She smells like mint, but she tastes like cinnamon. I gasp in surprise at the unexpected but pleasant sensation on my tongue, sweet but fiery, like the woman herself. I'm holding the sides of her face, her delicate, sharp cheekbones resting in the palms of my hands. My lips are pressed against hers and my tongue inhabits her mouth, but still I'm not close enough.

I surge forward, pulling her toward me while simultaneously walking
her backwards, until she's pressed against the edge of the sink flush against me, her lush curves melding into my hard edges. I moan into her mouth at the feeling of her soft breasts pressed against my upper abdomen. She no doubt feels a certain body part of my own stirring against her abdomen, anything but soft.

She should pull away. She has to be the one to pull away. I am physically incapable of tearing my mouth off hers. I have dreamed about this, obsessed about this exact moment, for months. Now that I've had a sample, I don't think I have the strength to stop this. I wonder how far she'll let me take this and groan at the thought. She does the exact opposite of pulling away.

She pushes further up on her tiptoes and leans her weight into me, the slight movement creating an almost unbearable friction. Her fingers tug the curls at the nape of my neck as she sucks on my tongue and draws me in, deeper, harder.

All the blood in my body seems to pool below my belt, making it impossible to think, only act. My hands leave her face, but only so I can drag them down her body. One hand glides over her ribs and over the generous swell of her hips. I slide my other hand from the nape of her neck down the naked curve of her spine. Her skin is hot beneath my fingertips, but a shiver traces my touch.

Her phone chimes from somewhere over her shoulder, breaking the spell we are both under. We still, and she slowly pulls her mouth from mine, but stays in my arms, pressed against me. I'm grateful, I don't think my nervous system could withstand the shock of losing her mouth and body at the same time.

After a beat, she lowers her heels and reaches up toward her face, her slender fingers dancing lightly across her full bottom lip, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Her chest heaves, her breaths still coming in shallow and sporadic. Her eyes never leave mine; the same heat and attraction I feel deep in my gut is reflected back in her grayish-blue pools.

Her phone chimes again, and her expression changes in an instant. It's as if a curtain falls over her eyes, lust replaced with, what? Shame? Guilt?

"Oh God," she whispers, her voice trembling. She takes a step back, out of my arms. "My boyfriend."

Guilt it is.

I look her over, her disheveled appearance evidence of our sin. Her hair is a tangled mess, half hanging down her back and the other half looped through a rubber band at the nape of her neck. Her lips are swollen and her pink lipstick is smeared  at the bottom right corner of her mouth. I glance at my own wild eyes and wrinkled shirt in the mirror behind her, and internally curse at myself for my own lack of control. She's still pressed against the sink, trapped against my body. Jesus, I mauled my intern in the fucking bathroom. What is wrong with me?

I take a step back through the narrow doorway as I run a shaky hand through my hair, removing myself from the small space, and she squeezes past me.

She glances at her phone screen, hangs her head, and sighs. It's him, I know it.

"James," she exhales. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have." She glances back down at her phone and absentmindedly strokes her bottom lip. "What kind of person does that?" Her voice cracks and tears pool in her eyes. She regrets kissing me, but worse, I made her feel bad about herself. The tears spill over her lower lashes.

"Me." I whisper, striding back toward her, taking her face in my hands and wiping her tears with my thumbs. "I did this. I'm the authority here. I'm your boss. This is on me, not you. Do you understand?" I drop my hands and she hangs her head. Her eyes trained on the floor, her shoulders begin to shake. She doesn't understand.

"Hey." I grasp her chin gently and tilt her face toward me until she is looking in my eyes. "You did nothing wrong. I'm the bad guy here."

The left side of her mouth crooks up in her sardonic smirk. "I appreciate what you're trying to do. But we both know that's not true, James. I kissed you. I wanted it." She breaks eye contact, her gaze lingering on my lips. "I still want it," she whispers.

My eyes widen and my breath quickens at her words. The part of me that is all raw, animalistic need right now wants to take her admission as an invitation to push her back against that sink and lose myself in her. The way she's staring at my lips while biting down on her own makes me believe she would welcome it.

But she'd hate herself for it later. As much as I want her, and I've never wanted anything more, I can't do that to her. I can't add to the anguish brewing just behind the lust in her eyes. She deserves better.

I deserve better. She belongs to someone else. A foreign, possessive feeling burns through my veins. When I have her, she'll be mine alone. Anything else would poison us from the start.

When I have her? Mine? Us? I am losing my damn mind. There is no us. There never will be. I can't allow it.

"He's in the parking lot, waiting for me. What do I do now?" Her eyes are wide and vulnerable. Impressionable. You forget the fool in the parking lot. You leave with me. Right now. And we finish what you started.

"What do you want to do?"

She hesitates, dropping her eyes to the floor.

