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“ D etective Tanner, please.” I pad circles around my apartment in wide-leg jeans and a tight tank top, my hair pulled up in the world’s largest messy bun, as my cell phone wobbles against my ear.

“Hi, Everly.”

I pause my steps. “Hey, Astrid. I’m that recognizable, huh?”

“It’s the prominent irritation inflected whenever you say his name.”

Frowning, I mouth the name Tanner multiple times, realizing I do say it with an edge. “Sorry.” I clear my throat through a chuckle. “Is he around? It’s kind of important.”

“He should be. I’ll transfer you.”

Two minutes pass, and I glance at my Apple watch, noting that I’ve managed over one-thousand steps just in unproductive pacing.

A voice answers. “Tanner.”

The moment he picks up, I plop down in a kitchen chair and ramble off a frazzled monologue all in one breath. “Hey. It’s Everly. Everly Mayfield. I’m damn-near confident Isaac is following me. Stalking me while avoiding me at the same time; it’s an art form, really. And it’s the Isaac—not Grandpa Isaac—so don’t even bother. Have you been hiding him? Is he a criminal? Are you both criminals? You better start talking, because I?—”

The call disconnects.

Son of a bitch.

I stare at my phone screen, my eyes narrowing to slits.

I’m petty enough to call right back.

Astrid sighs through the speaker. “Hey. He told me to tell you he’s catching a plane to Aruba, and he won’t be returning. Ever. Please don’t kill the messenger.”

“Aruba’s great. A pioneer of purified water technology.” Gritting my teeth, I force my tone to stay pleasant as I stand from the chair and start cleaning my countertops for the seventeenth time. “Can you transfer me again?”

“Sure thing.”

Straight to voicemail.

I growl out something unintelligible and toss my phone onto the counter, then press forward on my hands. Frustration courses through me in volatile waves. It’s been a week since my on-stage meltdown-slash-panic attack, and Queenie encouraged me to take the week off to focus on my mental health. Valid. Apparently, putting off my therapy appointments hasn’t been wise.

I’m spiraling.

And my stalker situation isn’t helping.

For weeks, I’ve felt a presence. Eyes on me. It would be natural to worry that my captor or someone working for him is after me, but the truth is…I’ve never felt unsafe. I’ve felt the opposite.

Protected.

Now, given the mysterious man popping in and out of my orbit lately, I’m led to believe that my instincts have been right all along.

Isaac is here.

He’s alive.

And he tracked me down.

A meow echoes from the living room, and I glance over into the sparse space that houses nothing but an ugly loveseat, a coffee table, and a television.

More pressingly, a random cat.

Mr. Binkers swishes his tail from his perch atop the loveseat, eyeing me with judgment. “Judge away, kitty cat. My life is in shambles,” I mutter breezily, strolling over to the ball of black fur.

Before I make it to the living room, there’s a knock on my door.

My heart gallops.

I don’t get many visitors here, save for the mystery cat. Maybe he belongs to Isaac. Clearly, they’re taking notes from the same handbook.

Trudging forward, I unlock the door and am greeted by the elderly lady who lives in the adjacent apartment. “Oh. Hello.”

A cigarette dangles between her fingers as she studies me. “You’re a pretty thing, you know.” Her voice is reminiscent of my most recent bronchial infection. “Binks loves girls with big hair like you.”

I blink at her, my gaze landing on two knobby fingers loosely holding the cigarette. “What?” Looking around, I make sure she’s actually speaking to me, but the hallway is empty. It’s just me, my big hair, and the weird lady, whom I’ve only met in passing over the last few months.

Then the name registers.

Binks.

Binkers.

“Oh! I think I have your cat.”

Smoke billows around her, the ashy cloud blotting out the deep-set wrinkles on her face. “My niece, Freida—she’s pretty like you—got that same kinda hair that Mr. Binkers likes to catch his claws in.” The woman barks a laugh before choking on a mouthful of smoke, until she’s doubled-over coughing. “Anyhoo, it’s no surprise he’s made his way over here. He likes vanilla sponge cake. You got any of that?”

I fiddle with the belt loops on my jeans. “Um…no. But he’s been showing up here a lot lately. Somehow.”

“He’s a Houdini like that.” She shrugs.

