Chapter 46 FORTY-SIX
Lennox practically ran into the elevator, jabbing the button like that would make it move faster. Callum got in right before the doors closed.
They stood on opposite sides. Not looking at each other, both breathing too hard.
The elevator climbed and Lennox felt like it took forever.
When it opened she went straight to her room. Fast, and she didn't look back.
She got inside, closed the door, leaned against it. Her whole body was shaking from what almost happened in the car. From how badly she still wanted it to happen.
She kicked off her heels, started to unzip the dress with trembling fingers.
A knock on her door.
She froze. "Callum?"
"Can I come in?"
She should say no. Should tell him to go away, that they needed space, that this was getting too complicated.
"Yeah. Okay."
She opened the door. He was still in his suit, hair still messy from her hands, looking at her like he was barely holding it together.
"We need to talk," he said.
"About what almost happened in the car?"
"About all of it." He walked in, closed the door behind him. "This keeps happening. We keep saying it's a mistake and then doing it anyway."
"I know."
"So we need to figure out what we're doing here."
She crossed her arms. "What do you want to figure out?"
"That we're attracted to each other. Obviously. Extremely." He moved closer. "And fighting it isn't working."
"So what, we just give in? Sleep together and pretend it won't make everything worse?"
"Maybe it won't make things worse. Maybe fighting it is what's making things worse."
She laughed but it came out shaky. "That's a terrible argument."
"Do you have a better one?" He was right in front of her now. Close enough that she could smell his cologne. "Because I'm done pretending I don't want you. I'm done with the constant tension and the almost moments and lying to myself about what this is."
"And what is it?"
"Attraction. Chemistry. Whatever you want to call it." His eyes were dark, intense. "We're both adults. We're stuck in this situation. Why are we making it harder than it needs to be?"
"Because it's complicated. The contract..."
"The contract says we're married. It doesn't say we can't sleep together."
"But what happens when the year is up? When we get divorced?"
"I don't know. But right now I can't think past how badly I want you."
Her breath caught. "Callum..."
"Tell me you don't want this. Tell me you don't think about it constantly, that you don't feel the same way."
She couldn't. Couldn't lie to him when he was looking at her like that.
"This is a bad idea," she whispered.
"Probably."
"It'll make everything more complicated."
"Maybe."
"We should keep things professional."
"We tried that. It lasted two days."
He was right. God, he was right and she was so tired of fighting this.
"So what are you saying?" she asked. "We just sleep together? Casually?"
"We acknowledge we're attracted to each other. We're both adults. We can handle the physical side of things without it affecting the contract."
"Can we?"
"I don't know. But I'd rather try that than keep doing this dance where we almost sleep together and then don't."
She stared at him. At his messed up hair and intense eyes and the way he was looking at her like she was the only thing that mattered.
"Just physical," she said. "Nothing more."
"Nothing more."
"And it doesn't affect the contract. When the year is up, we still get divorced."
"Agreed."
"We're adults. We can handle this."
"We can."
They stared at each other for a beat. The air between them felt electric.
Then they both moved at once.
She didn't know who reached for who first. Didn't matter. His mouth on hers, her hands in his hair, both of them desperate and done with restraint.
He backed her toward the bed, fingers finding the zipper of her dress and yanking it down. She pulled at his jacket, his tie, buttons on his shirt, everything in the way.
The dress hit the floor. His shirt followed. Her hands on his chest, his skin hot under her palms.
"Are you sure?" he asked against her mouth.
"Stop talking."
He laughed, rough and low, then lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around him and he carried her to the bed, laid her down, followed her down.
Their breaths came fast and uneven as they tumbled onto the bed, the world outside fading to nothing. His hands didn’t hesitate, moving over her skin with a mix of urgency and care, like he was trying to memorize every inch of her.
She arched into his touch, fingers gripping his shoulders, desperate to pull him closer. The heat between them was thick, raw, messy in the best way.
He kissed her neck, slow and teasing, making her shiver. She tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling him back to her mouth. Their lips met again, harder this time, like neither of them could get enough. Clothes were a distraction, something to be ripped off, tossed aside without thought.
Buttons popped, fabric fell, and soon they were just skin against skin, warm and slick. She felt his heart pounding under her hand, matching her own wild rhythm. His hands roamed freely now, tracing curves, exploring, never hurried but never still.
She gasped when his fingers found places that made her breath catch, and he smiled against her skin, quiet and satisfied. The bed creaked beneath them, a soundtrack to the way their bodies moved together, clumsy at first, unsure, then finding a rhythm that was theirs alone.
It wasn’t perfect or neat. There were tangled limbs, gasps, whispered names, and the occasional stumble as they shifted and adjusted, caught in the moment. Her skin tingled everywhere he touched, nerves firing in a way she hadn’t expected.
The bed creaked under them, sheets tangled and twisted as they found their way, not graceful or perfect, but alive and real. He pressed into her, skin slick with sweat, heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her chest.
She wasn’t thinking, just feeling, the heat, the pressure, the way he made her lose track of everything else. His hands gripped her hips, pulling her closer, and she met him, matching his pace, slow then faster, hard then soft, all at once.
There were gasps and moans, breathless and uneven, voices breaking the quiet night. She could feel every inch of him, the way he moved inside her, and the ache building in her stomach, raw and relentless. It wasn’t about being perfect; it was about being real, messy, sweaty, tangled up in each other, not caring if they sounded loud or if their limbs got twisted up.
His mouth found hers again, kissing her through it all, wild and hungry, like he needed her as much as she needed him. She clung to him, fingers digging into his back, nails scratching, desperate to hold on to this moment even as it threatened to shatter her.
When they had both found release, they collapsed, tangled and breathless, skin slick and hearts racing, holding on tight like they never wanted to let go.