15
Johan
The afternoon lumbers along, routine tasks tethering me to my desk. Every chance I get, I pull away and try to do some research on the Amelia mystery, but there isn’t as much time as I’d like today.
I’m preparing my next lecture when a gentle tap on the office door interrupts the monotony. I look up, and my heart sinks when I see that it’s the security guard I spoke to just a few days ago about the missing piece from the exhibition. I had hoped it’d have taken him longer to get back to me, but here we are.
“Come in,” I tell him reluctantly, trying to hide how much I wish he’d just leave. “Please, have a seat.”
Oblivious to how I’m feeling, he comes in and sits in one of the other empty chairs in the room. “We’ve had a sit-down with the folks who were present around when the artifact vanished,” he begins, keeping his tone steady. “We toured their dorms, turned everything upside down, and came up empty-handed.”
I lean back, running a hand through my hair. “Nothing? That's not the news I was hoping for.” Internally, I already knew that it was a distinct possibility that neither man stole the artifact, but the other possibility is too terrible to consider unless it’s a last resort.
He nods sympathetically. “Yeah, it's frustrating. But we did discover something while doing the investigation.” He pauses, gauging my reaction. “This appears to have happened one other time on campus.”
I can't help but sigh. “Another theft? Where?”
“Ah, I believe it was the odd objects expo.” He leans in a bit, lowering his voice. “Seems like it's turning into a trend, and we’re doing our best to suss out the pattern.”
I drum my fingers on the desk, frustration simmering. I’m very familiar with the event he’s talking about—it’s Astrid’s expo, after all. “I’m familiar with that exhibition. How many pieces are we talking about here?”
He glances around, checking for eavesdroppers. “Just the two so far. We’re sniffing around, trying to get a handle on it.”
I nod, absorbing the details. There’s a sense of dread in my stomach as I ask, “So, what’s the university’s play on this?”
“I’m not sure yet. We’ve kept it within the department so far.”
Thank God. If Hannah is connected to all of this, she isn’t in legal trouble. At least not yet.
I look out my office window, contemplating everything. “Thanks for keeping me in the loop,” I say, musing on my next move. I can’t do anything until I know for sure that Hannah is involved because just having a hunch isn’t going to get me anywhere. “May I see the footage from that night?”
“Of course.” The security guard stands, brushing his pants off as he does. “Follow me, and I’ll get it ready for you.”
The security guard leads me through the maze of the department’s back corridors, and my mind is racing the entire time. Somehow, I already know what I’m about to discover, but I want so badly to believe that I’m wrong. We finally reach the security office, the same small, tucked-away room in which we had viewed the other footage. The guard busies himself with the controls, pulling up the footage of Astrid’s exhibition.
I take a seat, the chair creaking as I do. The screen flickers to life, revealing the curated chaos of the Victorian oddities expo. A myriad of artifacts, each with its own peculiar tale, occupies the displays. People are milling around, and I spot Astrid among them, feeling a pang of guilt for not immediately telling her my suspicions. Hell, I don’t think I will tell her even if they are confirmed, which makes me a terrible person, I’m sure. But I’d do almost anything to protect Hannah.
Speaking of Hannah, there she is, flowing gracefully through the crowd. My chest feels tight, thinking about how this must have been one of her first days on campus before she met Astrid and before we got tangled up in this messy triangle.
I watch her move through the exhibit, her eyes alight with curiosity. For a moment, I find peace in just watching her move, beautiful and free, and I think I’ve lost my mind, considering her the suspect. But then, a wave of doubt crashes over me. The coincidences—her appearance at both events and her oddities collection at her home estate…it’s too much for me to ignore.
Even if I really, really want to ignore it.
If I stop here, walk out of this room, and just let it all go, I’ll never have to know if Hannah is guilty. Of course, if she is the thief, someone will discover the truth sooner or later, but I could have a few more days—even weeks—of ignorant bliss.
The footage continues to roll, and the security guard glances at me. I offer a nod, attempting to mask the brewing storm within. “Keep going,” I murmur, my voice carrying a strained calmness.
As the scenes unfold, I study Hannah’s every move. The internal conflict intensifies. The Hannah I know—a bright, inquisitive mind driven by a genuine passion for art and history —doesn’t align with the shadow cast on the screen. Yet, the evidence is there, flickering in washed-out color.