“Okay, well, you can have your cat back,” I say, inching away. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

She waves a hand at me as smoke stings my eyes. “No need. I’m on my way out of here. My husband left me, so I can’t afford the rent anymore. Keep the cat.”

“What?”

“Keep him. He likes you.”

“I don’t…” I glance over my shoulder to where Mr. Binkers is now curled up on my counter, looking homey and content. “I’m not sure I have time for a new pet right now.”

“He’s low maintenance. Promise.” The woman leans against the frame, flicking ashes to the floor.

“What about a shelter?”

“Overcrowded. Poor thing won’t stand a chance.”

Damn.

Looks like I have a cat now.

“Okay…I guess. Do you have any belongings for him?”

“Sure do. Cat bed, food, litter, a few dead mice I’ve been collecting as trophies.”

My nose wrinkles.

“Kidding. Binkers doesn’t like mice. He prefers the finer things in life, like hogging the remote and stealing my pillow.” She readjusts her purse strap, her wispy yellow hair glinting under the hall lights. “I’ll bring everything by tomorrow. You’re a gem.”

“All right. See you?—”

She walks away.

Bewilderment has me lingering in the doorway for a few beats as I swallow the remnants of cigarette smoke and cheap floral perfume. With a sigh, I shut the door before swiveling around and crossing my arms.

Mr. Binkers watches me as I stand in the foyer. I don’t know what to do with myself, or the cat. We stare at each other.

He meows.

“So…vanilla sponge cake, huh?”

The back of my neck prickles. The baby hairs on my arms stand straight up as I move and glide across the stage, finally feeling like I’ve regained control of myself after a long week of moping, looking over my shoulder, and scheduling my initial therapy appointment with Dr. Ackland.

I tune out the song—whatever it is—refusing to hear something that’s not there.

I assess the crowd with upturned lips and coy winks, but I don’t see anyone. I’m too afraid I’ll see multicolored eyes and shiny shoes. A psychedelic suit paired with a diabolical smile.

A snake hiding in the brush, waiting to strike.

But I feel the telltale pull of familiarity as I unhook my bralette and let the red-sequined fabric flutter to the stage.

A draw.

Him.

I arch my back with confidence, swinging my auburn wig from side to side as my skin sheens with shimmering body oil. He can watch all he wants. I’ll give him a show.

How does it feel, Isaac? To know you still can’t touch me?

The routine closes out, and I feel good about my performance as I saunter off stage, sending a flirty wave over my shoulder. I collect my tips and run into Ariel backstage.

She nibbles on a banana and slaps me on the ass. “You have a VIP today. Lucky bitch.” Swallowing a bite, she tosses the other half into a trash can. “Your knight in shining armor awaits.”

My jaw tenses. “Who?” But I already know who it is.

“The hot hero who carried you off the stage like King Kong.”

My heart pounds, my pulse quickening to overdrive. “You can take it. I’m clocking out early tonight.” But that’s not what I want at all; I want to settle this madness and get to the bottom of why he’s here, why he’s stringing me along like a marionette on tangled strings. But I know my heart might not recover if he ghosts me again. “You deserve a break from the skeevy bald guy with overactive sweat glands who was dry humping the table leg while watching you dance last night.”

She considers the proposal. “George is just misunderstood. He’s a great listener,” she says. “But no, King Kong is all yours, Bee. He was adamant about seeing you.”

I fluster, removing my wig and fluffing out my flattened hair. “Okay. Right.”

“Len will be nearby if you have any trouble. But something tells me that man is the good kind of trouble.”

Something tells me it’s the fatal kind.

I send her a smile as I leave the backstage area and wind my way to the dressing room to freshen up. On a whim, I change into my bumble-bee costume. If he wants to play games, I’m adaptable. My heartbeats are badgering my eardrums as I fix my hair, scrub the mascara smudges from under my eyes, and reapply a spritz of coconut body mist.

When I pass through the bustling club, a rookie is leaning back on a stool as Ariel tips one of his sneakers toward his mouth, and liquor pours out of the shoe hole. Whisky dribbles down his chin while a group of bachelor-party friends cheer and holler beside him. She sends me a wink before I gather a breath and pivot toward the staircase leading up to the prismatic champagne rooms.

I tame my hair with sweaty palms as my heart thumps in time with my heels clapping against the metal steps.

