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The only voice she’d heard had been an internal one that whispered, I need to touch him. So bad. I need . . .
No, as she swiped her key through the card reader, her hands were sweating, almost shaking.
And the damn key card wouldn’t work.
“Figures,” she whispered, her voice hitching.
A warm hand came around, took the key. “Let me see,” he murmured, his voice way too close to her ear.
Eyes closed, she stood there, struck dumb from the want ravaging inside her. The door clicked and she opened her eyes as he came around her to turn the handle, push it open. Then he turned his head, stared at her.
Waiting. On her, she knew.
Do or die, she thought, a little desperately.
Kind of extreme, maybe. But it felt apt. Because in that moment, she knew if she didn’t take him inside . . . and then just take him—let them take each other—some little piece inside of her would feel like it had died.
She slid past him, brushing up against his body as she did so. She felt his ragged intake of air and that hot, hungry need inside trembled, swelled.
She didn’t turn on the light.
As the door clicked shut behind her, she kicked off the spike heels and then turned to look at him.
Abruptly, a line from the book Lynnette had been reading danced through her mind.
With need and want a vicious tangle . . .
Yes, this was a tangle, one that was entirely too twisted, considering how short a time she’d known him. Hours, really. Just a handful of hours when you added it all up.
None of that mattered.
She moved toward him.
He met her halfway and as his arms came around her, everything inside her breathed out a sigh of delight . . . even as the need inside her demanded for more.