Motionless.
Except for the part of me that’s very muchnotstill.
Blood’s pumping hot through every inch of my body, settling hard and heavy in the worst possible place. My cock’s straining against my trousers and all I can think about is the sound of her voice in my ear — that breathy whisper like she meant it, like she’d been holding it back for days.
I walk into my office.
Shut the door.
Drag a hand over my face.
Fuck!
She’s just down the corridor and all it would take is one step. One push. One moment where I let go of every line I’m still trying to keep between us.
I sit down and stare at my screen, not seeing a single thing. My trousers are uncomfortable. My patience is gone. My self-control is hanging by a fucking thread.
I’m still hard when I hear her footsteps coming down the hall.
Soft. Hesitant.
I stand.
My voice is calm, somehow. “Stella. In here.”
There’s a beat. Then the door creaks open.
She steps in, eyes wide. Cheeks flushed. Like she’s been pacing the same fire I have. She opens her mouth.
“I shouldn’t have said that,I—”
“Did you mean it?” I ask.
I watch her falter. Her gaze drops. She fiddles with the hem of her cardigan like it might save her.
“Stella.”
She looks up.
I take two steps. Cage her in against the wall. One hand flat beside her head, the other not quite touching her waist. I’m not holding her. Not yet.
“Look at me.”
She does.
Eyes wide. Chest rising and falling a little too fast.
“I’m going to ask you again,” I say, voice low. “Did you mean it?”
She opens her mouth. Then closes it again.
And that’s my answer.
Silence.
But not rejection.
Not fear.