First, she stops in front of the missing object, leaning in as if she’s looking. The movement is subtle and quick, the sign of a practiced thief, and she’s so fast that I don’t even think the security guard sees it. Clenching my jaw, feeling my pulse pounding in my head as my blood rushes through my veins, I keep my cool so he doesn’t notice. I watch the footage more before he starts it back at the beginning. The little treasure she snatched was hidden behind other items, so he can’t tell when it goes missing, and I school my reactions so he doesn’t pick up on the moment. But after I’ve seen it one more time, I’ve had enough. Nausea is rolling around inside of me, and if I don’t get out of here, I’m going to be sick.
Hannah…Christ, why in the hell would she do something like this? Her family is wealthy enough that she could have bought something like that bracelet a hundred times over. She’s waited her entire life to come to Cambridge, and she would go so far as to steal from the college on one of her first days and risk expulsion and arrest.
It hits me then as I bid the security guard farewell and give him a fake lament about not seeing anything new in the footage. Hannah is smart, sophisticated, and driven, which means that whatever is causing her to steal must be beyond her control. She isn’t doing it for the object itself but for the adrenaline rush of it all. It’s…an illness, maybe. Well, at least that’s what I hope it is.
It might not be her fault, at least not entirely. But none of that matters because I’m still going to have to confront her.
On my way to the car, I decide to approach this delicately. I want to protect her and give her an opportunity to explain herself, but I also need answers, and she deserves a chance to address what I’m now sure has been done. All I know is that it has to be in private and that I can’t let her run once the truth is out in the open. This means, I guess, I’m going to have a guest over tonight, for better or for worse.
The apartment feels strangely hollow as I sit on the leather couch, my fingers drumming an impatient rhythm on my phone. The city hums outside my window, oblivious to the turmoil I’m in. Procrastinating this confrontation feels like one of the hardest things I’ve ever faced. Confronting Hannah seems impossible but unavoidable.
Do I have the right to invade her privacy this way? Accusing her of stealing artifacts is one thing, but suggesting that it’s due to a mental illness is something else altogether. My phone sits heavy in my hand, the message thread between us open, waiting for the moment I muster the courage to do what needs to be done. I’ve never been one for confrontation, preferring the safety of academic discourse over the messiness of personal dramatics.
What if I’m wrong? What if there’s a reasonable explanation? Doubts have been filling my mind since I saw her subtly take the bracelet on the security screen.
It’s not just about stolen artifacts; it’s about Hannah and my feelings for her, this never-ending drive to help her if she’ll let me.
I glance at the wineglass on the coffee table and the half-empty pour I’ve been nursing. Is it fair to set this trap? The question lingers, unanswered, as I trace the rim of the glass with my fingertip.
“To hell with it,” I mutter. The soft glow of my phone illuminates the dimly lit room as I compose the message, my thumbs tapping on the screen with measured deliberation. Hey, Hannah. Can you swing by my place tonight? It’s about Amelia’s files. Thanks.
Is this the right approach? Will she suspect anything? Even though I know she’s been stealing from the college, I bizarrely worry that it’s me breaking her trust, not the other way around.
With a sigh, I press send, setting us on a path from which there’s no turning back.
After a few minutes, Hannah agrees to come by. Unable to sit still, I get up and busy myself with mundane tasks while I wait for her. Turning my attention to the modest selection of wine on the shelf, I deliberate over the choice. Should it be red or white? Does it even matter? After polishing off the bottle I had already opened, I settle on a red to share with Hannah.
The corkscrew twists into the bottle with a soft pop. Pouring a generous glass, I glance at the clock. She’ll be here soon. Am I ready for this?
With a resigned sigh, I take a sip of the wine, leaning against the kitchen counter and resigning myself to simply waiting for her with my nerves on edge.
A soft knock shakes me out of my reverie. She’s here. I glance at myself in the hallway mirror, futilely trying to straighten the disheveled threads of my composure. With a steadying breath, I open the door to reveal Hannah, her presence immediately changing the room’s energy.
“Hey,” she greets, a casual smile on her lips. Her attire, a simple sweatshirt and leggings, make my blood heat. The soft curves of her legs and hips are so distracting that I’m afraid I might lose any idea of what I’ve called her here for in the first place.
My eyes linger for a moment longer than intended as she steps inside. She’s effortlessly stunning…always has been.
“Make yourself comfortable,” I offer, gesturing towards the couch. “I opened a bottle of red for us. Let me get you a glass.”
