I wake up with the mellow sun in my eyes. It filters softly through the venetian blinds, landing on the empty spot next to me on this enormous bed.

I sit up, heart pounding. Am I actually awake? Or is this another nightmare?

No, not this time.

Trent hasn't left me. I hear water hissing in the bathroom attached. A shower running. Probably him cleaning up after last night.

Jesus, and what a night.

The instant I stand up, I feel it in my bones, and smile. I haven't had sex like that since...well, ever.

I'd also be a fool to pretend it's just the dull throb he's left between my legs. Or the soreness in muscles that haven't had that kind of workout for a good long while. It's the passion, the heat, the way he held me to his chest after we'd finished, kissing me to sleep.

Mud runs have nothing on sex with this man.

It's him, the boy I told myself for half a decade I'd lost, and that I had to get over.

Move on, just like he said.

If moving on looks like this, then I'm ready to run at it head-on.

My stomach growls. Breakfast sounds nice. Even better if I'm able to find something in the kitchen to whip up for us both.

I throw on my robe and creep quietly out of the bedroom while he's still busy cleaning up.

His home is predictably enormous. A penthouse, supposedly, the kind of sleek, ultra-modern place a powerful CEO who's short on time and long on obligations ought to have. The size rivals my parents' house, though, even if it doesn't have all the custom amenities or the acreage.

Downtown Portland's view over the Columbia stops my heart. I catch it walking past his office, all sprawling bookshelves and windows, vast skylights overhead bringing in the light. I stop, turn, and look around.

At first, my eyes are fixed on the amazing landscape behind the glass, but then I see something on his desk. A black leather journal, still open, a thick silver pen thrown across it.

My feet move faster than my brain. I really shouldn't be in here, snooping, but when I see my name in black ink, there's no stopping it.

I pick up the journal and read:

Precious Amy Kay,

I'm in hell. Congratulations. You put me there six years ago when I couldn't come back.

Spent them all torturing myself.

I tried to deny it. Tried to blame you. Then I tried pinning it all on fucked up circumstance.

That elevator ride changed everything. More than when we smoothed things over later, even, that night in your room.

Lying was like gouging out my eyes, cutting out my tongue, stuffing my soul in a permanent hell.

Back in it, I should say.

I've tried to convince myself the worst was over for six fucking years. Swore up and down if it wasn't, then I'd make damn sure that changed after coming back, carpet bombing Jace, settling accounts.

I did all that.

It didn't do shit.

Pouring my heart out to you convinced me I didn't need to spend another night in Seattle to finish driving my vendetta through your brother's heart. I made my confession to you and left the note for your folks. I walked away.

I moved on one more time.

Trouble is, that trip showed me what I was really missing all these years, the reason I tried so hard to convince myself I wasn't stuck in a sea of flames.

You, Presh.

Entirely you.

You damned me to hell a long time ago. And I went just like you wanted. You put me there.

That's the lie I told myself, anyway, but I know the real reason why I've been there for so long.

Me, Presh.

All me.

I did it the second I walked away, all those years ago, and took too many fucking years to make things right.

I still haven't finished. Not like I want.

“Move on,” I keep saying.

Now I know they're the emptiest words in the universe.

You proved it. You showed me how worthless those two words really are.

Because I can't walk away a second time.

Because I haven't been able to pry you out of my head the past two weeks I've been home.

Because maybe moving on is pure bullshit.

Maybe there's no moving on, no walking away, no going anywhere.

Not without you.

T

“Found what you need?”

I look up and almost jump out of my skin. Trent stands there in nothing but a towel, his gorgeous inked arms plush at his sides, eyeing me up and down.

“Oh, crap. I didn't mean...I mean I...”

“Precious, relax.” He steps closer and then just keeps coming. Not stopping until I'm enveloped in his broad shoulders, where everything always seems to be okay. “Should've put that damn thing away. Shouldn't have left it out in the open.”

“Trent, no. I read every word. It's beautiful.”

“It's something that was never meant for your eyes. Therapy, really.” His blue eyes flash like lightning.

He tries to kiss me, but I move my head away. “Come on. You're telling me you wouldn't have sent it?”

