FAZER LOGINI didn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt Dante’s hand on my jaw. Heard his voice saying he couldn’t stop thinking about me. Beside me, Michael snored. The smell of whiskey came off him in waves. I stared at the ceiling until the sun came up. Michael left for work at seven. Slammed the door without saying goodbye. I waited until I heard his truck pull away, then got up. Put on my robe. Went downstairs to make coffee. Dante was already in the kitchen. Shirtless again. Leaning against the counter with a mug in his hand. We looked at each other. “Morning,” he said. “Morning.” I moved to the coffee maker, poured myself a cup. My hands were steady. That was good. “Sleep okay?” he asked. “Fine.” “Liar.” I turned to face him. “Excuse me?” “I heard you. Pacing around three AM.” Heat crept up my neck. “The walls are thin.” “They are.” Silence. We drank our coffee. “About last night—” he started. “There’s nothing to talk about.” “Ava—” “I mean it. Whatever you think happened
The knife makes a clean sound against the cutting board. Carrot. Onion. Celery. I keep my eyes down and my breathing even and I do not think about this morning, about the coffee pot I almost dropped, about the way Michael looked at me over his newspaper when he said it. My brother’s staying with us a bit. Needs a place to crash. How long? That look. The warning folded inside it like a blade inside a hand. However long he needs. He’s family. Of course, I’d said. Carefully. The way I say everything now. I hear the motorcycle before it turns onto our street. That low, rolling growl, unhurried, like it owns the road and knows it. My hands still on the cutting board. I know that sound. I have hated that sound for years, through three Christmases and two funerals and one wedding where he sat in the third row and looked at me the entire ceremony like I was doing something he found privately amusing. The engine cuts in the driveway and my jaw tightens before I can stop it. D
I couldn’t concentrate all day. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw us in that gym. Felt his hands on me, his cock inside me, his voice calling me his dirty girl. By the time midnight came, I was already wet. I put on a bikini under my robe, grabbed a towel, and headed down to the pool. The hallway was empty. The whole building felt asleep. I punched in the code—1843—and the door clicked open. The pool area was dark except for the underwater lights, casting everything in a blue-green glow. Steam rose from the heated water. Floor-to-ceiling windows showed the city lights beyond. Cameron was already there, leaning against the far wall in just his swim trunks. When he saw me, he straightened. “I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he said. “I told you I would.” “I know. But this is—” “Reckless. Stupid. I know.” I dropped my towel, let the robe fall. “I don’t care.” His eyes traveled over my body, lingering on the bikini that didn’t leave much to the imagination. “Fuck,”
I’d been avoiding him for three days. Well, trying to. Hard to do when we lived across the hall from each other. I’d see him in the morning leaving for work, catch glimpses of him in the hallway. We’d nod, say polite hellos, pretend that almost-kiss hadn’t happened. Pretend I didn’t go to bed every night thinking about his hand on my face, his breath on my mouth. By day four, I was restless and frustrated and needed to burn off energy. The building gym was open twenty-four hours. At midnight, it would be empty. I changed into leggings and a sports bra, grabbed my water bottle, and headed down. The gym was on the second floor. Small but well-equipped. Weights, machines, a treadmill, floor mats. And mirrors. Everywhere. I was alone. Perfect. I started with the treadmill, running hard, trying to exhaust myself. Trying to stop thinking about Cameron. About what might have happened if he hadn’t pulled away. After thirty minutes, I moved to the weights. Lay back on the b
The elevator was broken, of course. I stared at the “Out of Order” sign, then at the three flights of stairs, then at the boxes stacked in the lobby. “Moving day?” I turned. A man stood behind me, maybe late forties, early fifties. Salt and pepper hair, sharp jawline, wearing a fitted black t-shirt and jeans that showed he clearly took care of himself. “Unfortunately. And apparently doing it the hard way.” I gestured at the stairs. He smiled. “Which floor?” “Three.” “Same. I’m in 3B.” He extended his hand. “Cameron.” “Lily.” His hand was warm, calloused. Strong. “Nice to meet you.” “Need help?” He nodded at my boxes. “Oh, I couldn’t ask you to—” “You didn’t ask. I’m offering.” He was already picking up one of the heavier boxes. “Come on. It’ll go faster with two.” We made trip after trip up those stairs. I tried not to notice how his arms looked carrying boxes, how his shirt clung to his back when he bent to pick things up. Tried not to notice the way he
I spent the next day in a state of anticipation. Every time I saw Mateo around the resort, my body remembered. The way he’d fucked me on the massage table. Against the rock by the waterfall. How his mouth had felt between my legs. He’d smile at me like he knew exactly what I was thinking. By the time sunset rolled around, I was already wet. I wore a simple black dress, easy to take off. Left my hair down. No underwear this time. The dock was empty when I arrived. A small boat was tied up, gently rocking with the waves. Mateo appeared from below deck, looking unfairly good in board shorts and a tank top. “Right on time,” he said, helping me onto the boat. “Where are we going?” “You’ll see.” He started the engine, guided us away from shore. We skimmed across the water as the sun painted the sky orange and pink. The resort grew smaller behind us until it disappeared completely. After about twenty minutes, a small island came into view. Private, uninhabited, just
The whistle shrieked across the practice field. “Taylor! What the hell was that?” I ripped off my helmet and glared at Coach Marcus Reid across the fifty-yard line. My blood was boiling. “I had it, Coach!” “You didn’t have shit.” He strode toward me, all six-foot-three of controlled fur
I’d been plotting this all morning, ever since I heard Mom and my stepdad leave for their big Christmas shopping trip. The house was finally empty except for Ethan, my stepbrother, and his best friend Mason, both home from college and sprawled in the living room playing video games like they owned
The blizzard outside was wild and fierce, throwing snow and ice against the windows. Inside the Thorne house, everything looked festive: white lights hung over the stairs, cinnamon candles burned everywhere, and a fake fireplace played on the TV. Our parents had planned the perfect Christmas vaca
Wendy stared up at me, eyes wide and glassy, her chest rising and falling in quick, shaky breaths. Tears clung to her lashes, but she did not try to cover herself again. She just lay there, legs still slightly apart, thighs shiny with her own wetness, pussy swollen and pink and open like she