Hannah’s eyes are soft as she looks at me. “That sounds lovely.”
As she settles in, I find myself studying her, searching for cues in the subtle nuances of her expression. So far, I see no signs of guilt or suspicion in her, meaning she’s about to be blindsided. But what else can I do?
The wineglass clinks as I hand it to her. “Thanks,” she says, her fingers grazing mine for a fleeting moment. The touch sends a shiver through me, making me want more, even though this is likely the worst possible time.
I sit beside her and watch her look around, the silence stretching. How in the hell am I supposed to start this conversation?
“So, Johan,” she begins, a curious glint in her eyes. “What did you want to talk about regarding Amelia? Did you find those missing research files?”
I offer a half-smile. “Before we dive into that, are you hungry? I’ve got some cheese that pairs well with this wine. Brie, Gouda, or cheddar?”
Her hesitation is palpable, and I seize the opportunity to create a momentary diversion. Rising from the couch, I head to the kitchen, grateful for the respite. I know good and well that I’m stalling, but I can’t help myself. Why is this so difficult?
Returning to the couch, I find her waiting, questions in her gaze, no doubt because of how strangely I’m acting. I deposit the cheeseboard between us.
“Thanks,” she says again.
As we settle into the conversation, Hannah makes another attempt to steer it toward Amelia. “I appreciate the snacks and wine, but I really want to know what you’ve discovered about Amelia. The mystery is all I’ve been able to think about.”
I let out a heavy sigh, setting my glass down with deliberate care. It’s time to confront the shadows that have been cast over our interactions. “Hannah,” I begin, my voice carrying a weight I hadn’t intended. “Can we talk about your collection? Those treasures you showed me in your room. Where did you really get them?”
Caught off guard, she stumbles through a series of vague explanations as if desperately trying to concoct a story on the spot. “Oh, you know…I pick them up here and there…people drop things all the time…”
I reach for her hand, putting mine on top of hers. “Hannah, stop,” I interject gently, gaze locking onto hers. “I know the truth.”
There’s a silence between us that feels like it goes on forever. Finally, I muster the words that have been lingering at the edge of my tongue, “Why did you steal those objects? Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”
She shifts uncomfortably, feigning innocence. “What are you talking about? I haven’t stolen anything.” I almost think I catch her eyes dart to the floor after she answers.
I let out a dry, bitter chuckle. “Don’t play games. I’ve seen the footage—twice—at the exhibitions. You were there both times.”
Her eyes widen with a mix of surprise and panic, but she sticks to her denials. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Why would I steal anything?”
I lean forward, keeping my eyes fixed on her. “I’ve spent hours trying to understand why. The missing bracelet, the disappearing watch. And both times, you were present. Did you really believe that I wouldn’t notice that?”
Hannah’s gaze falters, and she opens her mouth as if she’s about to insist on her innocence once more, but nothing comes out.
“You can’t keep denying it,” I assert as she attempts to sidestep the issue. “I’ve seen the footage. You were there.”
She stands abruptly, a clear attempt to escape the confrontation. “I don’t have to sit here and listen to this nonsense.” She seethes, using anger to hide her fight and agitation. Hannah is in fight-or-flight mode, and if I don’t move fast, she’ll escape, and I’ll lose my chance.
I rise, too, blocking her path. “You can’t just walk away from this, Hannah. I need to understand.”
Her eyes dart around the room, searching for an escape route. “I can’t explain it. It’s complicated.”
I remain steadfast, imploring her to open up. Slowly, I put my hands on her shoulders, hating that she flinches at my touch. “You can trust me. I won’t throw you under the bus. But I need to know why.”
She sighs, defeated and miserable. “Fine, I took them. What does it matter anyway?” Her eyes narrow. “Are you going to turn me to the campus police or something?”
“No, of course not. I meant it when I said you could trust me.” Even though I already knew in my heart that she was guilty, the admission still hits me like a blow, but I maintain my composure. “Why, though? Why risk so much?”
She shrugs, a nonchalant gesture that is in complete opposition to how stiff she is under my hands. “I don’t know. I see something I like, and I take it. Simple as that.”
“I don’t know if I believe that,” I press further. “That doesn’t sound like you at all. Since when you have had this urge?”
I can see the hurt written all over her beautiful face, her dark hair falling forward as she turns her head to look away from me. “If you really have to know…since I was twelve or so. Why does it matter?”