“No,” he barks. His grip on me tightens and amusement lights his gorgeous face. “I'd have delivered it in person. Probably next weekend, if you hadn't made your way here.”

“Ass!” He certainly is, but it doesn't keep my mouth off him.

I kiss him with the full might and fury of a woman thoroughly confused.

Not wanting to admit the same dormant love in my heart is alive again, singing in my soul, bending my lips to his today and forever, if we really can move on together.

“I'm sorry for last night. The other week, actually. I need to call dad, tell him exactly what was in that note Jace crumpled up, which I stupidly hid.”

“Not yet.” He pulls me closer. “Wait, Presh. If Jace thinks he's safe at home, he just might give up his hypothetical chase and show up there again.”

I bite my bottom lip. “I hope you're right.” But I doubt it.

“Bullshit. Let this play itself out,” he says, as if he can read my mind. “After we've talked your brother down from trying to screw us over, or fuck his own life even harder, we'll have all the time in the world to come clean. Your folks think I'm a monster, don't forget. In their eyes, I did a lot of fucking damage, and I'm still doing it to their son.”

My heart sinks. Hearing it like that spells out just how complicated this really is.

“Look at me,” he says, as soon as my eyes drop. Then his hand is on my face and excitement flaps in my heart and there's no choice but to listen. There never really is once his eyes devour mine. “We'll sort this shit out if it's the last thing we do.”

“We?”

He gives a solemn nod. I think I'm floating. I wanted so badly to believe him last night, when he said it'd be different this time. Now, hearing it, seeing it, I'm starting to.

“You and me, Presh. Just like it should be.” He pushes his forehead to mine, bathing my lips with his soft, warm breath. “But first, I have to say, I'm not exactly a fan of waiting around and letting your crazy-ass brother show up here.” He waits for me to look up. “I was planning to get away before I sent that letter. Head out to Lincoln City for a few days and clear my head. I'd still love to, matter of fact, the second I hear you're coming with.”

My heart stops. I want to so bad, but the frown tugging at my lips says different.

“Precious, what's wrong?” his hand captures my cheek.

“It's just...my business. I need to be back in Spokane sometime this century. We'll be into planning for the third quarter soon. Also, I think my phone will die next time I open my corporate inbox. There's a billion messages I haven't answered.”

“What you need, Amy Kay, is to do that shit some place you can breathe. Preferably after I've fucked that stress right out of you.”

I let go of the sigh I'm holding in. This gorgeous devil knows my every weakness way too well. “Okay, fine. But I'm bringing my work. We can't spend all day on the beaches. And the second I hear Jace is home, crazy or sober, I'm giving mom and dad a full briefing.”

Grabbing my hand, he pulls it to his chest, and then drops it lower to his waist. I gasp as the towel falls.

It's incredible, really, how easily this man makes me feel like a lust-struck schoolgirl again.

“Wouldn't have it any other way, darling. Remember that we part? And remember how Trent Usher doesn't fuck around?” I do.

God, do I ever.

“Seems we've also got ourselves a nice hard desk here. I know these robes get awfully claustrophobic the longer you wear them. Let me help.”

His hand swats mine away, pulls on my belt, and soon my robe joins his towel on the floor.

Trent helps all kinds of things then with his fingers, his tongue, and the rock hard part of him that's very good at making me forget every adult responsibility I'm supposed to have as a business owner in her mid-twenties.

Beneath him, being fucked into this desk, I'm just Amy Kay.

I'm Precious.

I'm alive.

Folding my hands around his inked shoulders, I dig my legs into his magnificent ass, enjoying the storm he thrusts into me.

It's not long – barely a few minutes – before I cry out and feel his searing heat filling me again.

* * *

“Holy shit – out here?” I'm trying to bat his hand away for the third time in the last hour. “Not the beach! I told you –”

“Darling, it's mine. Got more than a mile going up and down the shore the whole weekend. Money rents a lot of privacy. Plus I think I'd really like to ruin this awesome view with your tits in my face.”

So far, he's been patient. But there's only so much self-control a man like Trent Usher can grasp on an isolated stretch of pristine Oregon beach. Alone. With me.

