I’d forgotten the feel of him, of his lips. I’d forgotten the way he tasted, the way his body felt so hard and powerful, forgot how he tugged my hair and forced my face up to his. His tongue slipped into my mouth, and I closed my eyes, leaning into his hand as his other one slid up over my hip and waist to cup my breast and squeeze the nipple.

He broke our kiss and turned my head to the side to whisper in my ear.

“You owe me something, and I’m here to collect.”

I pressed against his chest, squeezing the muscle beneath it, then moved my hands to his biceps and curled them around before I kissed him back, liking it when he bit my lip a little, liking the feel of his cock hardening at my belly.

Hearing the door lock behind me, I startled. Dominic’s blue-gray eyes bore into mine, different than they’d been that afternoon. Harder. Like he used to look at me in the beginning at the cabin. Like he looked at me when he fucked me.

I stood there panting, my mouth open like some puppy, my eyes tearing as he tugged a little harder on my hair.

“Aren’t you curious what you owe?”

He walked me through the small apartment and into my bedroom, dropping me on the bed before climbing onto it. It was my old bed from home. I’d had it for more than fifteen years, and it creaked beneath our combined weight.

“Your apartment’s a fucking mess.”

He pulled his shirt up over his head, the moonlight making the white clock face of the tattoo on his chest appear almost ghostlike.

“Shut up,” I said, my hands on his chest, unable to get enough of his heat, his strength. I’d missed him. I’d missed him so much.

He ripped my shirt down the middle and pushed it from my arms. I would have been pissed if I wasn’t so turned-on. He looked down at me and pushed the cups of my bra beneath my breasts. Taking one into his mouth, he sucked and then bit a little harder than he had my lip.

I groaned, arching my back.

He laid his full weight on me and looked at me, his face an inch from mine. Watching me, he took my hand and dragged it to himself, to his back, to where I felt the butt of the pistol I hadn’t noticed he’d tucked into his jeans.

I gasped and yanked my hand away, or tried to, but he wouldn’t let me.

“Take it,” he said.

“No.”

“Take it, Gia.”

I shook my head.

“Fucking take it.” He wrapped my hand around it and together, we drew it out so that I held the gun.

I looked at it, then at him.