Page 70 of American Beauty

I don’t. I can’t. My mind is a storm, thoughts colliding in a messy, tangled wreckage.

I should move. I should say something. But all I can do is relish the sensation of pleasure still pulsing through me, feel the ghost of his fingers inside me, carry the weight of everything I let happen.

A part of me is sick with guilt. But then, just as quickly, I shove it down. Bury it.

I haven’t betrayed Alex. He ended things with me. He’s with someone else. He’s marrying another woman.

The one.

I don’t owe him my loyalty or fidelity. Yet something inside me twists, sharp and unforgiving.

Why does it ache like I just crossed a line I can’t come back from?

Ty watches me, unreadable, but there’s something in his expression—something satisfied, something knowing. He lifts a hand and brushes his thumb over my bottom lip, his touch deliberate and possessive.

“You don’t have to think so hard with me, Mags.” His voice is smooth, confident, like he’s not the least bit uncertain about what just happened between us.

My stomach tightens. Because that’s the problem. I wasn’t thinking at all.

I was letting go. And if I keep allowing myself to play with this fire, I will get burned. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow—but the flames will find me.

I swallow hard, stepping back, putting distance between us even as my body protests the loss of heat. My fingers tremble as I adjust my dress, as if I can erase what just happened, as if I can make myself believe that I’m still the same person I was before he pulled me into this alley.

Ty doesn’t stop me. He doesn’t say a word. He just watches, his smirk lingering.

The silence stretches, suffocating me.

I force a breath. “We should go.”

His smirk deepens, but he nods. “Whatever you say, Mags.”

He steps back, giving me space, but the damage is already done. My skin still burns where he touched me. My mind is branded with the way he looked at me, the way he pressed against me.

I don’t look at him as we walk toward the car, my pulse still hammering in my throat.

This was a mistake. And deep down, I know something else.

It probably won’t be the last.

The drive back is suffocating. The silence stretches, thick and heavy, filling every inch of space between us. Ty’s hands grip the steering wheel, his posture relaxed. But I know better. His restraint is a tangible thing, pressing against the tension that lingers between us.

My mind betrays me, flashing back to the alley. The rough brick against my back. The way his fingers slid beneath mydress, parting me with ease. The way he worked me, his touch unyielding.

My breath increased and my body arched into him, desperate and wanting. He watched me unravel, eyes locked on mine, consuming me whole.

I will the memory away, staring out the window at the blur of city lights. Every second is like an eternity.

I need to say something. Anything.

“What are you doing in the U.S.?”

He smirks but keeps his eyes on the road. “You mean besides making women come hard in dark alleys?”

I roll my eyes, but the corner of my mouth twitches. “I mean why did you buy a hotel here?”

“Why not?”

“I’m serious, Ty. Tell me the reason.”

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