"He needs me," she says, looking back up with tears in her eyes.

"I didn't ask about him. Forget about what he needs. And me, for that matter. What do you need?"

I give her space to contemplate, staying still and silent as I lean against my desk, my hands tingling with the urge to touch her. She looks at the floor and chews on her lip.

"What do you want, Blaise?"

She quirks an eyebrow up at me and allows her gaze to slowly and shamelessly roam down my body and back up again. "I'm pretty sure what I want is against the rules."

Of course, even without the boyfriend, there are still too many obstacles in our way. Too many boundaries. Too many lines that shouldn't be crossed. Anything between us could jeopardize my career, her scholarship, her future. I've already put her in jeopardy.

I've been careless with her. With myself. I should have never allowed myself to feel again. I shouldn't have sought it out. Everything was under control when I was numb.

I take a deep breath and steady myself before I speak. I reach up, rubbing the back of my neck.

"Just say it." She's grinning at me with beautiful, sad eyes. I scrunch my eyebrows, confused.

"You're rubbing the back of your neck. Whatever you're overthinking, just say it." God, she knows me so well. It feels so good to be known by her that I waver, but only for a moment.

I regain control and shut my feelings down. "This won't happen again. I shouldn't have let anything get this far." She looks down at the floor and takes a step away from me.

"Of course. Your job. Your career. I'm not..." She crosses her arms across her body and slouches her shoulders. "It's not worth it," she whispers. Shit, now I'm making her doubt herself. I'm fucking this up entirely. I run a frustrated hand through my hair.

"Look at me," I command, more gruffly than I intend. Her eyes finally meet mine, but I can't find the right words. How do I tell her that I can't be the man who costs her everything, not when I want to be the man who gives her everything.

Her phone chirps again and she picks it up. Her face falls, her thumbs furiously fly over the screen and she turns, looking at her disheveled appearance in the bathroom mirror. She winces as she yanks the rubber band from her hair, a clump of long dark strands falling to the floor.

I watch her hands twist her hair into a ball and secure it again with the rubber band. Her hands are efficient,  as if she's rehearsed this movement a million times. But her movements are also quick and spastic, betraying her emotions. Meanwhile my hands practically vibrate at my sides with the need to reach out. A part of me is dying to put my hands on her again, her cheek, her hip, her bare back. Anywhere, really. An almost equal part is dying to sweep up the hair on the floor.

She blots at the makeup that has smeared under her eyes before she turns to me, looking at my feet.

"I have to go." She won't even look me in the eye.

"Blaise -" She runs her petite pinky finger up the side of my hand as she passes. She stops and examines my face. Once again, I'm struck dumb. I don't know what to say. I only that I don't want her to leave like this.

"What James?" Her eyes roam over my features, searching for a sign or clue. "Tell me to stay and I will. Tell me to choose you and I will."

My heart stops. It seems like time itself stops. I study her face. She's entirely serious. And I want to say it so badly. 

Stay. 

Choose me.

There's pain in her expression when I hesitate, but I can't say the words that could remove it. It wouldn't be fair to her.

When I don't respond she rolls her eyes and pulls away, folding her arms over her chest. She leaves without telling me goodbye.

I let out a ragged, shaky breath when I hear her footsteps fade down the hall and the slamming of the back door. I pace back and forth in my office. She still lingers in the room, her scent in the air, her memory everywhere I look, she's all I can think about. The view of her back in the mirror when I walked in the room. The feel of her body pressed tightly against mine. The cinnamon taste of her mouth. Fuck. I need to get out of this office, but if I go out there I'll say the words.

Stay. Choose me.

If I go out there, I'll see her with him. And yet, maybe that's what I need. I told her to forget what the boyfriend needs, but shit, he's a person, too. I need the boyfriend to be real. To remind myself that there's someone else out there who this will destroy. I know what that feels like. I don't want to be that guy.

I grab my laptop, the whole point in coming back to office to begin with, turn off the lights, and jog down the hall toward the door to the back parking lot.

My car is in the far corner of the lot, hidden in the dark shadows. The single light in the parking lot shines down on the only other vehicle in sight. I take in the view before me and freeze, gaping in shock and confusion and rage at the old red pick-up truck idling in front of me.

My eyes focus in on the rust stain above the right headlight. My muscles tense.

I see the graduation tassels hanging from the rearview mirror. My blood boils.

I can't breathe, overcome with the sickest sense of deja vu. What the fuck is this asshole doing here? And why now? If he's hiding back here, waiting to confront me, his timing couldn't be worse. I shake my head and see Blaise slowly approaching the truck. The driver's side door opens, and he climbs out.

Wyatt. Fucking. Montgomery.

He smiles brightly at her, and she walks right toward his open arms. He kisses her temple. Does she know him? I don't understand.

And then I do.