Hearing the way her voice shakes feels like a fist squeezing my heart. Sweet Hannah, a confessed thief in my living room. She’s likely never told this to anyone before, and although she’s ready to bolt, she trusted me enough to give me the truth. She needs help, and deep down, she must know it.
I rub small circles on her shoulders with my thumbs, feeling the tension beneath my fingers. “Because I want to understand what drives you to do that,” I say softly, my voice barely above a whisper.
She swallows once, then twice, her throat bobbing nervously. “I…I can’t help it; it’s like I can’t stop myself.”
“Did you, eh, get diagnosed?” I ask, keeping my tone just as low.
She nods but doesn’t say a word.
“What did the doctors say?”
“You know what they said…” her voice is barely audible, thick with embarrassment.
I gently lift her chin, making her meet my gaze. “Can you tell me what they said?” I ask, my eyes searching hers for answers.
Hannah looks away, her face flushing with shame. She hesitates, the words stuck in her throat. “They said I have a strong case of… well….”
“Of what, Hannah?” I press gently.
“Kleptomania,” she finally whispers, her voice barely above a breath.
Her confession hangs in the air between us, heavy and raw. I can see the struggle in her eyes, the conflict between wanting to hide and the need to be understood. The room feels smaller, the walls closing in as the reality of her condition settles over us.
“Thank you for telling me,” I say, my voice softening. “We’ll figure this out together.”
With the hard truth out in the open, a heavy weight lifts from the room, replaced by an unexpected sense of shared vulnerability. In a moment of compassion, I pull her into a gentle embrace, feeling the subtle tremor in her shoulders.
“It’s okay, Hannah. You can trust me,” I assure her, my words whispered against her hair. “But we need to talk about this. Do your parents know?”
Her head shakes against my chest, silently confirming that she’s been bearing this burden all alone since she was a child. “No one knows,” she confesses, her voice barely audible. “No one but you, now.”
I pull away slightly, keeping my hands on her shoulders, a comforting gesture. “What about the odd things in your collection at home? Every single one of them is stolen?”
Hannah nods, and I sense the weight of guilt she carries. “Yeah, most of them. I never thought anyone would notice.”
The vulnerability in her eyes tugs at something within me, perhaps a desire to shield her from judgment. “You don’t have to do this alone. We can find a way to help you through this.”
She meets my gaze, gratitude mingled with hesitation. “You won’t report me?”
I shake my head. “No, I won’t. But you need to find a way to address this. It’s not just about the stolen objects; it’s about understanding why you do it.”
She nods, and in that shared moment of honesty, I realize the depth of trust she's placed in me. This has been so hard on her, but there’s also a glimmer of hope–a chance for her to confront the shadows that have long trailed behind her.
“Where do I go from here?” Hannah asks, her voice small. Scared, even. I’d do anything to take all of that away from her. “I don’t know what to do.”
“What do you think about talking to a therapist again?” I suggest, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “The college has a few that I could help connect you with.”
“Maybe…” She exhales slowly but doesn’t pull back from me, and I’m not about to push her away as long as she wants to be close to me. “No one can find out, Johan; I’m serious. Especially not my parents. Dad would drag me home so fast….”
Running my hands up and down her arms to settle her, I try to offer her some reassurance. “There are laws in place to maintain your privacy; don’t worry about that.”
Still looking up at me with wide, bright eyes, she ventures another question, her voice almost a hesitant whisper. “Do you see me as a monster now?” Hannah twists her fingers in the front of my shirt like she’s holding on to me, afraid of my answer.
Poor, sweet girl. I can’t help but smile softly. “No,” I insist, my thumb brushing gently against her cheek. “There are worse things in life.”
The tension eases from her shoulders, and she composes a small smile. “Thanks. I…thank you. I’ll return the objects to you and Astrid, I promise.”
Now she pulls away, albeit slowly, smoothing her hands over my chest reluctantly. “I guess I should go….” Hannah chuckles as she turns towards the front door. “Tonight has been a lot. I’ve got some things to think about.”
I escort her in silence to the door, which I open at once. Standing close together, a sudden tenderness breaks through the heavy atmosphere. Hannah turns back to me, rising on her tiptoes, and a gentle kiss graces my cheek, unexpected and warm. It’s a gesture that catches me off guard, but all of the things I’ve been feeling for her for so many years come rushing out of the corner of my heart I’ve shoved them into, and I can’t just let her leave.