Especially after we've had a few drinks and I've been curled up on his lap for the better part of an hour.

He isn't the only one fighting for composure. I've let my mouth wander to his neck a few times, shamefully tempted by the evil heat between my thighs.

“I've never done anything like this. Out in the open. With you.” Why can't I speak in normal sentences? The second I shift on his lap, feeling the massive bulge against my thigh, it all makes sense. “You're sure there's nobody else around?”

“Certain, Presh,” he rumbles, squeezing my hips, pulling me closer. “And if I'm wrong, so the fuck what? I'm way past caring if the whole world hears us. Time to live a little. Make up for all the living we lost apart.”

He's insane.

But I can't even protest as he pushes his face to mine, melting my lips on his, winning a moan from my throat. It's evening, the sun slipping behind the Pacific. The breeze blows off the waves, serenading our skin just on the right side of chilly.

If not now, when?

When will it ever be this perfect?

I don't know, but perfect is starting to feel like the norm for the three days we've been out here. The little house he's rented next to the shore is simpler than I expect considering his billions and his sophisticated tastes.

But it does seem isolated, like he said.

It's also got everything we need. Which isn't much when we spend our days hiking, taking in the view of the rocky coasts and winding through the soft sands, me pretending to work while he whips up some honestly impressive dinners.

I don't know where Trent learned to cook, but it's one more arrow in my heart. And right now, with his hands busy stripping me naked, there are plenty of those making me a fool. A happy, thankful, full-hearted fool.

He lifts me off him gently, a vicious glint in his eye, pushing me down to his knees. He pulls my hands to his swimming trunks, the only scrap of clothing between me and every awesome inch of him.

“Know how you said you wanted to suck me to the stars the other night? And I wouldn't let you because I was too busy buried in your sweet cunt?”

Relentless heat reddens my cheeks. I nod slowly. I do.

“Here's your chance, Presh. Suck. Suck me as long and hard as you want.” That's the only warning I get before his hands move mine, freeing his gorgeous cock in its fury.

“Suck,” he says again, winding his fingers through my hair.

It's an order I'm happy to follow. But not before I have my fun.

My tongue flicks out, teasing his tip, then melts into a rush of air. His eyes sharpen, fury igniting, and his fingers nest my hair in a fist. “Fuck, Amy Kay, you're killing me.”

“Not yet.” I run my hand up his cock, admiring his strength, his warmth, flicking my tongue at the end of him again.

He groans, tries to grind into me, but I'm able to crane my head back, just out of reach.

Trent's eyes are delirious now. It's the same look I saw on the Wilkie. The same in the elevator.

The very same when he's on top of me, driving me into the mattress. The same raging, wanting, shut up and let me love you beast-gaze.

My pussy tingles. Every second, every tease, it's harder to resist plunging my mouth down, taking his fullness.

Somehow, I try.

“Presh,” he growls again, an edge in his voice.

I flatten my hands against his muscular thighs, pinning him down in vain, then flash my sweetest smile. “What's the rush? This is our private beach. Nice and isolated. Remember?”

“Precious, fuck.” No more, the anger in his face says.

I suppose he's suffered enough.

I give his cock another squeeze near the base, loving how his pre-come spills over his fullness, and then he's engulfed in my lips. His rigid cock fills my mouth.

His hips arch, lifting into me. A sound escapes his throat like a growl trying to mask a helpless curse, and I smile, even while I'm full of him.

It's so on.

I run my tongue down his gorgeous length. Deep as I can without gagging, then up again, ringing my lips together. Tighter.

This is how I get Trent Usher back for the last six years apart.

This is how I say, never again.

This is how I make him let go of his control, his strongman balance, his relentless need to remind me how easily I'm brought to my knees.

So, I'm addicted to him. I won't deny it.

But if that's the scary truth, there's no way he's getting off without being an equal slave. Drawn to my flesh and all the beautiful, filthy things it can do to him.

My tongue goes to work, loving his taste, his heat, how he seethes in my mouth. I find the spot underneath his cock – the one that makes him twitch – and give it a furious licking.

“Precious!” he growls again, adding his second hand to the side of my face.

