He didn't back off.
I could feel him without touching. The heat rolling off his chest, the slight hitch in his breathing whenever mine changed, the sheer physical weight of him holding that last inch of distance like it was the only thing keeping him sane.
I should've said something safe. Stepped sideways. Laughed it off. Anything.
Instead my breath snagged in my throat.
His eyes flicked down to my mouth, just for a second, and I watched something dark flash across his face before he locked it down again, the usual control sliding back into place like a second skin.
"Mara," he said, low.
My name in his voice hit harder than it had any right to. It wasn't sharp. It wasn't an order. It sounded like the last polite warning he was going to give before he stopped being polite.
"You're blocking the door," I said, trying to keep my tone even.
"I know."
He didn't move.
The silence stretched thin and dangerous. I became stupidly aware of small things: the way my shoulder scraped the wall when I shifted, the faint cedar-and-skin smell coming off him that I hadn't noticed until right now, the fact that if either of us leaned forward even a fraction we'd be touching.
"You shouldn't be this close to me," he said.
It didn't sound like a threat. It sounded like a man trying to talk himself out of something he already knew he was going to do.
"Then move," I answered.
Nothing happened for a long heartbeat.
Then his hand came up slow and braced against the wall beside my head. His other hand hovered at my waist, not quite touching, not retreating either. Just… waiting.
That tiny hesitation lit something reckless inside me.
I tilted my chin before I could talk myself out of it, closing the last sliver of space. His breath brushed my lips – warm, steady, controlled, and my pulse kicked hard enough that I was sure he could feel it.
"You keep listing reasons this shouldn't happen," I said, and my voice was already unsteady, "but you're still standing here."
His jaw clenched so tight I saw the muscle jump.
Then he kissed me.
He just took my mouth like he'd been starving for it. A low sound rumbled in his throat the second our lips met, and that sound alone sent heat flooding straight between my legs.
My hands fisted in the front of his shirt on instinct, yanking him closer. He pressed in without hesitation, body aligning with mine,chest to chest, hips to hips, solid and hot and so much bigger than I'd let myself think about before. I arched into him without meaning to, and he answered by deepening the kiss, tongue sliding against mine in a slow, filthy drag that made my knees want to give out.
God, he tasted good. Better than good. Like coffee and salt and something darker I couldn't name. I wanted to climb him. Wanted his hands rougher. Wanted him to shove my skirt up and find out exactly how wet I already was just from this.
One of his hands finally landed on my waist, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, and the other slid up to cup the back of my neck, thumb pressing against my pulse like he was counting how fast he was making it race. He tilted my head exactly how he wanted it and kissed me deeper, slower, like he was trying to memorize every inch of my mouth with his tongue.
I moaned quiet, and he made a rough, hungry noise in response, hips rocking forward once, just enough that I felt how hard he was through his trousers. The pressure against my lower belly sent another rush of heat through me. I wanted him to grind again. Harder. I wanted to feel every inch of that.
But then he froze.
He broke the kiss, breathing ragged, eyes almost black. He looked at me like I was simultaneously the best and worst thing that had ever happened to him.
"This can't happen," he said, voice scraped raw.
My lips felt swollen, tingling. My whole body was buzzing, nipples tight against my bra, thighs slick, heart slamming against my ribs. I opened my mouth but nothing coherent came out.
He stepped back like the distance physically hurt him. His hand fell away from the wall.
"Sorry," he muttered, barely audible.
Then he turned and walked out. Footsteps fading fast down the corridor.
I stayed there, back against the cold stone, trying to remember how lungs worked. My skin still felt branded everywhere he'd touched. My underwear was soaked.
The rest of the day was a blur. I smiled when I was supposed to, answered questions without hearing them. But my brain kept replaying the same loop: the way his fingers had dug into my waist, the low growl he made when I moaned, the thick ridge of him pressing against me for that one devastating second.
He didn't come to dinner.
The empty chair across the room bothered me more than it should have.
That night I showered until the water ran cold, then lay on top of the covers staring at the ceiling. My body wouldn't settle. Every time I closed my eyes I felt his mouth again, his hand on my neck, the way he'd rocked into me like he couldn't help it.
I'd been kissed plenty of times before, some good, some forgettable, some clumsy. None of them had ever felt like my nervous system had been rewired in thirty seconds flat.
I rolled onto my stomach, pressed my thighs together, cursed under my breath.
Sleep finally dragged me under.
In the dream he was behind me. Not in the library, somewhere darker, warmer, no walls I could name. His hands were already on my hips, firm, possessive. No hesitation this time. He pulled me back against him so I could feel exactly how hard he was, thick and insistent against my ass.
I arched without thinking, grinding back into him. Then his teeth scraped the side of my neck, not gentle, and I gasped.
"Tell me you want it," he said, voice wrecked.
I didn't answer with words.
I just reached back, grabbed a fistful of his hair, and pulled his mouth down to mine.
He lifted me like I weighed nothing, pinned me to the nearest surface, shoved my thighs apart with his knee. His hand slid up under my dress, rough, impatient, dragging the fabric out of the way. Fingers found bare skin, traced higher, higher...
I woke up gasping, heart hammering, sheets twisted around my legs.
The room was dark. Silent.
I was soaked. Aching. Nipples hard against the thin tank top. Pulse throbbing between my legs like a second heartbeat.
I pressed my face into the pillow and let out a muffled, frustrated groan.