Rick’s hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer, his lips crashing against yours with a hunger that left you breathless. At 43, he carried the weight of his years, but right now, none of that mattered. You, at 25, had a pull on him he couldn’t resist.

“You’re trouble,” he muttered against your lips, his voice low and rough. “Serious trouble.”

“You don’t seem to mind,” you teased, your fingers curling into his shirt as you fumbled with the buttons, your movements shaky under the heat of his gaze.

His chuckle was dark, his hands sliding under your shirt, rough palms brushing bare skin. “I don’t think I could stop even if I tried.”

“Then don’t,” you whispered, tilting your head as his lips found your neck, making your breath hitch.

With a soft growl, Rick’s lips returned to yours just as you managed to undo the last button, pushing his shirt open. Your hands roamed over his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin, the hard muscle beneath your fingertips. He groaned softly at your touch, pulling you even closer as his hands slid lower.

Lifting you effortlessly, your legs wrapped around his waist as he pressed you against the wall. His lips found yours again, the kiss deeper, fiercer, as if he needed all of you.

“Say the word,” he murmured, his forehead resting against yours, his breath hot against your lips. “Tell me to stop.”

“I don’t want you to,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

That was all he needed. His lips captured yours again, the fire between you all-consuming, leaving no room for hesitation—only the heat of this moment.