With the soft kiss still burning on my cheek, before she can step away, an instinct takes over, and I reach out, pulling her back against me. Our eyes lock, and the unspoken connection between us intensifies. In that charged moment, I lean in, my lips meeting hers. The kiss is a fusion of emotions—compassion, understanding, and a glimpse of something more profound. But more powerful than that, more powerful than anything, is how strong my desire for her is.
Hannah is still with surprise at first, but she melts against me between one breath and the next. Blood is thrumming hot and fiery through my veins, but I restrain myself, keeping my lips closed as I kiss her until I feel the hesitant press of her tongue against the seam of my lips.
I let her in. I let her kiss me, her tongue tentatively slipping into my mouth, and then her arms come up around my neck.
She’s still standing in the half-open door, and her eyes are closed as she kisses me back, her mouth so soft and warm and inviting. The smell of her shampoo, of her perfume, of her body, it all swirls together in a dizzying cocktail of arousal and need. I can’t stop myself from wrapping an arm around her waist and hauling her up against my chest, her breasts crushed to me, our mouths still fused.
Time slows, and the world narrows to her—her body, her lips, the taste, feel, and smell of her.
And then Hannah...fuck, she moans into the kiss, and any sense of self-control I have is lost. I break away from her just long enough to push the door close with one hand, and then I’m hauling her against me once more, walking her back until she’s pressed against the door. My hands skim down her back as I kiss her again, reveling in her short little pants. With my hands on her ass, I lift her, and her legs go around my waist instinctively. She’s so warm and pliant in my arms, giving me that moan again when I grind myself against her.
This time, the kiss is less gentle. There’s more passion behind it, and Hannah responds to it, her hands clutching at me, her lips moving against mine. She tilts her head back, but as soon as my lips connect with the skin of her neck, I feel my damned phone start to ring in my pocket. Hannah pauses for a fraction of a second, but the unspoken agreement between us to ignore it is quickly made.
“Hold on to me,” I murmur against her mouth, letting her wrap her arms around my neck as I carry her to the couch. I sit hard, head bouncing against the cushion, never letting my grip loosen on her.
Hannah is straddling me now, her hands running through my hair as her body settles into mine. God, I’ve waited so long for this. Even if it’s only been years, it feels like an eternity. When she rolls her hips, rubbing herself against me, I can’t stop myself from thrusting.
We’re both still wearing our clothes, and that’s the only thing keeping this from getting completely out of hand.
“What do you want, Hannah?” I ask in a whisper, my hands cupping her face, bringing her down for another searing kiss. “Tell me.”
I feel her shudder, her body quivering. “Johan, I––”
Then the damn phone is ringing again. I ignore it still, not giving a damn who might be calling me.
“Just tell me, baby. Tell me what you want, and it’s yours.” I’m practically growling the words.
“I...Johan, please, I want––” She breaks off again, her words becoming a whine of frustration as my phone goes off again. But the ringing stops abruptly, and to my horror, there is a knock at the door.
This time, Hannah pauses, her body going still. She pulls away from me, her lips kiss-swollen, her cheeks flushed, and she stares into my eyes, shocked.
“Johan!” Conrad calls from outside the door. “I know you’re in there, you asshole. Open up!”
“Shiiiit,” I draw out the word, frozen with indecision for a second until I formulate a plan. Taking Hannah's chin in my hand, I kiss her quickly, murmuring, “Forgive me,” before picking her up once more.
This time, she doesn't wrap her legs around me and wiggles out of my arms. Conrad is still knocking, and I know he has a spare key. My time is short. With a groan, I grab Hannah's hand and drag her to the bedroom, throwing the door open and pushing her toward my walk-in closet. “Just stay here,” I say.
“What—!” She's flabbergasted. “You’re not hiding me in the closet.”
“I will be as quick as I can. Please wait here.”
I shut the door, hearing her say, “I can't believe you’re doing this.”
Guilt is piercing through me, along with a laugh at the absurdity of the situation bubbling inside me. I just hid Hannah van den Bosch in my closet like a horny teenager getting caught by my parents. Right after she revealed her kleptomania to me. What is my life right now?
I open the front door after assuring I’m decent to reveal Conrad with two Cartier gift bags in his hands. He looks annoyed as hell, but I don't give a damn. “What are you doing here, Conrad?” My eyes flicker down to the bags. “I hope those aren’t for me 'cause I’m truly not in the mood.”
