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There’s been an invisible thread that’s been tethering me to Hayes ever since I came home from the hospital two weeks ago.?

No, I don’t remember our first marriage. Or our second, for that matter.

But I remember seven years ago. And what I don’t remember, the things that have been lost somewhere in the fog of my mind, Hayes has made up for in the quiet, steady way that he’s been here and the conversations that we’ve had.

It’s in the way he’s spoken to me, soft and patient when I ask questions about the past. In the dinners he’s made every night that he’s been home, setting a plate in front of me like it’s second nature.

It’s in the way he looks at me, like I’m something he’s been starving for but refuses to take a bite of until I tell him he can.

The clench of the muscles in his neck when he’s holding back, the bunch of his brows and the warmth of his eyes help me understand what we had before.

And I feel confident now that we were so much more than just business partners.

And then there’s Declan. After my date with him, I knew deep down that there was a reason I ended things with him right before I blew into Hayes life once again. A reason I let him go. Because Hayes gave me something Declan never did. Something I don’t think I was even looking for at the time.

Passion and desire.

Between Rae, Molly, and Lydia filling in the gaps in my memory these past few weeks, it sounds like a textbook me move.

I made a deal. Convinced Hayes it was too good to pass up so that I could get the Mayberry Manor.

Married him like it was all business. And then, somewhere along the way… I think I fell for him.

And over these past two weeks we’ve shared, I think I finally understand why and how I did because I’m falling for him all over again.

Maybe, in the beginning, it really was just about the deal. But the way Hayes looks at me now? Like I’m the only thing that’s ever mattered? That tells me it was more than that on the night of my accident. Even if I never said it out loud. Even if I never let myself believe it before.

He drops between my legs, his strong hands gripping my thigh, draping one over his shoulder while pressing the other one down, spreading me wider beneath him.

“You are… everything, Regan,” he whispers, his dark eyes alight with fire.

The soft crease in his forehead—the one that’s been there for two weeks like he’s been holding back every time he looks at me—flickers in the dim glow of the candlelight.

He trails his gaze over my body, between my legs, hunger written in every tense line of his frame as he memorizes my naked form.

“Do you remember what you told me the night we first met?” he asks.

I blink up at him, the memory hovering just out of reach before it clicks into place, but he continues before I can respond.

“I asked you to tell me a secret…”

“Oh…” I whisper, my throat going dry, because now I remember. I really fucking do.

“You told me I was going to fall in love with you,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough as his gaze is heavy lidded, locked on mine, “even though I’d try my darndest not to.”

I wet my lips, and his eyes drop there instantly. He doesn’t say another word. Doesn’t elaborate on that, just moves .

Two fingers part me, one sliding into my opening slow, and fuck— fuck , that feels good.

Not much, but enough when I haven’t been touched in what feels like so long.

His fingers are long, strong and rough from his bull-riding days, and the stretch of them inside me is so perfectly right that it feels like I can’t breathe.

A groan rumbles deep in his chest as he adds a second, his focus locked between my legs, watching me take him. “You’re so wet for me, baby.”

I nod, barely breathing.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice thick with need. “Dripping all over my fingers. Down to my wrist. Greedy.”

I push up on my elbows, watching as he pumps into me, twisting, scissoring, like he’s mapping me out, learning me all over again.

Then, without warning, he drags his fingers out, slow and slick, and circles them over my clit, swirling my arousal in tight, focused strokes.

My legs start shaking, my body already trembling.

Then he pushes them back inside me roughly and lowers his mouth to my clit.

With a strong tap, he seals his lips over me like he’s never going to let go.

“Oh,” I gasp, my breath stuttering as he holds there—fingers pumping and rubbing, lips sealed around me but not moving, not giving me what I need, just pulsing against the most sensitive part of my body.

The ache builds, sharp and unbearable as my clit throbs with need. “I need more, Hayes,” I beg, my voice breaking.

His lips curve against me, and then he hums, the vibration sending a delicious shudder through me, down my spine, all the way to my toes curled over his shoulders. His tongue flicks out, just once, barely a tease against my clit, and it’s enough to make me whimper.

“Yes,” I hiss, shifting on the couch, desperate for more, for friction, for anything that will give me the release I’m craving.

Hayes pulls his fingers from me, slow and slick, and drags his tongue in one wet, messy stripe up my slit, circling my clit before flicking over it again, teasing, taunting.

“I love watching you squirm,” he murmurs, his voice low, rough, knowing exactly what he’s doing to me.

A moan spills from my lips, breathless and needy, as his free hand grips my hips, tilting me up, giving him better access to my soaked core.

And then he’s all in—lips, tongue, fingers, mustache and nose—working me over like he hasn’t forgotten a thing.

He dives in deeper, his tongue fucking into me between strokes, his face slick with me, and it is erotic, desperate and so good .

The pleasure coils tighter in my core, my nipples harden as he reaches one hand up to cup my breast underneath my shirt. My breath comes faster, sharper, and I know I’m close, my thighs shaking against him.

But then—he stops.

I whimper at the loss, my body writhing, chasing after his mouth, but he’s already shifting, pushing himself up.

In one smooth motion, he bunches my shirt around my ribs and takes my nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, rolling his tongue over one sharp bud before moving to the other as his fingers work lazily inside my pussy.

He flicks my nipple, circles and sucks repeatedly until I’m panting beneath him.

My gaze drops between us, and that’s when I see it. The thick, hard outline of his cock pressing against his jeans from how turned on he is.

And fuck, I want him so badly. I reach for him, desperate to touch, to feel just how hard he is for me, but he growls against my breast, biting down just enough to make me gasp.

“No.”

I want to ask why, want to protest, but he doesn’t give me the chance.

He’s already moving back between my legs, already devouring me with renewed intensity.

His fingers slide inside, pumping deep, stretching me open, his tongue flicking over my clit with relentless precision, punishing and perfect.

The pleasure slams into me like a tidal wave, overwhelming and immediate.

And then I’m gone.

The fastest, hardest orgasm I can ever remember having barrels through me. My back arches, my body tightens, pleasure crashes over me in wave after wave.

“Hayes!” I cry out, my hands clutching at his shoulders, as if holding on to something solid will keep me from unraveling completely.

But even as I come apart, he doesn’t stop. He keeps licking, sucking, kissing my overstimulated, swollen clit and pussy, his fingers still deep inside me, working me through the aftershocks as he murmurs against me—words of praise and complete devotion.

“So fucking pretty,” he breathes, his lips brushing over my inner thigh. “You’re mine, Regan.” And the way he says it makes me believe I always have been to him.

I shudder, finally stilling, my body spent and boneless.

He pulls back, his mouth and jaw slick, his expression unreadable.

There’s something tender there that wasn’t in place before and then, without hesitation, he scoops me up into his arms and holds me against his chest. I melt against him, my cheek pressing into the warm, solid heat of his neck, feeling completely and utterly content.

I know he’s hard, still aching between us, but he doesn’t push it. Doesn’t even hint that he wants more tonight. He just holds me. And somewhere in the quiet that follows, wrapped in his arms in our home, I drift into the most peaceful sleep I’ve had in a long time.