The pink room glimmers with a cotton-candy glow. I inhale a breath and pause in front of the flamingo beads as a shadow moves on the other side of them. Then, with a gulp of courage, I pull back the curtain and let my eyes fall on the man sitting on the couch.

Knees spread.

One foot bouncing up and down.

Eyes like weapons.

Face like stone.

I stand in the entryway, my fingers curling around the beads, my legs threatening to buckle. Our gazes meet like swords clashing in the heat of battle.

I’m mad.

I’m terrified.

I’m…hypnotized.

The world falls away as we stare at each other, the gravity of it all bubbling to the surface. My emotions are at war. He’s been teasing me, torturing me, and still, I can’t prevent my anger from draining, my shoulders from drooping, my eyes from watering.

Everything comes rushing back.

Every moment. Every word. Every carefully threaded connection through that wall.

I wring my hands together in front of me as I step inside the room and the beads flutter closed behind me. Vanilla candles and earthy cologne assault my senses, while his eyes assault me.

A stormy brown gaze travels down my body, taking in my costume, before his focus pans back up and his jaw locks. He blinks slowly, not saying a word.

He looks uncomfortable.

Out of place.

Something tells me he doesn’t want to be here, and I don’t know why.

“Isaac.” I take another cautious step forward, hating the way my voice shakes. “That is your name, right?”

He taps his foot against the shag rug, draping both arms over the top of the couch. A muscle in his cheek tics, his biceps stretching the material of his shirt while a leather jacket rests beside him.

“Or is it…Nick?” I probe, moving closer. “Andrew. Marcus.” I lift a finger in the air and tilt my head to the side. “Lyle?”

His lips twitch.

“I know who you are. You can drop the act now.” I press closer until I’m situated between his spread legs, and he stiffens. “Tell me why you’re hiding, why you’re following me around yet avoiding me at the same time. What’s the point? Why would you do this?”

A frown bends his brows.

Emotion.

I use the moment of vulnerability to lean in closer and grit through my teeth, “I thought I killed you.”

Something unreadable passes over his face. His eyes flicker with a trace of softness, of something other than stone-cold apathy, before he snuffs it out and snaps his legs closed, caging me in.

I gasp.

I lurch forward, my hands planting on his shoulders to catch myself.

Our faces are mere inches apart, his body heat warming me.

He smells like something woodsy, mingling with citrus. Birchwood on his skin, lime on his breath.

I idle between his thighs, my adrenaline heightening. I imagined him to be good-looking—rough, built, and darkly attractive—but he’s beautiful . Bone structure cut from stone, a stubbled jawline, lightly tanned skin, muscles rippling and hard-earned. He oozes sex appeal and edgy intrigue. His hair looks soft and silky, a tousling of waves on top and cropped shorter in the back. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I motion to run my fingertips through it.

But my hand stalls mid-reach when he snags me by the wrist.

I go still, slowly turning to take in the contact.

His hand. On me.

His grip is bruising— punishing —and my pulse speeds up as my fingers curl into a fist.

I try to pull away, but his hold doesn’t loosen. “Let me go.”

He doesn’t. His opposite hand is balled-up beside his thigh, every muscle flexing with suppression. I know he’s affected by this.

“Talk to me,” I demand, wiggling free and stumbling away from him. Veins line his arms in ropes, pulsing and dilating as he cups his kneecaps with both hands. “Say something… anything .”

Nothing.

More silence.

I watch him guardedly through the low-lit room, our eyes a tangle of history and uncertainty. My black-and-yellow-striped bralette and sheer skirt hardly cover anything and have me feeling vulnerable and exposed—and that’s usually the point. But I’m pretty sure I could be wearing a woolly parka, and I’d still feel bare under his gaze.

Lifting my chin, I find an ounce of courage and narrow my eyes on him. “Fine. You seem to like games. Let’s play, then.” My high heels dig into the rug as I stomp forward and shove him back on the couch, both of my palms planting on his chest, until he collapses with a sharp breath.

I mount him, straddling his lap with my knees on either side of his hips.

Then I wiggle.

He hisses.

“I’ll give you your fifty-eight-minute lap dance, and then you leave. Stop following me. Stop messing with my head.” Tears prick my eyes. My voice cracks, agony inching its way to the surface. “I can’t do it.”

