The door to Room 412 had barely clicked shut before Zoe slammed Maya against the mahogany paneling. The impact wasn't violent, but it was sudden, a physical exclamation point to the tension that had been simmering since the penthouse. Maya’s breath left her in a sharp huff, her back pressing into the cool wood while Zoe’s body surged forward, a wall of emerald silk and heat.
Zoe didn’t give her a second to breathe. She crashed her lips against Maya’s, the kiss frantic and starving, as if they had both been holding their breath for years. It wasn't the polished, performative kiss from the elevator; this was raw, desperate, and fueled by a sudden, violent realization that the "game" had been a convenient excuse for a desire they were both too terrified to name.
Maya groaned into the kiss,
