I close my eyes, and it’s not Tyson McRae kissing me.

It’s Alex.

My own mind turns traitor, conjuring memories of his touch, his mouth, the way he used to hold me like I was something breakable. But Ty isn’t Alex. His touch is different—rougher, more demanding.

I force my eyes open, and his gaze locks with mine. There’s something dark and unreadable flickering in his eyes as his hands slide up my thighs, slipping beneath the hem of my dress.

His fingers brush against my panties, pushing them aside with an ease that makes my breath hitch. I gasp as he strokes me, slow, deliberate. My body arches into him, a treasonous reaction I can’t control.

His lips trail down my neck, his breath hot against my skin. “So bloody beautiful,” he says, his voice thick with something I can’t name.

I clutch at his shoulders as he slides two fingers inside me, curling them just right. My head falls back against the brick, a strangled moan escaping my lips as pleasure crashes over me. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t look away, as he watches me fall apart in his hands.

The tension coils, tightens—then shatters. I tremble against him, breathless, dazed. Ty pulls his fingers from me slowly, deliberately. And then⁠—

He brings them to his mouth.

Tastes me.

“Fuck.” His eyes lock on mine. “You taste so sweet.”

I can’t breathe. Can’t think.

What the hell have I done?

The night air presses in, thick with something unspoken. The moment stretches between us, taut as a wire pulled too tight. My breathing is uneven, my pulse still thundering in my ears.

Ty stands steady, his gaze locked onto mine, waiting for me to react.

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.