.
But he follows my gaze and laughs. “Alex, we can’t. You don’t have any walls.”
Dammit to hell, this stupid bedroom nook with no walls. What was I thinking?
I look at him desperately. “Could we… do you think Henry is asleep yet?”
He groans, pressing me back against the dresser and lowering his mouth to drag it over my neck. “I really want to take you to bed right now, believe me.”
Oh, I do believe him. The proof is in the bulge digging into my belly, making me tremble with need.
“But, honestly—” He draws away from me with a little growl. “I just wanted a kiss.”
“I warned you,” I say, stabbing a finger at him.
“I know.” He gives me a rueful smile. “But, come on. I don’t want to fuck you on New Year’s Eve because we’re drunk. I want to do this right.”
I can’t even begin to imagine what doing this right looks like anymore. I just shake my head, pulling him back to me until his mouth is on mine again, until all I can taste is the pineapple and coconut on his tongue.
I hop up onto my dresser behind me, wrapping my legs around him. He responds by grinding his hips against me and kissing me hard, his tongue sweeping over mine in long, hungry strokes, and I lose it. I paw at him wildly, my fingers clawing down his shirt and scrabbling for his belt buckle.
“Oh God,” he says in a rough, shaky voice, as if he doesn’t quite trust himself to stay in control. His big hands wrap around mine. “We can’t. I want to, so badly, but I’m not going to do it like this.”
I’m about to start begging, when I hear Geoff’s voice.
“Alex? Are you in there?”
Michael draws back to look at me, and when I give one final, half-hearted tug on his buckle, he bites back a smile.
“Yeah,” I call to Geoff as disappointment settles over me. “I’ll be out in a second.” I sigh, dropping my hands from Michael’s belt.
He steps away and adjusts his pants, smoothing his hands over the shirt I nearly shredded in my fervor. He considers me for a second, then reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “You’re so beautiful, Alex.”
I close my eyes, letting those words float through the drunken haze into my brain, hoping I remember so I can replay them over and over again later. When I open my eyes, he’s still gazing at me.
“If you want to do this—us—then I want to do it the right way. And that’s not tonight.”
I nod, blowing out a long, resigned breath.
“Can we talk about this when we’re sober?”
“Yeah.” I hop down off the dresser, stumbling and steadying myself against him. I hiccup loudly and clap a hand over my mouth in horror, but it’s too late—he heard. We stare at each other then both dissolve into laughter.
“Shit.” I rub my forehead. “I’m really drunk.”
“I know,” he says, somehow both affectionately and teasingly. He hooks an arm around my shoulders and plants a kiss on my temple. “I’m going to get you some water, then I’ll go home. Okay?”
“Okay.” I sink down onto my bed against the pillows. My drunk buzz is quickly giving way to exhaustion.
Michael appears with a glass of water and watches while I drink it, then he lowers himself onto the bed beside me. He smooths a hand over my forehead, gazing at me tenderly, and something in my chest breaks.
“I like you so mush,” I say, hearing my words slur as I reach for his hand and lace my fingers through his. “I feel good around you,
