The space between them vanished.
Anna didn't know who moved first—only that one moment he was speaking, and the next his hand was in her hair, fingers twisting into the strands at the nape of her neck, tilting her head back.
His mouth crashed into hers.
Not gentle. Not asking.
The first press of his lips was hard, almost bruising, like he was testing whether she'd shatter or shove him away. Anna did neither. Her fingers fisted in the front of his shirt, dragging him closer, and the sound he made—a low, rough exhale against her mouth—sent heat flooding down her spine.
He tasted like wine and something darker. Something that made her knees weak.
His other hand found her waist, fingers splaying across the curve of her hip, gripping tight enough to leave marks. He pulled her forward and she went willingly, her back meeting the edge of the heavy wooden desk behind her. The corner pressed into her thighs but she barely felt it—not when his mouth was slanting over hers again, deeper this time, his tongue sliding against her lower lip before sweeping inside.
Anna gasped.
He swallowed the sound.
His fingers tightened in her hair, angling her head exactly where he wanted her, and she let him. Her hands moved without thinking—sliding up from his chest to his shoulders, nails scraping lightly against the fabric of his shirt, feeling the hard tension coiled beneath.
He made a sound. Something rough and hungry.
His hips pressed forward, pinning her against the desk, and Anna's head fell back for half a second—just enough for his mouth to leave hers and find her jaw, her throat, the sensitive spot just below her ear. His lips dragged hot and open against her skin, and her breath came out in a shudder.
"Arin—"
His name barely left her mouth before he captured it again.
This kiss was different. Slower, but somehow more devastating. His hand left her hip, palm sliding up her side, thumb grazing the underside of her ribs through the thin fabric of her shirt. Every nerve in her body lit up where he touched.
She pulled at his shirt, fingers finding bare skin at his collar, and the feel of him—warm, pulse hammering beneath her palm—made her dizzy.
His response was immediate. A sharp inhale. His teeth catching her lower lip, tugging gently before releasing, and Anna's whole body trembled.
"I—" she tried.
He kissed her again before she could finish.
This time, she met him with the same intensity. Her fingers slid into his hair, dark strands slipping between her knuckles, and she pulled. Just a little. Just enough to feel him groan against her lips.
The sound reverberated through her chest.
His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her off the desk and into him fully, chest to chest, heart to heart. Her back arched instinctively, her body curving into his like it knew exactly where it belonged.
His hand spread across her lower back, pressing her closer, and Anna's fingers curled into his shoulders, anchoring herself as the world narrowed to the heat of his mouth, the slide of his tongue, the way his breath mixed with hers in the small, stolen spaces between kisses.
She was drowning.
And she didn't want to come up for air.
His lips parted from hers just enough for her to feel every word he whispered against her mouth.
"You're shaking."
She was.
Her fingers were trembling against his skin, her chest rising and falling in uneven gasps, her lips parted and swollen and aching for him to close the distance again.
"Good," she breathed.
His eyes—dark, focused, devastating—held hers for one long, suspended moment.
Then his mouth was on hers again, softer this time, almost reverent, like he was memorizing the shape of her.
Anna kissed him back just as slowly, her fingers tracing up from his shoulders to cup his jaw, feeling the slight roughness of stubble, the warmth of his skin, the way his pulse jumped beneath her palm.
When they finally pulled apart, neither moved far.
Her forehead rested against his. His breath fanned across her lips, unsteady in a way that made something fierce and tender bloom in her chest.
Neither of them spoke.
Neither of them needed to.
His thumb traced a slow, idle path along her hip bone, and Anna let her eyes close, letting the silence settle around them like something fragile and new.
She could feel his heartbeat.
Or maybe that was hers.
Either way, they were beating the same.
Arin pushed her down onto the desk, spreading her legs and stepping between them so she couldn't close them. He kissed her, sloppy and deep.
Her moan—a muffled "Mmh!"—was swallowed by the kiss as he pressed her head down against the desk.
He moved his hand toward her pants.
His cold, injured hand slowly moved down, undoing her pants to revealing a simple black cotton panty.
Their eyes locked. "You're going to regret this," he said.
She looked into his deep charcoal eyes and replied, "Only if it wasn't with you."
He lifted her hoodie up and tossed it to the floor, his gaze falling on her black bra, the hard peaks already visible beneath the fabric. His hand moved from her hip to her waist, touching and feeling her curves.
His touch sent electricity through her body, making her arch her back as arousal pooled between her legs.
Her legs immediately wrapped around him. He undid his shirt, revealing a muscular body with six-pack abs. Anna's eyes widened as she took him in.
"Like what you see?" he said, and her cheeks turned red.
He dropped to his knees and spread her legs wide, settling his head between them. His tongue—wet, hot, and deliberate—slid from her soaked pussy lips up to her clit in one slow, torturous stroke.
She gasped, her back arching off the desk, fingers clutching the edge as her breath caught in her throat.
He lowered himself between her legs, devouring her like a man starved. His tongue moved up and down, up and down, in slow, torturous circles while one finger found her clit, teasing with precise pressure.
Then he pushed inside her.
She gasped, her body jolting as his lips met her slick folds. Anna's eyes rolled back, a moan tearing from her throat as his finger moved against her inner walls, stretching her, coaxing her open. His mouth worked her relentlessly, tongue flicking and sucking, sending waves of heat crashing through her until she was trembling beneath him, breathless and completely undone.
She started grinding against him, her hips moving with desperate need. Seeing her impatience only fueled Arin's arousal. He undid his pants, yanking his belt free and tossing it aside—clack —the sound echoing in the heated space.
Anna lifted her head to look at him, her breath coming in short gasps.
"Ready?" he asked, his voice low and rough.
He freed himself, and Anna's eyes went wide. Thick, long, veined—he pressed it against her, and even though he'd only just taken it out, it was already so long that it reached her, pressing insistently against her aching pussy. Her lips parted, a soft whimper escaping as she stared down at the sight of him, her body trembling with anticipation.
To be continued...