Breaking the Night

[OD****]

The room buzzed with a tension so thick it wrapped around Michael like a second skin, suffocating and thrilling all at once. Every nerve in his body was taut, every breath shallow, as if his very control was slipping away with each passing second. He gripped the edge of the couch, his gloves creaking under the pressure, but it wasn’t enough to ground him.

Not with her standing there. Not with Rachel watching him like she already owned him.

Her eyes gleamed in the dim light, full of wicked amusement, as if she could hear the internal battle raging inside him. Maybe she could. Rachel always had a way of seeing straight through him—past the stoic mask, past the careful walls he’d built to keep everything and everyone at arm’s length. It infuriated him. It drew him in.

“You’re thinking too hard again,” she said, her voice soft but commanding. It wasn’t a suggestion; it was an observation, a sharp blade cutting through the silence.

Michael didn’t respond, didn’t even lift his gaze. He couldn’t. Not when the fire in her tone threatened to consume him.

She moved closer, her boots clicking softly on the floor, each step deliberate. When she stopped, her presence filled the space around him, her heat brushing against him like a whisper of a flame. “You’re holding back,” she murmured, her fingers trailing lightly over his shoulder, down the line of his chest. The contact was barely there, but it unraveled something deep inside him.

Her touch was a dare, a challenge. And he was losing.

“Why?” she asked, her nails grazing his suit. “What are you so afraid of?”

His jaw clenched. He hated how easily she cut through him, how effortlessly she dragged the truth to the surface. “I’m not afraid,” he muttered, though the tension in his voice betrayed him.

Rachel tilted her head, a slow, knowing smile curving her lips. “Oh, Michael,” she whispered, her voice a mix of mockery and seduction. “If you’re not afraid, then what’s stopping you?”

Her words lingered in the air, daring him to answer, daring him to admit what he couldn’t say aloud—that he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything. That she was undoing him piece by piece, and he didn’t know how to stop it.

She leaned closer, her breath warm against his ear. “Touch me,” she said, her voice low and inviting. “Take what you want. Or are you going to sit there all night pretending you don’t?”

Michael’s breath hitched. His hands twitched at his sides, his control hanging by a thread. “You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he said, his voice rough, almost a growl.

Her laugh was soft, teasing, a sound that sent a shiver racing down his spine. “Don’t I?” she asked, her fingers sliding lower, tracing the edge of his belt. “I know exactly what I’m asking for, Michael. The question is—do you?”

Her words lit something inside him, a fire that burned through every restraint, every doubt. He moved before he could think, his hands gripping her hips, pulling her into his lap. She gasped softly, her smile widening as her legs straddled him.

“You want to know what I want?” he asked, his voice low, dangerous. His hands slid up her thighs, gripping her firmly, possessively. “I want you to stop playing games.”

Rachel leaned forward, her lips brushing against his ear. “This isn’t a game, Michael,” she whispered. “This is you finally giving in.”

Her words sent his pulse racing, his *** boiling. He kissed her then, hard and unrelenting, pouring every ounce of frustration, desire, and hunger into it. Her moan vibrated against his lips, her fingers tangling in his hair as she matched his intensity.

His hands roamed over her body, tracing every curve, every line, as though committing her to memory. She arched into him, her body fitting against his as though they’d been made for each other.

“You drive me crazy,” he muttered against her mouth, his voice raw with emotion.

She smiled, her nails dragging down his back. “Good,” she murmured. “You should feel what I feel every time you walk into a room.”

Her words undid him. He lifted her effortlessly, standing as her legs wrapped around his waist. She gasped, her laughter breathless, as he pressed her back against the wall. The impact was controlled, but the raw energy between them was anything but.

“Say it,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of their breathing. “Say you want me.”

Michael hesitated, his chest heaving as he looked into her eyes. She was everything he’d told himself he couldn’t have—everything he’d been fighting against since the moment she came into his life. But now, with her in his arms, her body pressed against his, her lips inches from his, he couldn’t fight anymore.

“I want you,” he admitted, his voice low and rough, filled with a truth he could no longer deny. “I’ve always wanted you.”

Rachel’s smile was slow and wicked, her lips brushing against his in a kiss that was soft, deliberate, and utterly consuming. “Good,” she whispered against his mouth. “Now stop holding back.”