His two curled hands lie dormant beside my knees. I watch as he splays his fingers, then fists them again before letting out an exhale. The warm air beats against my lips, and I realize my thighs are squeezing his legs so hard I’m trembling. I loosen my hold and lift, my fingertips grazing up his arms until my hands are propped on his shoulders for support.

I want him to see the pain in my eyes and rip off the mask.

I want him to say something.

I want him to be the man he was, back when he was the only man I had.

But he still says nothing.

My fingernails dig into his shoulders, my anger soaring back at his aloofness. “This is what you wanted, right?” I dip my face lower until we’re a hair’s breadth apart. “It’s why you’ve been watching me dance? You’ve been fantasizing about this. Your hands on me…” I brush my lips to the side of his jaw. “Your mouth on me.”

My own words strangle me.

Moisture pools inside my underwear.

And I hate this.

I hate that after all we’ve been through, this is where we ended up: a second-rate fantasy in a stripper suite.

Grinding against his groin, I feel his hardness press into my inner thigh. A shuddery breath falls out as my hands cradle the sides of his neck, and I sway and move and writhe to this wayward dance he’s forced us into.

But then his palm slides up my spine.

Grips the back of my neck.

In a flash, I’m flung off his lap like I weigh nothing and shoved down to the couch, his body covering mine as his eyes burn like hot coals.

I can’t move.

I’m trapped beneath him.

“Get up.” I try to wiggle free, shoving at his chest.

A hand curls around my neck as he bends down, his teeth nicking my jaw.

I shiver. Moan.

Bastard.

Regrouping quickly, I push at his chest again. “Get off me. I swear to God I’ll?—”

He snatches a fistful of my hair and tugs my head back, his lips a centimeter from mine. Then he growls out, the tips of our noses grazing, “What’s the matter, Chloe? I thought you liked it rough.”

My eyes widen.

Blood freezes.

Lips parting on a sharp exhale, I gape at him, my fingers twisting the front of his T-shirt. Confirmation glitters in his eyes. His words.

His voice.

Then he fucking smirks.

Fury spirals through me in searing waves as I grab him by the hair, pull his face down to mine, and kiss him hard.

We both groan.

His tongue slides into my mouth, eradicating all the things I want to say and scream. I purge it in a different way, my leg coiling around his hip, tugging him closer, our mouths angling, breaths hot and wild. I claw my nails down his back, my other hand still tangled in his hair as his tongue dives deeper into my mouth.

Teeth. Moans. Scratches.

His erection digs into my thigh as I writhe against him, causing him to shudder as he grips me by the neck and bites my bottom lip so hard a bead of blood pools to the surface. I whimper through the jolt of pain.

He kisses me again with white-hot fire.

Passion. Magic. Pain.

I feel lost.

I feel complete.

Our tongues lash together, and I cry out against his mouth.

Then I tear myself away.

Reel my hand back.

And slap him hard across the face.

“You asshole .”

Isaac pulls up, his head sloped to the side as he processes the hit. His eyes close briefly before he slowly turns to look at me, jaw clenched tight, a pink handprint forming on his cheek. “You do like it rough.” He glides his tongue along his upper lip as he evaluates me with dangerous approval. “Good.”

“Get off me.”

“How about I get you off, instead?”

I shove at him with both hands. “I can scream.”

“Mmm.” His gaze dips to my swollen lips. “But will you?”

My chest heaves, my heart twisted into knots. I don’t have time to reply before he snaps both hands out, snatches my wrists, and hauls my arms over my head. I arch my back, my eyes fluttering closed. I feel his mouth descend, hot kisses dancing along the side of my throat as my body deflates, my rational thought dissipating with every stroke of his tongue against my pulse point.

I moan when he pulls my earlobe between his teeth, his tongue grazing my ruby earring.

“Did your husband make you moan like that?”

My eyes ping back open.

His lips curve with satisfaction. “Didn’t think so.”

A shot of outrage courses through me, and I find the strength to push him away, rolling out from under him and pulling to unsteady feet. My face is flushed, my costume in disarray. Isaac twists around on the couch, moving into a sitting position as he props an arm up on the backrest.

I shove a finger at the curtain. “Get out.”

“Still have fifty minutes, give or take.”

