His lips seared mine, and I melted into him again, as I had a full month ago.

What the hell are you doing?! He’s your best friend’s brother. He was supposed to be your employer.

But no amount of rational thought would keep this tide at bay. I pressed against him and grabbed the lapels of his shirt, tugged at them, kissing him back just as hard as he kissed me. The memories of the last time, and the consequent month sexting, sending naughty pics, talking late at night when the world was quiet, and there was no one to witness us, was too much to bear.

He turned me on the spot and walked me back into the house, kicked the door shut with the heel of his boot. We walked on tiles, the clatter of our footsteps the only reason I registered it. The rest of the house was a blur. My handbag dropped from my arm.

I ripped at his shirt, undid the buttons fast, my fingers fumbling over them, desperate for more of him.

He did the same with my blouse. He tore it open and glared down at my breasts, hidden beneath the lacy cup of my bra, almost as if he was mad at them. Or at the bra. He dragged the cup down and sucked my nipple into his mouth, his beard scratching against my sensitive flesh.

I gasped, took hold of the back of his neck, closed my eyes and swayed on the spot.

So hot, so fucking—oh god.

When he’d opened the door I’d been instantly shocked, and then aroused, then confused. But the need for him had been there, as always. Flashes of our bodies together, twisting, naked, glowing with sweat.

“Oh god,” I whispered. “Oh god, oh god, Bryan.”

He spun me around, then unzipped my skirt and tugged it down, over my hips. I cursed the fact that I’d chosen my plain cotton panties today, and nothing sexier.

“Fuck,” he growled, and tore them down. They dropped to my ankles. “Fuck.” He dragged his hands over my ass, digging his thumbs into its meat, pressing down harder. He spanked me once, then grabbed both my cheeks and spread them. “So wet.”

“Please,” I managed. All I could say. No other words for what’d just happened. What would happen.

Bryan pressed me forward, onto an entrance hall table. I looked up, right into a gilded mirror, and caught sight of him behind me.

He stood, looking down at my ass, his head tilted ever so slightly to one side on that thick, strong neck, his teeth biting into his bottom lip. He reached between us and the sound of his zipper split the gasps of breath from my mouth, and from his.

The tip of his dick pressed against my already wet hole. He dragged it up and down, over my clit, and I watched him in the mirror. He licked his lips, positioned himself, dug fingers into my hips, then pressed into me, slowly.

Bryan’s head dropped back, and he groaned to the ceiling. Finally, he looked at me in the mirror, blue eyes focused rather than gaze. “There you are,” he growled. “There you fucking are. Jesus, Riley. I’ve missed you.”

“Missed me,” I hissed and clenched tight around him.

He buried himself inside me, to the hilt, and I whined in response, bucked my hips.

“Shit, don’t do that,” he said. “Don’t you fucking do that. I’ll come inside you right now.”

“I want it.” We connected, our reflections, at least, in that mirror, as he pounded into me once, then twice, three times.

The rhythm was a memory in itself, and I held onto the table, braced myself against the flood of emotion that came with it. I’d tried cutting myself off from feeling like this. From wanting him in more than just this sexual way, but it was so damn difficult. We’d spent each and every day talking on that app. Connecting, even if it was supposed to be in a “light” way, and that would be my destruction, ultimately, if I let it.

If I let him in.

Don’t.

“Bryan,” I moaned.

“Play with yourself. Play with your clit. I can’t come without you, baby.” He was so fucking serious, his voice a deep rumble, as he pounded into me, again and again. Each vein, each ridge totally distinct.

I reached between my legs and did as I was told. I scooped up some of our gathered wetness, then worked it over my clit, jolting with every thrust from him, and the resultant shock of pleasure through my pussy, through my core.

Head-to-toe, I was in a state of rapture with him. Because of him.

“Don’t stop,” I whispered. “I’m so close. Don’t stop.”

It was fast and hot, and I was there already.

“Fuck!” He spanked me again. “Fuck me, you’re so fucking tight. So wet.”

I sailed over the edge and into the white-blind pleasure only he gave me. I’d never orgasmed with any man except him, and it screamed through me. I pulsed around him, the wet sounds of him slipping in and out of me driving me higher.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “Fuck. I’m going to come. I can’t—Riley!” He grew impossibly hard inside me, and growled, thumping against my ass. He threw his head back again, the muscles in his neck cording, and those strong, tattooed arms bulging, now.

He filled me, four long bursts, each punctuated by a groan. After, he left his head up, eyes shut, for a few moments.

“Bryan,” I said, as the surroundings came back to me. The entrance hall, tiled, a grand staircase just beyond us, leading up to a second floor. The gilded mirror. The table we’d just used as a crutch. We were in his home.

I was in his home. Wasn’t meant to be here. Never meant to happen.

Slowly, he slipped out of me, breathing hard. He bent and pulled my panties up, fixed them in place for me. He walked off, still with his dick lolling out of his jeans, and fetched my skirt. He came back and handed it to me, then zipped himself up, completely silent.

“Is there a place I can freshen up?” I asked.