I'm caught between two big paws, rhythmically scaling him with my mouth. His whole body tenses, pulls at my hair, lifts off the cabana chair. I rear up, sucking at his head, begging him to blow.

“Presh, fuck, I'm gonna –”

It's my final warning. Like he doesn't know I won't swallow.

His cock erupts a second later, filling my mouth with rich fire. I wring his shaft with my tongue, taking as good as he gives.

It's hot, it's intense, and he's so mine.

There's a steady fever in my extremities as I swallow him down. My nipples, my fingers, my toes, my pussy...a dull throb owns them. It's darker by the second as the sun slips beneath the horizon, but my skin knows a heat like the sun.

Even when I'm full of him, I still want more.

His head falls back. He's groaning, snarling my name between his teeth, lost in the storm I've kissed into his body from the cock up.

He comes for what seems like forever, pouring his essence into me. I suck him until his cock stops jerking against my tongue and softens ever-so-slightly.

“All better?” I kiss his tip again.

“Halfway there. Give me another thirty seconds with that mouth, darling. Then it's you on my lap, riding me for all you're worth.”

Oh. My. God.

I didn't know men like him really existed. Men who can just keep going several times, barely getting soft between rounds, but then there's never been a man like Trent in my life.

And there'll never be another.

His want mirrors mine. Precise and perfect.

I recognize his growl like the beat of my own heart once my mouth pulls at him again. It's familiar because it ripples, vibrating the same raw heat that clashes through my veins at every glance. I know that look when he tilts his head, staring through half-hooded blue eyes, a beautifully perfect mirror of how I've seen my own eyes reflected back in his shining pools.

This is where we belong. Entranced in each other. In this love that's been aged by a whirling, heart-dizzy madness.

“Presh?” he calls to me and I open my eyes. His hand pulls at my hair, harder than before, lifting me up. “Come the fuck here.”

Then his hands are on me. A powerful Goliath hoisting me high, swinging my legs neatly across his. I'm in his lap. My pussy slides onto his cock and I choke out a moan.

I was so damn ready, the line between pleasure and agony blurring the second I'm on him.

Then it's just gone as his hands clench my ass, pulling me lower, another animal sound escaping his throat. “You want that O bad, precious girl?”

I can't speak. I just whine a close approximation of yes, moving my hips into his, drawing him deep inside me every time. His bastard force holds back, letting me work, shifting on top of him faster and faster. I put my hands on his shoulders, lean down, until we're eye-to-eye.

“Fuck me, Trent. Please.”

His fingers dig into my ass. “You ride this cock. Give me your first O if you want to keep screaming real sweet through your second.”

God.

Yes.

Please.

My eyelids shudder. Every conscious thought melts in the blinding speed I throttle my body into his, impaled on his cock, fucking and grinding and hurling myself toward unholy release.

“Harder, woman,” he growls, white-knuckling my ass. “I know you can fuck faster, harder, better than this. Give it to me real fucking good, and you'll get it like a god.”

His body stiffens against mine. His stubble rakes the nook between my neck and my cleavage. One more tantalizing sensation my burning brain can't process.

He knows what he's doing.

Overloading. Overwhelming. Overtaking.

Tearing me in two, a human wall, giving as good as I give. Making me work for it like a mad woman. He's my rock, my mountain to climb.

I'm panting as the realization hits me. Not for long. The pleasure cresting in my core destroys my ability to realize anything at all.

Except the shrill mewl escaping my throat.

Except my fingernails raking at his skin. Clawing, tearing, holding on for dear life before I'm swept away.

Except for the roar of the ocean behind me, devouring the sun, plunging us into an ecstasy indistinguishable from a storm-front forged in flesh.

“Give it, Presh. Give it to me now.” He reaches with one hand, grabs at my hair, pulling my face to his. “Right. The. Fuck. Now.”

I don't know if it's the princely look in his eyes or the way he slams his cock into me a second later.

I don't know anything.

I just go crashing over, screaming, pinching his shoulders so hard it hurts.

I'm coming harder than I ever have in my life.

Every nerve, every muscle, every sea-kissed stretch of my being turns to lightning. It turns to the sun, the moon, and the stars, and then to things I can't even describe.

