-Yes, she murmured again.
Stanley reached out, his hands finding her waist. He pulled. She let him, following the momentum, fluid and desperate, until she was no longer sitting next to him.
She was straddling him.
The shift was tectonic. The books and the coffee were forgotten. There was only the friction of denim against denim and the sudden, overwhelming heat of her weight on his lap.
Alina gasped, a sharp, intake of breath that sounded like a seal breaking.
He kissed her again, pushing his tongue through her lips. Her mouth opened under his, hungry, tasting of coffee and something sweeter but darker.
Her guarded hands tangled freely in his hair. She gripped him like she was falling, or he was.
-Stanley, she breathed against his mouth.
He moved his hands. Up the curve of her spine. Under the hem of the oversized sweater.
He felt her breath hitch as his palms found the bare skin of her back. She arched into the touch, pressing her chest against his.
His fingers traced the line of her ribs, higher, until they brushed the strap of her bra.
She shuddered.
-More, she whispered. It was a command, stripped of any irony.
He slid his hand around to the front, his thumb grazing the soft swell of her breast through the thin fabric of her bra.
Alina threw her head back. A sound escaped her throat, a low, broken whimper that vibrated against his chest.
She ground down on his lap, a rhythmic, instinctive movement that sent a jolt of fire through him.
He gripped her hips, anchoring her to him, matching her rhythm.
She looked down at him. Her pupils were blown wide, swallowing the blue. Her hair was a chaotic halo around her flushed face. The mask was gone.
-I think... she panted, her voice trembling. I think I've been waiting for this longer than I know.
Stanley reached up. He cupped her face, his thumb tracing her swollen lip.
-Then let's not wait anymore.
He pulled her down. She met him halfway, a collision of bodies in the dark, trying to erase the silence of the empty apartment with the noise of their need.
