Chapter 3

  Gwen’s bedroom smells like vanilla candles and the faint citrus of her perfume. We’re sprawled on her bed like we used to when we were sixteen—legs tangled under a throw blanket, fairy lights glowing soft above the headboard. Snow has started again outside, tapping the window like impatient fingers. Gwen’s propped on pillows, phone in hand, scrolling through old photos of CK while she talks a mile a minute.

  “…and remember when he used to sneak us into the community pool after hours? God, he was so reckless back then. Blonde hair flopping everywhere, always grinning like trouble was his middle name.” She laughs, nostalgic and bright. “Now look at him—law school done, beard, all serious and broody. Hotter, though. Don’t you think?”

  I force a smile, stomach knotted. “Yeah. Different vibe.”

  She sighs dreamily. “I still can’t believe he’s back. Even if it’s just for a week. I mean, what if this is it? What if he finally sees me as more than the little sister type?”

  Her words twist the knife. I stare at the ceiling, trying to breathe normally. The guilt is a living thing now—crawling under my ribs, squeezing my lungs. Last night replays in flashes: his mouth on my neck, my nails in his back, the way I shattered around him. And tonight, that almost-kiss in the kitchen. I can still feel the ghost of his thumb on my lip.

  My phone buzzes on the comforter between us.

  I glance down. Unknown number.

  I open it before I think.

  Unknown: You disappeared again tonight. Kitchen wasn’t long enough.

  My heart slams into my throat.

  Gwen’s still talking, oblivious. “…I should wear that red dress tomorrow. The one he complimented once—”

  I type fast, fingers trembling.

  Me: Who is this?

  Three dots appear instantly.

  Unknown: You know who. Stole your number from Gwen’s phone while she was hugging me goodbye. Couldn’t risk you running again.

  I stare at the screen. Heat floods my face—anger, panic, something darker. He stole it. Right under her nose.

  Me: Delete this thread. Now.

  Unknown: Why? Scared you’ll reply?

  I glance at Gwen. She’s still scrolling, humming softly to herself.

  Me: This isn’t funny, Christian.

  Unknown: Christian, huh? Not CK anymore?

  I bite my lip so hard I taste copper.

  Me: You can’t text me. Not after everything.

  Unknown: Then why are you still typing?

  I hate that he’s right. My thumb hovers over the block button. I don’t press it.

  Unknown: Tell me you haven’t thought about last night. About how you sounded when you came on me.

  My thighs clench on instinct. I squeeze them together, breath shallow.

  Me: Stop.

  Unknown: Say it out loud and I will.

  I look up. Gwen’s watching me now, head tilted.

  “You okay? You look flushed.”

  I force a laugh. “Hot in here. That candle.”

  She shrugs, goes back to her phone.

  I type one last time.

  Me: Delete my number. This was a mistake. It stays a mistake.

  Three dots. Long pause.

  Unknown: If that’s what you really want.

  I wait. No more texts.

  I delete the thread. Block the number. Set my phone face-down.

  But my skin still feels his hands.

  My lips remember his mouth.

  And deep down, I know I’ll unblock him the second I’m alone.

  Gwen yawns, stretches. “I’m crashing. You staying over?”

  “Yeah,” I say, voice thin. “Staying.”

  She turns off the lamp. Darkness swallows the room.

  I lie there, staring at the ceiling, phone burning a hole in my pocket.

  I don’t sleep.

  Midnight…

  I wake up at 3:17 a.m., heart already racing before I even open my eyes. The guest room is dark except for the faint blue glow from my phone on the nightstand. I stare at the ceiling for a full minute, telling myself to go back to sleep.

  I don’t.

  My hand moves on its own—reaches, unlocks, opens the blocked numbers list. I unblock him. Christian Knight. CK. The name sits there like a loaded gun.

  I don’t know why I did it.

  I don’t know what I’m expecting.

  I wait.

  Screen stays blank. No dots. No message.

  Nothing.

  The silence feels like judgment.

  I swing my legs out of bed, barefoot on cold hardwood, and pad down the hallway toward the kitchen. The house is dead quiet except for the low hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of settling wood. Snow presses against the windows like it’s trying to get in.

  I open the fridge door. Cold light spills across the tile. I grab a bottle of water, twist the cap, take a long drink. The chill helps. A little.

  I close the door.

  He’s right there.

  Standing in the doorway, silent, watching me.

  I startle so hard the glass slips from my fingers. It falls—fast—then his hand snaps out and catches it mid-air, inches from shattering.

  “Shhh,” he whispers, voice gravel-rough from sleep. “You’ll wake everyone up.”

  My chest heaves. “You fucking scared the shit out of me.”

  He sets the glass on the counter. Doesn’t step back.

  That’s when I really see him.

  Shirtless.

  Only black briefs hugging his hips.

  The outline is unmistakable—long, thick, bent slightly to the left, straining the fabric like it’s fighting to get free. Every ridge, every vein visible in the dim hallway light leaking from the living room.

  I swallow hard. Throat clicks.

  Heat blooms low in my belly, fast and traitorous. My nipples tighten against my thin tank top. I cross my arms, trying to hide it.

  “I… I was just getting water,” I stammer. “I should go back to—”

  He moves before I finish. One step. His hand catches my wrist—gentle but firm—pulls me back as I try to slip past.

  Our bodies collide. Chest to chest. Heat to heat.

  I don’t think.

  I just kiss him.

  Hard.

  Desperate.

  Like I’ve been starving for it since the second I left his bed last night.

  His mouth opens for me instantly. Tongue slides against mine, deep and claiming. One hand fists in my hair, angling my head. The other slides down, cups my ass, hauls me tighter against him. I feel him—rock-hard now—pressing into my stomach through the thin layers.

  He groans into my mouth. Low, broken.

  I whimper back.

  His hand moves up, under my tank, palm rough against my bare skin. He finds my breast, squeezes—hard. Fingers pinch my nipple, twist just enough to make my knees buckle.

  I moan—too loud. He swallows the sound, kisses me deeper.

  “I missed you,” he rasps against my lips.

  “Shut up,” I gasp. “We shouldn’t—we can’t—”

  He doesn’t listen.

  Lifts me like I weigh nothing. Sets me on the counter. Cold granite shocks my thighs. He drops to his knees between my legs, yanks my sleep shorts and panties down in one rough pull.

  His mouth is on me before I can breathe.

  Hot. Wet. Relentless.

  Tongue flat, licking a long stripe up my center. Then circling my clit—slow, then fast, then slow again. Sucking. Flicking. Devouring.

  My head falls back. Hands fist in his hair. I bite my lip to keep quiet, but soft, broken moans still slip out.

  He groans against me. The vibration shoots straight through my core.

  I’m trembling. Thighs shaking. Hips grinding against his face on instinct. Pleasure coils tight, sharp, unbearable.

  Then—

  A floorboard creaks upstairs.

  Gwen’s door opens.

  Footsteps on the landing.

  We freeze.

  His mouth still pressed to me.

  My legs still spread.

  Heart slamming so hard I can’t hear anything else.

  Gwen’s sleepy voice drifts down the stairs.

  “Selene? You down there?”