Then something shifted. A small sound escaped me—half sigh, half moan—and that tiny surrender broke whatever restraint he'd been maintaining.
The kiss transformed from tentative to consuming instantly. His other hand slid around my waist, pulling me flush against him as his mouth claimed mine hungrily. The soft brush of lips became heat and need, his tongue tracing the seam of my lips in a silent request I eagerly granted.
When his tongue swept against mine, electric heat shot straight to my core. I gasped into his mouth, fingers fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer. He tasted like coffee and something dark and addictive. My body responded eagerly, blood rushing south so quickly I grew lightheaded.
He backed me against the wall, never breaking the kiss, his body pressing against mine from chest to thigh. And god did that feelgood. His fingers tangled in my hair, angling my head to deepen the kissfurther. The slight edge of control in the gesture made me moan again, louder this time.
"Fuck," he breathed against my lips, voice roughened with desire. "Vincent..."
The way he said my name like a prayer and a curse combined made my cock throb painfully against the confines of my pants. I'd never wanted anyone like this, with this desperate, consuming need that obliterated thought.
When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing hard. His pupils had expanded, leaving only a thin ring of blue around bottomless black. His lips, slightly swollen from our kiss, curved into a smirk.
"Still think you can save me, doc?" he murmured, resting his forehead against mine.
"I don't want to save you anymore," I admitted, hands sliding around his waist. "I just want you."
He leaned in for another kiss, this one gentler but no less intense. His hands moved to my hips, fingers digging in possessively.
"This is a bad idea," he whispered against my lips.
"Probably the worst," I agreed, but I made no move to step away.
He pulled back slightly, studying my face. "You should know what you're getting into, Vince. I'm not... I don't do relationships. I don't know how."
"Neither do I," I confessed. "Not healthy ones, anyway."
His laugh was soft against my mouth. "Match made in hell, then."
"Perfect for each other." I kissed him again, brief but promising. "We'll figure it out."
We stood there for another moment, foreheads pressed together, breathing the same air. Then Luka stepped back.
"You should get some sleep," he said, voice rough. "It's been a long day."
I wanted to protest, to pull him back to me, but something in his expression stopped me. He needed space to process what had just happened between us.
"Goodnight, Luka," I said instead, allowing him to retreat.
He nodded, already moving toward the couch. "Goodnight, doc."
Later, as I lay alone in bed staring at the ceiling, I replayed our kiss in my mind. The heat of his body against mine, the taste of him, the way his hands had held my face like I was something precious. Sleep felt impossible with my body still humming from his touch, my cock painfully hard.
I listened carefully. The apartment was quiet except for the faint sounds of Luka shifting on the couch in the living room. Just a room away, yet it felt like miles. Was he thinking about our kiss, too? Was he as affected as I was?
Professional ethics be damned. I wanted him with an intensity that frightened me.
My hand slid beneath the sheets almost of its own accord, fingers wrapping around my aching cock. As I began to stroke, a name formed on my lips, impossible to hold back.
"Luka..."
I settled back onthe couch, trying to focus on some mindless game on my phone, but every tiny sound from the bedroom pulled my attention. At first, it was just the usual rustling of sheets, the soft thud of shoes hitting the floor. Then came a longer silence, followed by... Wait.
Was that...?
I tilted my head, straining to hear. A rhythmic sound, barely audible. The whisper of skin against skin. A soft, stifled groan that sent heat pooling in my stomach. Holy shit. Vincent was jerking off in there.
I grinned despite myself. So Dr. Perfect wasn't as composed as he pretended to be. The mental image of Vincent touching himself made my own cock twitch in response. What was he thinking about? Who was he picturing?
