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His stubble is rough against me. My flesh quivers.

‘You taste like I remember,’ he says, the words breathed across my clit until I can take no more.

I want to touch him. I ache to touch him. But my restraint holds no matter how hard I pull. It hurts my wrists, but it’s a hurt that I like, that I welcome.

I want him to teach my body all its pleasures…even the ones that hurt a little.

I want him to fuck me.

I want him.

I push that last thought away.

I can’t want him beyond this. I can’t want him beyond this one night—a night of recompense and renewal, a night that will teach him he shouldn’t have left me. A night that will haunt him like the night we spent together has haunted me.

His tongue lashes me and my skin prickles with goosebumps. My breath is burning in my body as stars dance behind the lids of my eyes. I am trembling unstoppably, so close I can taste the release in my mouth. Adrenalin fills me.

He pulls up, though, watching me, and with his eyes locked to mine slides a finger inside me, deep, slow, so he can feel my muscles convulsing.

‘Have you missed me, angel?’

Have I missed him? Have I missed him?

I have missed him with all that I am, every minute of every day. I have missed him as my stepbrother, my friend and, yes, as my lover.

He disappeared into thin air, leaving a void too big to be filled. Too big to comprehend. Like the galaxy sucked clean of stars, he left just black emptiness on the horizon.

‘I’ve been busy,’ I say through gritted teeth, pleasure spiralling through me, making thought difficult.

‘Have you thought about that night?’

He pushes another finger inside me and I groan. It’s not enough. I need him. Just him. All of him.

‘I’ve thought about how you left with just a shitty note,’ I say, the words tight, my lips pushed together.

His laugh is rough. ‘Better than no note at all.’

He is nonchalant and seemingly uncaring, as if he has no idea how he’s hurt me, no idea how devastated I was. It renews my intent. My certainty that this night is not a prelude to a relationship but a single weakness, an exploitation designed to make him hurt like I was hurt. And I’m okay with it.

He moves his fingers inside me, fast and deep, like he’s fucking me, and I moan, angry and enraged but weakened by his touch.

I cry out as I come and then he brings his mouth back to my seam, tasting me, kissing me as pleasure tips me over the edge of sanity…

CHAPTER EIGHT

I’M SO HARD AND so desperate to plunge myself inside her, but the room is still heavy with her orgasm, the sounds of her pleasure surrounding us like a blanket. A prickle of doubt begins to run across me.

What are we doing?

What have I done?

It took me months to get over what happened in New York. Months to accept that we’d crossed a line we both knew we shouldn’t have. God knows, I’m still not over wanting her, needing her, craving her like the rarest drug in the world.

What happens after this? And do I care?

‘You sound so fucking good when you come, angel.’

She smiles up at me, a slow unfurling that spreads across her face and makes my gut twist. There is so much history between us, so much past. I have to blot that out. Live in the moment.

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