A feral woman. Lost and broke and helplessly addicted to this man slamming into me, a guttural breath on his lips, a curse every few thrusts as my pussy convulses on his thrusts.

He fucks me straight through my first O without missing a beat.

Never stopping until we both feel the strange, sticky heat between us. For a second, I wonder if he came, but I've felt his glorious heat in me too many times to know this is something else.

“Trent, what...” I whisper. I still can't form full sentences. “What's –”

“You just squirted on my dick for the first time, Presh. That's what,” he says, pushing his hips to mine, going deeper again. Shame and confusion heats my cheeks. “Relax, Precious. It's fucking hot. And I've got a terrible need to find out how many times you'll do it tonight.”

His arms bend around me. This time, he fucks me good and proper, holding my body like a life-sized toy while he crashes into me.

Deeper. Harder. Faster.

Deeper again. Oh, holy hell, so freaking deep.

He's using this angle to do something marvelous. Extra marvelous, I should say, because this man hasn't shown me a night where he doesn't fuck like he wants to bring down the sky.

Trent throws his body into mine and meshes us together all over again.

Grunting. Thrusting. Growling.

There's no bucking this storm, no fighting it, so I just let go. I give in. I let him have me in my entirety. I let him use me. Full submission to his awesome power and frantic hips, driving me up toward the stars beginning to pepper the sky before he jerks me back to him again.

The friction, the frenzy, the look in his eye – it's irresistible.

There's no fight because I've lost.

I'm going over again before I even know what hit me.

This time, it's not my heat alone, consuming me from head-to-toe. Halfway through my first breathless spasm, Trent rams himself deep, holds his cock against the edge of my womb, and his whole body quakes.

There's a manic growl as he comes. Pleasure swallows me whole.

* * *

Later, I step out of the cabin's tiny outdoor sauna and throw my clothes on. I pick an outfit that's nice, loose, and easy. I'll need it since we're thoroughly spent and happily sated.

At least until we both turn in for good tonight.

Back in the house, I smile, eyes drawn to the delectable spread on the small circular dining table. My stomach growls. Sex works up an appetite under any conditions, but our sex, specifically, leaves me drained and ravenous.

“Steak and lobster coming up, just the way you like it.” He pushes a full plate into my spot as I sit down, taking his seat across from me.

Might be the best thing I've ever smelled. I'm sure it'll taste just as lovely because he's a damn good cook.

I sip my wine, clearing my head, and then turn my knife and fork on the feast in front of us. It's buttery, medium well done, and divine. Even the asparagus has the perfect crispness, and the garlic mash does crazy things to my taste buds.

“Save that look for later,” he says, a jokingly serious prickle in his eyes. “Can't enjoy my dinner when you're ready to jump my bones all over again.”

“Your fault for making it too good.” I swallow and stick my tongue out quickly. “This is amazing, Trent. You're handling dinner from now on.”

Slowing my chewing on the next bite, I study him across the table.

Was that last part too much? Too hopeful?

Too obviously pointed at a future I hadn't even consciously known I was hinting at?

Crap. I swallow hard, second guesses flying in my head.

“Sorry. That came out kinda wrong. Didn't mean to imply I'd be expecting you to fix dinner every night. Or any night. Or like, we'd be moving in or anything crazy, I just –“

“Presh.”

“I'm babbling. Clearly.” I'm also flushed.

I shake my head slightly, embarrassed at the direction this is going. How deep can a girl fit her foot in her mouth?

“Presh, stop apologizing,” he says firmly, letting his fork fall against the plate.

He wipes his hands roughly before they disappear beneath the table. “I'm glad you brought it up. I've given it some thought. Hell of a lot of thought, actually, ever since you showed up on my doorstep, needing to confess your little heart out. Longer than that, really. Ever since I got home from Seattle and tried to stay sane. Since I sat down and started writing that letter you came across the other day.”

“Trent?” I cock my head. There's an invisible boulder hanging on his shoulders.

“That letter, fuck, I meant to deliver it in person. Like I told you before. No do-over there, but this, what I've got to say next, has to happen in person.”

