Page 23 of The Ex-Girlfriend Agreement

Soon we're both down to just underwear, skin against skin, rediscovering each other with eager hands and mouths. Dean rolls us again, settling between my thighs, his weight a delicious pressure. He kisses a path down my neck, between my breasts, across my stomach, each touch igniting fires I thought had long been extinguished.

When he hooks his fingers in my panties and slides them down my legs, I don't protest. When he parts my thighs and settles between them, his intentions clear, I only nod eagerly. And when his mouth finds me, hot and insistent, I cry out, fingers tangling in his hair to hold him closer.

"Dean," I gasp as pleasure builds rapidly, my body responding to his touch like it was made for it. "Please."

He understands what I'm asking for. He rises above me again, shedding his boxers before reaching for his wallet on the nightstand. I watch through heavy-lidded eyes as he retrieves a condom—ever prepared, my Dean—and rolls it on.

Then he's positioning himself at my entrance, his eyes locked on mine, silently asking one more time if I'm sure. I answer by wrapping my legs around his hips and pulling him toward me.

We both groan as he enters me, the sensation both achingly familiar and brand new. For a moment, we're still, adjusting to the feeling of being joined again after so long. Then Dean begins to move, slow and deep, each thrust deliberate.

"I've missed you," he murmurs against my ear, his voice rough with emotion. "So damn much, Brooke."

I turn my head to capture his mouth, pouring everything I can't say into the kiss. My hips rise to meet his, matching his rhythm, urging him deeper, faster. His hand slides between us, finding the spot that makes me see stars, and I arch against him, chasing the release I can feel building.

"Let go," he encourages, his movements becoming more urgent. "I've got you."

And I do, pleasure crashing over me in waves, his name a prayer on my lips as I shatter around him. Dean follows moments later, his face buried in my neck, a groan torn from deep in his chest.

We lie tangled together afterward, sweat cooling on our skin, neither speaking for fear of breaking the spell. His weight is comforting on top of me, his heartbeat gradually slowing to match mine. After a while, he shifts to the side, keeping one arm draped across my waist, his face nestled in my hair.

Reality begins to creep back in as my breathing returns to normal. What have we done? This wasn't part of the plan. This complicates everything.

"That was a mistake," I whisper, more to myself than to him.

Dean props himself up on one elbow, looking down at me with a self-satisfied smirk that makes my heart flip despite my best intentions.

"Sure it was, sweetheart," he says, dropping a kiss on my shoulder that sends shivers down my spine. "Whatever you need to tell yourself."

His confidence should irritate me. Instead, I find myself fighting a smile, even as I wonder exactly what I've gotten myself into—and how I'm ever going to find my way back out.

EIGHT

Dean

I wake before Brooke,my arm numb underneath her head, her body curved against mine like a question mark seeking its answer. Early morning light filters through the half-closed blinds, painting stripes across her bare shoulder and the tangle of dark hair spread across my chest. She sleeps deeply, one hand curled near her face like a child, lips slightly parted. If I were a better man, I'd carefully extract myself, let her wake alone so she could preserve the fiction that last night was just a drunk mistake. But I've never claimed to be a better man, and the weight of her against me is something I'm not ready to surrender.

Last night changed things. I'm not fool enough to think one passionate night erases two years of separation or solves the fundamental problems that drove us apart. But it's a crack in the wall she built between us, a confirmation that whatever else has changed, this—the way our bodies speak to each other—remains as powerful as ever.

She stirs, eyelids fluttering as consciousness begins to creep in. I stay perfectly still, savoring these last moments before reality intrudes. Her leg shifts against mine, her foot running along my calf in a gesture so familiar it makes my chest ache. Then her eyes open, confusion giving way to recognition as she takes in our position.

"Morning," I say, my voice still rough with sleep.

Brooke blinks rapidly, pushing hair from her face as she sits up, clutching the sheet to her chest like I didn't memorize every inch of her body last night. "Um, good morning."

I prop myself up on one elbow, making no move to cover myself as the sheet pools at my waist. "Sleep okay?"

"Fine," she says, not meeting my eyes as she scans the room for her discarded clothes. "What time is it?"

"Early." I reach out, my fingers brushing her bare back, feeling her shiver at the contact. "We don't need to be at breakfast for another hour."

She stands abruptly, wrapping the sheet around herself and leaving me exposed on the bed. I don't miss how her eyes flicker down, then quickly away.

"I should shower," she says, her voice overly bright. "Big day ahead."

"Brooke." I sit up fully now, catching her wrist as she tries to move past me. "Are we really not going to talk about this?"

She stops, still not looking at me. "What's there to talk about? We had sex. It happens."

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