The kiss wasn't gentle.
It was fire and fury, desperation and need all tangled together. Maxwell's hand cupped the back of my neck, pulling me closer, and I went willingly, my fingers fisting in his shirt.
He tasted like danger and dark promises. Like everything I shouldn't want but couldn't resist.
When he finally pulled back, we were both breathing hard.
"That was—" I started.
"A mistake," Maxwell finished, his voice rough. But his hand was still on my neck, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin there. "We shouldn't—"
"Probably not."
"You're my student."
"You're a wanted assassin."
His lips twitched despite himself. "We're a disaster waiting to happen."
"Yeah." I leaned in closer, my lips brushing his. "So what?"
This time when we kissed, it was slower. Deeper. Maxwell's other hand slid to my waist, pulling me onto his lap, and I went without hesitation.