My knees wobble as I yank down the hem of my skirt and straighten my bralette. “I’ll give you a refund.”

He sighs through his nose. “Thought you wanted to talk.”

“And that’s the first thing you say to me? Really ?”

I’m livid.

Volatile.

Cripplingly confused.

Hot pressure burns behind my eyes as I drink in his passive disposition, my eyes landing on a jagged nail mark roping down the side of his neck. This was not the fairy-tale reunion I imagined if I ever saw him again. No grand gestures, no teary-eyed hugs, no orchestra or string quartets.

No flowers.

And I think that’s why I’m so…goddamn…

Mad .

My mother told me that expectation was a thief of joy, and I feel robbed.

I shove my hair back, trembling in front of him. “Why are you doing this? Why are you toying with me?” My words quiver despite my yearning for strength. “Why are you acting so cold?”

He tips his head back, his fingers dancing along the top of the sofa. “Sounds like you painted a picture in your mind of a man who doesn’t exist.”

“No.” I swing my head back and forth. “Don’t gaslight me. I know the real you. You showed him to me, in vivid color. I know you care.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.” My voice dips with vulnerability as I croak out, “You came back for me.”

His gaze blackens with ink as he sits up straighter and looks me dead in the eyes. “And I paid for that, didn’t I?”

I stone my jaw, trying to hide my heartache. “So, is that it, then? Is this your way of punishing me for the choice I made that day?”

“Don’t really care about that.” He shrugs, indifferent. “That lunatic was going to kill us all, anyway. You were in a losing game.”

Liar.

It eats at him that I said Jasper’s name.

Not because he thought The Timekeeper would have let him go, but because I let him go.

It eats at me, too. I’ve died a little every day since. I was certain I’d wake up one morning and there’d be nothing left of me.

Harnessing my composure, I cross my arms and study him, trying to pick apart his tangled pieces. “Why have you been following me?” My eyes slant with scrutiny. “Because you regret trying to save me? Because you don’t care?”

“You and your endless questions,” he mutters with a sigh. “Haven’t missed those.”

“Answer me.”

“Maybe I’m just bored.”

“Stop it.” I stomp forward, my fingernails digging into my arms. “This isn’t you.”

“And this is you?” He gives me a pointed once-over, assessing my scraps of clothing and shimmer-dusted skin. A hand flies out, gesturing at the candlelit room, glowing pink, as an erotic dance song thumps through the club. “Shaking your ass for horny men? Shoving your tits in their faces?”

“Does that bother you?”

He tries to remain detached, but I see it—the way the cords in his neck distend, the way his posture tenses.

Isaac drops his hands to his lap and curls them into fists. “No.”

“Right.” I take another step toward him. “It doesn’t bother you at all. That’s why you’ve had a front-row seat, watching my performances from the comfortable shadows, and why you dropped hundreds of dollars on a VIP visit. Twice. Because you’re completely unaffected.”

His expression wavers slightly, a whisper of emotion crossing over his face.

My thighs graze his kneecaps, and he glances at the contact. “You’re worried about me…you missed me.” When he scoffs and looks away, I trail my fingers up his leg, the feel of his rough jeans leaving fiery lines on my fingertips. “You’re jealous.”

He grabs me.

I’m in his lap again, a whoosh of air falling out as he wraps his arms around my back. Our foreheads knock together. My hands lift to cradle his neck, and I dust my thumbs across his skin. His eyes close, chest heaving with weighty breaths.

Bending, I whisper in his ear, “What do you want from me, Isaac?”

Heat flashes in his eyes as he slowly opens them. A hand lands on my hip, gently at first, before squeezing tight. He leans in. “What does Chloe want?”

My lashes flutter.

No.

I’m not letting him twist our connection into something purely sexual.

It’s more than that, it always has been.

I pull away but he follows, his mouth settling in the swell of my cleavage as my back bows. “She wants the real Isaac,” I practically moan, tingles erupting in my lower belly.

He shoves my bralette down past my breasts and takes a nipple in his mouth. “He’s not here.”

I gasp, my thighs clenching. “Yes, he is.”

Isaac drags a hand up my spine and grips me by the hair, his mouth ravenous as he moves to the other breast, hooking my nipple between his teeth.

