Maybe it was wrong, but somehow I couldn’t stop thinking of him. My first kiss with Damian had been the same way. The world went away, exploding, and everything was right. Just right. But that’s all I felt, all I remembered. For once, thinking of Damian didn’t make me feel awful.

Reese cupped the side of my face, his thumb moving over my cheek and coming to rest on the side of my mouth. As he pulled back, his lips grew softer. It was just right. Pure. There was nothing holding me back.

No guilt. No pressure. No worry.

Just want and need and enjoyment.

I would enjoy this time with him—wherever it led, it would be what it would be.

And with that last thought, I gave in.

I kissed him back harder, more demanding, and he matched me. He could be commanding, then gentle, then tender, whispering grazes and caresses and making me quiver all over.

“Are you sure about this?” He paused, his eyes on mine.

I nodded. I had never been so sure, and it felt freeing. It felt powerful.

I slid my hand up his chest, around his neck, and pulled him down as I rose up to meet him. Because that was important to me, meeting him halfway. Fifty/fifty.

“God yes,” I said.

For that night, I was his.

For that night, he would be mine.

Chapter Twenty-Five

I woke the next morning and it took a second for everything to come back to me.

I was cramped back into the bed, and in a flash everything flooded in: The car. Reese. The wooded path at night. Crying. Falling apart. Him holding me. Then the more.

Feeling him.

Touching him.

Tasting him.

I looked over. He was sleeping on his stomach, his head tucked into his pillow, his arms crossed underneath it. The sheet had slipped down so the top of his ass was peeking out.

I scanned down that back, remembering how it had felt with him arched over me, thrusting inside of me. How I had raked my nails over him— I could see the marks today.

Shit, shit, shit. He had practice. Sometimes he was skins, sometimes not. They’d see what we’d done. Everyone would know.

I didn’t think. I shoved him off the bed.

His eyes flew open. He barked, flinging his hand to catch himself, but he was on the floor. “What the fuck?!”

I leaned over the side of the bed. “Do you think you’ll bruise?”

“What?” He sat up, scowling and grimacing. “Shit, woman. You’re insane.”

“I marked you last night. They’ll know today.”

He reached behind him, cringing, and my words began to penetrate. He cursed. “You’re right.” He blinked at me. “I’m going to have to fuck myself up, aren’t I?”

“Just go on the walking trail and fall on your back a few times. That should cover it up.”

“Shirtless?”