Cellie's POV
The door was fighting us and losing on principle.
My hands were shaking, the key was not cooperating, and Demetrio's patience had officially expired somewhere between the car and the base of the stairs, which meant his hands were on my waist and his mouth was at my neck and I was attempting to perform fine motor tasks under conditions that were not designed for fine motor tasks.
"I cannot open this if you keep doing that," I told him.
"Then open it faster," he said, against my throat.
I tried the lock again and failed and made a sound of frustration and he made a sound that was significantly less frustrated and significantly more amused and I spun around and kissed him instead because the door was a problem for a version of me that was not currently being looked at the way he was looking at me, which was like I was the only thing in the hallway worth paying attention to.
