Too Hot to Think, Too Smart to Trust

 

Lily Thompson

I woke up panting.

My body was on fire.

Every inch of me was tight, pulsing, aching for something I hadn’t even thought about in years.

I pressed my thighs together and groaned softly. “Fuck”

I blinked at the ceiling, chest heaving.

What the hell was this?

My sheets were a mess, tangled around my legs. My robe had slipped down one shoulder and my nipples were tight, pebble-hard against the cool air. Worse, so much worse, I was soaked.

Down there.

Soaked and throbbing and needy like I hadn’t been in six years.

Six. Whole. Years.

I hadn’t had sex since Isabella was born.

And that had been fine. I was fine. My energy had gone into keeping Isabella safe and fed, working myself raw at three jobs just to scrape through. I hadn’t had the time or the luxury of being horny. Not once in all that time had I woken up like this—panting, aroused, craving something hard and deep

Until now.

Until him.

Until Ryan stepped back into my life and started ruining every shred of self-control I’d built over the years.

Every smirk. Every rolled-up sleeve. Every teasing look across the dinner table when Isabella wasn’t watching. Every time I caught him fresh out of the shower with water gliding down that body like he was carved from some Greek wet dream

God.

I groaned and sat up, dragging a hand through my hair. This was not okay.

I needed a cold shower. A freezing one.

I slipped out of bed, grabbed my robe, and threw it on without tying it. The last thing I wanted was more fabric clinging to my skin. I needed to cool down, not feel trapped.

I padded toward the bathroom then I heard something

The water was already running.

My brows knit together. I didn’t remember turning it on. Maybe Isabella?

But no… she would still be fast asleep by this time

A weird chill slid down my spine as I opened the door.

And everything inside me exploded. I froze, my mouth agape.

Ryan was in my bathroom. It wasn’t the fact that he was in my bathroom that made be freeze

He was naked.

Naked.

Completely naked.

Standing in the middle of the steam-filled room, soap lather clinging to every inch of his ridiculous body. His back was to me at first. Broad shoulders, defined back, droplets of water trailing down over his butt muscle

Oh my God.

He hadn’t even turned yet, and I could see the weight of him from the side. Thick, heavy, half-hard and still hanging like sin itself.

Then he turned.

Fully.

And my soul left my body.

He was massive.

Thick. Heavy. Long.

And not even fully hard.

He was bigger than I remembered. And I remembered everything. Every detail. Every inch. My thighs clenched again and my core pulsed, sharp and needful.

My eyes traced him slowly, helplessly, like my body had a mind of its own.

Those arms. The kind that could pin me down in a second. That chest, strong, sculpted, water gliding across it like it knew it had been designed to tempt. That V-shaped line that I used to run my tongue across

I swallowed hard.

“Oh my God,” I whispered before I could stop myself.

His mouth curled into a slow, knowing smile.

“Like what you see?” he asked, his voice low and lazy.

I couldn’t answer. My throat was dry. My brain had stopped functioning.

I tried to drag my eyes back up to his face, but my gaze lingered like it had its own will on the rigid lines of his abs, the lather gliding down his stomach, the absolute weight of him between his legs.

Fuck.

“Don’t just stand there,” he murmured, that damn smirk not leaving his lips. “Come on. I give you permission to touch me.”

The words hit me like a freight train.

My whole body clenched.

I jolted back to life, yanking my eyes upward. “What the hell are you doing in my bathroom?”

He stepped forward slowly, water still dripping from his body. He didn’t bother to cover himself.

“You don’t lock your door,” he said with a shrug. “And your bathroom’s the only one with working hot water. Mine’s busted.”

“Then call someone to fix it,” I snapped, dragging my robe shut, suddenly burning with embarrassment.

But he wasn’t flustered.

He was looking at me. No, devouring me with his eyes. Like I was a goddamn feast and he was starving.

“Why would I do that,” he said, stepping close, “when I could come here and watch you sleep?”

My heart stopped.

“Excuse me?”

He leaned in. So close I could feel the heat rolling off him. His breath danced across my cheek.

“Swear to me you didn’t like what you saw.”

I froze.

He reached up, fingers brushing my neck gently. I trembled.

“Didn’t think so,” he whispered.

Then, without warning, he tugged my robe loose.

It fell open.

I gasped, instinctively covering myself—but it was too late. He’d seen everything.

And worse… I wanted him to.

“Jesus, Lily,” he breathed. “You’re even more beautiful now.”

I didn’t know what to say. My brain was static. My body was humming.

He lowered his head, brushing his lips along my collarbone. My knees almost buckled.

Then he bit me.

Softly. Just beneath my jaw.

And I moaned.

The sound escaped before I could swallow it.

He heard it. Smirked.

“I knew it,” he said against my skin. “You’re aching for it.”

His hands found my hips. My body leaned into him without permission.

Then he pinned both of my wrists to the wall beside my head.

“I’ll touch you,” he murmured. “I’ll do all the things you’ve been dreaming about. But I’m not going to give you anything unless you ask me for it.”

He kissed the edge of my mouth.

Bit my cheek.

Whispered against my throat.

“All you have to do,” he said, “is beg.”

I tilted my head back, body betraying me again.

But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t beg.

So I said the only thing I could.

“I hate you.”

He pulled back slowly, his eyes still dark, still hungry.

Then he reached for a towel, wrapped it around his waist, and walked to the door like nothing had happened.

He paused just before stepping out.

“When you’re ready to beg…” he said without looking back, “you know where to find me.”

And then he was gone.

I didn’t move for a full minute.

What just happened?

When I finally did, I locked the door, climbed into the shower, and turned on the coldest setting I could manage.

But it didn’t help.

After two minutes of standing there shaking, I gave in. I pressed a hand between my legs, desperate for release.

I pictured his mouth on me. Everywhere.

His hands.

His voice, telling me what he’d do if I asked.

But no matter how hard I tried, no matter how much I needed it, I couldn’t come.

Not without him.

And I hated him even more for that.

It wasn’t just the arousal. It was the confusion.

Because no matter how many times I told myself Ryan was just here for Isabella for work, for some half-assed apology tour. Something still didn’t add up.

Not just about us.

About him.

I wrapped myself in a fresh towel and sat at the edge of my bed, eyes fixed on the same spot on the wall I’d been staring at for minutes.

It was the apartment.

That crappy, low-budget apartment he took me to days ago, the one that didn’t match the man he’d become.

I remembered everything about it. The stained carpet. The rickety coffee table. The sagging couch that had definitely seen better days.

It had been like stepping back into a college dorm.

And at the time, I’d believed it. I wanted to believe it. It fit the narrative

But now? Thinking about it, it didn’t make sense

The leather jacket hanging by the door was two sizes small. Why would he even own that?

He loved cooking. He always cooked, but why were they a dozen takeouts in the trashcan? They were also no personal photos of him anywhere

The more I thought about that apartment… the more it felt like a lie.

Because that apartment didn’t match his shoes.

Or his voice.

Or the way the receptionist at Denzol had stood up when he walked past.

No one stands up for an assistant.

No assistant wears a custom designer watch that costs more than six months of my rent.

And certainly no assistant walks into boardrooms like they own the goddamn air.

But Ryan had. More than once.

How could someone make me feel so sexually alive… and so emotionally uncertain at the same time?

I hated that I still wanted him.

I hated that I didn’t trust a damn thing coming out of his mouth.