Desire has me wet and needy.

Indecision battles with arousal as I grind into him, seeking friction.

“Oh, God…” I take his hair in both hands and hold his face to my chest, my body a wretched traitor as I buck in his lap. “Isaac.”

He thrusts up, his hard cock straining against denim. He moves up my chest with an open mouth and bites my neck, sucking the sensitive skin between his teeth.

My hands fly over him, tugging at his shirt, his hair, his face.

I’m lost.

There’s no turning back.

I yank his head back by the roots of his hair and crush my mouth to his. It’s a fusion of tongues and groans and missing as I search for something I can’t find.

Come back, Isaac.

I suck his tongue into my mouth, our teeth clashing in a frenzy of heat and slickness. Clumsy, hurried, desperate. He punishes me, exploring every nook and crevice, sliding his tongue over the roof of my mouth before he bites my lip again and tugs roughly.

“Have you thought about me?” Isaac dips a hand underneath my skirt and shoves my underwear to the side. “Touched yourself?”

I whimper and squirm against him, begging for his touch. “I…I thought you were dead.”

“Mmm.” He pushes two fingers inside me, and we both unravel. “I am.”

“Ooh, God .” I collapse against him, my hair a dark-blond curtain around us. He inhales deeply, grabs it, and uses it to hold me steady as he pumps his fingers in and out with violent, angry thrusts.

“ Fuck , Everly.” He finds my mouth again, and our lips part, hover, as his eyes close with rapture. “You’re so fucking wet.”

I’m soaked. Drenched. Drowning in him.

I ride his hand as my bare breasts bounce in his face. The feeling is already cresting, the salient release. Isaac sucks my breast into his mouth, still finger-fucking me until I’m a boneless, hapless heap of conflict and lust, jerking in his lap.

I want more. I need more.

Frantically, I reach down with trembling hands and fumble with his belt buckle.

He freezes, his fingers buried deep inside me. Breathing heavily, he pulls away from my chest, locking our eyes for the barest breath.

There’s only a beat of hesitation before he finds what he’s looking for.

He loses control.

His fingers slide out, one hand flying to his belt. He flings it open and yanks his zipper down, encircling a long arm around my lower back as he lifts off the couch, just enough for me to tug his jeans and boxers down his hips until his cock springs free.

Holy shit.

We’re doing this.

We’re really doing this.

My pulse scrambles to keep up. He’s huge and thick, engorged to the point it almost looks painful. The crown leaks with precum, veins swollen and dilated.

I wrap my hand around him and squeeze.

Isaac buckles, falling back against the couch and taking me with him. “Fucking hell,” he hisses, twining my hair around his hand until my scalp burns.

All thought peters out as the room dissolves around me. It’s only us and this… need .

This violent physicality.

I reach down and shove my underwear aside, centering myself with the head of his cock.

Our gazes collide.

The air crackles and burns—chemistry steeped in madness, a hopeless ache for more.

More than words. More than walls.

Finally.

I sink down onto him.

Oh. My. God.

Our moans are a simultaneous, sensual fusion as I collapse against him like a broken doll, my forehead landing on his shoulder as he stretches me, filling me so completely it hurts.

He doesn’t give me a moment to adjust, bucking his hips until I cry out. He yanks my head back by the hair, our faces an inch apart. My jaw falls open with disbelief, whimpers spilling out like water from a busted dam. He drags a calloused hand down my body, cupping my breast, using it as an anchor as his hips jolt off the couch, piercing me harder.

Again.

Again.

Quicker, faster, all caution tossed to the wind.

I bounce in his lap, riding him like I’m starved, like I’ve lost my goddamn mind.

“ Fuck ,” he grunts, squeezing my breast until pain mingles with pleasure. “This is what you always needed, wasn’t it?”

“Mmm.” I pin my lip between my teeth, my hair whipping around us as I cling to his T-shirt. “Don’t stop.”

“That’s right. Fucking take it.” He finds my neck, sucking the soft skin between his teeth as he rams into me before subduing the ache with a flick of his tongue.

I clutch him hard, my nails digging into skin. When he pulls up, he crushes his mouth to mine, forcing my jaw open. My teeth slam down, his growl rumbling through me, shooting fireworks to my core. The slippery wet sounds grow louder than the techno music seeping into the suite. It’s intoxicating, muting my mind, chasing away words and rational thought.