“Haha, very funny.” He pushes past me into the apartment before I can even let him in. “I need urgent help.”
“Urgent? What's wrong?”
“Yes, urgent!” He sits the bags down and rakes a hand through his dark hair. “I’m having a date with Hannah tomorrow night and want to give her something special.”
Oh, this prick. Anger flushes through me first, followed by the green sting of jealousy. What's worse is that I can't even truly be angry with him because Hannah isn't mine. The thought of grabbing Conrad's hand and dragging him to the bedroom to show him who is hiding in there, her face flush and her lips wet from my kiss, is tempting, but I immediately brush that away. Then I look down at the bags.
Cartier? God, that's what he thinks will win Hannah over? I think about her stolen collection and the affection and reverence with which she handled the items when she showed them to me, and the idea of giving her Cartier seems almost offensive. Compared to what I know Hannah values, Cartier seems so banal and tacky.
“Seriously, man? You think buying her mainstream jewelry is going to work? She's not a fucking escort.”
Conrad's face tightens in annoyance. “You didn't even see what I picked out. Why on earth are you so pissed off?”
“Because I’ve seen this song and dance from you before.” I wave my hands at the bags, my tone annoyed. “You have this habit of trying to fast-track your way to a woman's heart by trying to buy her affection.”
There's a flash of hurt in his eyes, and damn him, I do feel bad. His past relationships haven’t been stellar, but it wasn't all his fault, either. And he’s my friend. How could he possibly know I’d move heaven and earth to please Hannah? That the idea of another man taking her on a date, even Conrad, makes me volcanic with anger?
“That's not what this is about,” he tells me, all the enthusiasm from when he first arrived gone. “Oh, and I wanted to invite you out for a drink, but seeing what kind of mood you’re in, I’m not sure if it's a good idea.”
I shake my head once. “I’ve got things to do, Conrad. I’m sorry.”
“We could just have something here—” he starts, but I walk past him and open the door.
“I’m dealing with a private issue right now, and I just need some space. We'll catch up later, okay?”
He continues to look hurt and now rejected, but he nods in understanding and gathers his bags, hesitating once he’s in the hall. “You know you can talk to me, man. If you need to.”
I clap him on the shoulder. “I know.”
Finally, he’s gone, and I’m shutting the door, heaving a sigh of relief as I do so. Hell, that was close. Too close.
“You can come out now!” I yell, going to grab my wine glass off the coffee table and downing the entire thing in one drink.
Hannah steps out of the closet with a playful twinkle in her eyes. “Well, well, well, what do we have here? Possessive professor Johan, not thrilled about my evening plans?”
I roll my eyes, attempting nonchalance. “Possessive? And no, I’m not thrilled. Conrad seems like a?—”
“A what? A bad guy?” She smirks, clearly enjoying pushing my buttons.
“No, not a bad guy. Just not... someone you should be spending your evening with.” I try to sound casual, but my words carry an unintended edge.
Hannah raises an eyebrow. “Oh, really? And why's that, Johan?”
“He’s…Conrad,” I mumble, realizing how feeble my argument sounds.
“Insightful as always,” she teases, sauntering with a teasing smile. “Relax. It’s just a date. I’m not running off with him.”
I sigh, caught between irritation and the absurdity of my possessive feelings. “You could do better than Conrad.”
“Maybe, but I won’t know until I try,” she quips, giving me a knowing look that only fuels my internal turmoil. “You've got Astrid; it's time for me to find someone too,” she reminds me as if daring to argue.
“No, you aren't going out with him—” I begin, my attempt to sound composed falling apart as panic simmers beneath the surface. The idea of her being with someone else, especially Conrad, irks me more than I admit.
“There's nothing you can do about it,” Hannah asserts stubbornly, challenging me.
“Oh yes, there is,” I counter, determination coloring my words. Without another thought, I close the distance between us, leaning in to capture her lips in a kiss. It’s a bold move, an instinctive response to the fear that she might slip away, that Conrad might become more than just a casual date.
Her arms twine around my neck as she kisses me back, her nails scraping over my skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. I can taste the desperation on her tongue, the desire that has held us hostage for years, the affection she has for me...
It’s everything.
I pull back just far enough to rest my forehead against hers. “I’m going to ensure you don't ever dream about anyone but me.”
Then I kiss her again, scooping her up until her legs twine around my waist once more. I don't press her against the wall this time but carry her to the bedroom. And instead of the closet, this time, I take her to the bed.
I lay Hannah down carefully but with all of my intentions clear. I take her wrists in one of my hands, stretch her hands above her head, and hover over her, kissing her until she's breathless beneath me. “I’m going to show you everything I’ve imagined doing to you,” I say, voice gravelly with desire.
I release her long enough to pull my shirt over my head, throwing it aside before lowering back down to her once more. Hannah's hands roam my bare chest, her palms pressing to my pecs and then my shoulders. Her touch is soft, her skin smooth, and the feel of her hands on my skin is a thousand times better than anything I could have dreamed.
My mouth finds the line of her jaw, kissing and licking my way down the column of her neck. The urge to mark her is strong; the desire to have her bear my possession is visceral, but I restrain myself. Instead, I nip lightly, teasing her skin and reveling in the way she gasps.
I work my hands under her shirt, helping her slither out of the sweatshirt and leaving her in just a bralette. It’s black and contrasts with the pale expanse of her skin, but as hot as it is, I want what is under the fabric so much more.
Sliding my fingers under the edge of the fabric, I wait for her to arch her back so I can continue to undress her. But for the first time tonight, Hannah hesitates, and I notice.
I drop my hands and run them down her sides instead, holding her gaze as I pull my lips from her skin. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, eh, I just…” Hannah, face bright with lust, looks away from me, and my stomach twists.
“Just what?” I insist, searching her averted gaze for an answer. “I can stop what we were doing if you’re unsure.”
She shakes her head and reaches towards my face. “It’s nothing. Forget it.”
I let her touch me, but I don't give in when she tries to pull me back down. “Hannah. Tell me. You can trust me.”
She bites her bottom lip nervously, hands wandering over my chest once more. Finally, she inhales and asks, “Are you sure you won’t be mad?”
“Positive.”
Now she sucks in a breath, and her confession comes out fast, “I’ve never gone this far with anyone else before.”
“Oh.” Her admission catches me off guard, but it makes sense. Hannah's always been private and reserved. There's a second of possessive triumph in me, but I know it isn't the response she needs from me right now. “Seriously?”
She nods, her mouth turning down at the corners. “Did I just ruin this?”
“Of course not,” I answer immediately.
“Are you sure?” She wets her lips, looking at me in a different way. “I still want you, you know….”
I can’t believe how lucky I am. How did I get here, in bed with her? Looking at her in the lamplight, waiting for my touch, my kiss, I know one thing for sure—my modest apartment in Cambridge is not the place for something as important as Hannah losing her virginity. It’s like those damn Cartier bags—she’s too classy, too special. She deserves the world.
“I also want you,” I rumble, nudging her jaw with my nose until she turns her head and I can kiss that sweet spot on her neck that makes her gasp. “What if we spend the weekend away, just the two of us?”
Her next words feel like a bucket of cold water. “What if Astrid finds out?”
“She and I are not in a relationship,” I remind her. “We are just friends.”
“I know, but…” she sighs, pausing for a beat. “But she has feelings for you, and if she finds out….”
“That's why we leave,” I insist, looking her in the eye. “So we're alone, away from all of this. Just the two of us, Hannah, imagine it.” There's a stiffness in her body, a hesitation that I hate. I suck at her pulse point on her neck, moving slowly down, convincing her with my hands and mouth since my words aren't working. Waiting for her approval, I’m moving down her neck to her collarbone and then across her chest, leaving wet kisses on the skin peeking out over her bralette.
When Hannah finally moans, “Okay,” I’m so relieved.
I pull back long enough to murmur, “Yes?”
“Yes. Fine. We can go away for the weekend.”
I’m grinning from ear to ear, and my smile must look ridiculous. “This weekend, then. We'll have an adventure. And you won’t regret it.”
That's enough talking for now, and I claim her mouth with mine once more, telling myself that we won’t take this far tonight. But I can't get enough of simply kissing her like this, skin to skin, the softness of her breasts pressed to my chest.
The thought of making her mine, truly and completely, has me half hard and aching for her already. And with Hannah's moans of pleasure, her body squirming underneath mine, I don't have the willpower to pull away.
So I don't. She might not be able to stay much longer, but while I have her, I will make the most of every second.