This. Only this.

It’s all action—a blur of frenzied hands, sweaty limbs, dueling tongues, and savage thrusts.

A reckoning.

My nails tear down the side of his neck.

My pussy strangles his cock.

His thumb presses against my clit, rubbing hard.

I ache. Bleed. Unravel.

Throwing my head back, I scream through the sudden orgasm as his hand slaps across my mouth, stifling my cry as he sinks deeper. Bolts of lightning strike me, shooting up my spine.

“Yeah… That’s it. Come on my dick,” he hisses. “Mmm… fuck .”

His fingers crawl inside my mouth, and I bite down, my shriek of pleasure dying out to a hoarse whimper as flickers of stardust blanket me in tendrils of heat. Isaac buries his face in my tits with a tortured growl while I cling hard, hold him, and pretend he’s something he’s not.

I feel his release.

His cock pulses inside me as he tenses, digging his teeth into the swell of my breast and leaving a wet bruise behind. A low, tapered groan follows, his body vibrating as the orgasm rolls through him, his hands latching on to my hipbones as he grips me with the strength of a storm.

My breathing shallows and my body sags.

Weightless. Drained.

Isaac exhales against my skin as the waves pass, his forehead dropping to my cleavage. Rolling, lingering, savoring.

One, two, three…

And it’s over.

When I come down from the high, I’m in ruins.

I feel blindsided.

By him.

By my own mutinous instincts.

My eyes close, and I slump forward against his chest as reality crashes into me. Noise outside the suite filters in. Heady beats from the club, patrons laughing and cheering.

Isaac slowly slides out, leaving a stinging ache behind as he situates my soaked-through underwear back into place.

I can’t move. I can’t look at him.

His touch isn’t the gentle caress I crave in the aftermath when he tugs my hair back, forcing our eyes to meet. “Feel better now?” A satisfied grin curls up his lips. “I know I do.”

My eyes prick with tears.

No, no, no.

What was I thinking?

What the hell possessed me to?—

I scramble off his lap.

Finding my bearings, I haul my bralette back up to cover my breasts. My sex pulsates, and my skin twinges from his nicks and bites. I feel color burning in my cheeks with a post-orgasm flush.

My control snapped— that wasn’t me.

Something inside me broke, and all I can manage is, “That is never happening again.”

“You know that line about saying never.” His eyebrow arches as he settles back against the couch and yanks his jeans up his hips, leaving the belt hanging open. “When you change your mind, I’m at your service.”

I stare at him, at his disheveled dark hair, half matted to his forehead and the rest sticking up in all directions. Neon-red nail marks glow on his neck, his lips puffy and kissed raw. “Until you’re ready to drop the act and show me who you really are…please, just stay away.”

He tugs up his zipper. “It’s not an act. This is who I’ve always been.”

“No. You told me things, you opened up?—”

“To a wall .”

I shake my head, biting back a sob. “To me.”

Isaac glances away, scrubbing a hand down his face.

No response.

I can’t read him. I don’t know him.

Gritting my teeth, I readjust my skirt, furious with myself for being weak. I feel like a sex-starved hooker. His release drips down my inner thighs, another shocking reminder of what I’ve done. I was literally on the clock when I jumped in his lap and rode him until I saw stars.

This…s tranger .

Oh, my God.

Whipping around, I stalk toward the curtains, nearly tripping over my heels.

His voice catches me before I slip through. “Bee.”

I freeze in place, my back to him, closing my eyes as the nickname trickles through me like warm honey. A soothing balm.

But the words that follow are an acid-doused knife.

“See you soon.”

An avalanche of emotion slams into me.

I whirl back around, my eyes widening, ablaze. I gape at him, stunned he could be so careless with my heart.

He falters, takes in my reaction.

My pain.

I see the regret fill his eyes, but it’s too late.

I waited so long to hear him repeat those words. They were a promise that we’d find each other outside of that place. That our stories, talks, and soul-deep connection would follow us home.

That one day…he’d finally see me.

But he just twisted those words into something meaningless, and he can’t take them back.

He doesn’t see me at all.

Isaac swallows and looks away, dipping his chin until he’s staring down at the floor.

I flip him off and storm out of the suite.