I'm waiting. On pins and needles. Heart lodged in my throat.

But then my phone vibrates itself off the nightstand next to the dining room, clattering on the floor so loud it makes me jump. I'm red faced, hand over my mouth, aghast at ruining whatever he's trying to get out.

Okay, so maybe I'm also laughing. Just a little, knowing how ridiculous this is.

“Jesus. Sorry, I think it's done, go ahead.”

He leans back in his chair, his eyebrow quirked.

Before he can utter one syllable, the phone goes off again, vibrating across the hardwood floor, a jittery howl breaking our silence. “Go for it, Presh. You'll give me your full attention later.”

I stand, still flustered, annoyed at the interruption.

So is he, I think, but he said that last part in a caring way. Like, he truly wants my undivided focus, and damn do I want to give it to him to find out what kind of surprise he's hyping.

But I also really want to smack whoever's dialing me off the hook. I hope it's not related to Jace.

Probably just my regional manager in Spokane, I bet. Probably calling to tell me she's locked herself out of the corporate account, or there's some furious group of high strung tourists demanding to speak with the owner over a broken ice machine.

“Be right back,” I mutter, racing across the cabin.

I'm just in time to yank my phone off the ground before it blows up again. It's dad's number on the screen, and the little pull down in the corner says I've had about ten missed calls and just as many texts.

Shit. So it's Jace, after all.

“What's wrong?” I answer the phone with the question already torturing me.

“Peanut, it's mom.”

Three little words. That's all he gets out before my world goes darker, crushed under the ten ton tragedy that wasn't supposed to happen.

He's still talking. Says something about a fall, a bad head injury, critical condition.

I can't even hear him over the welt in my throat.

I'm choking on my fear, grief that's coming like blood from an open wound, no matter what he says next.

“Dad...just...I...”

I'm struggling to find words when the phone leaps out of my hand. I look up and see Trent, a cold understanding in his eyes. His other hand lands on my shoulder. “She's hurt right now, Maxwell. Give me the details. No, you can't trust me, at least not yet, but damn it let's put that aside. Let me get her on a plane home. I'll have her right back to you.”

He squeezes my arm. Tears burst from my eyes, falling for too many conflicting reasons I couldn't cite to save my life.

“Got it. We'll be there soon,” he says, killing the call.

By the time he sinks to the floor, I'm shaking my head, his words finally sinking in. “Wait, you said –”

“We. I know, darling. Don't care what kind of shit's in store for me. You're not facing this down by your lonesome.”

The last thing I remember that night in our spoiled paradise is crashing into his chest. Then he lifts me gently, walks me to the corner with our suitcases, and starts barking orders into his phone.

* * *

A soggy, mournful rain pelts the Randolph Medical Center. It's newly renovated, state of the art, a facility staffed by world class doctors recruited thanks to the generous donor pressures of another billionaire Maynard classmate slightly before our time.

It doesn't make me feel the least bit better.

What does is how he ferries us to the airport and drags me on a private jet.

What helps is how he holds me the entire flight, and then again once we're in the back of a sleek black town car.

What saves me from having a complete fucking breakdown is how he kisses every tear, growls out the unthinkable, tells me, “Enough, Precious. You'll be okay. Won't let you do anything else.”

I'm barely able to whimper out the same phrase every hour, heartfelt as it is lame. “I love you.”

And the thing that makes this better, that stops it from eviscerating me, is how he always tips my face to his, caresses my cheek, and echoes every word.

“Love you, too, Presh.” His voice drops an octave. “Love you so fucking much.”

How did I get this lucky? I don't know, but I'm praying it'll continue the whole disorienting journey to the waiting room. I can't stop holding my breath in brutal bursts until we see mom.

Dad's eyes go huge the second we walk in and he sees Trent. In the flesh. The man he thinks wrecked his future, his reputation, and left gaping holes in our family that might never heal.

I rush to his embrace, throw my arms around him, and hold on so tight I think it winds us both. For a second, I think it'll be okay, now that his attention is off Trent.

“Thank God you're here,” he whispers. “She's in recovery. Stable for now. Should let you see her at the top of the hour, before they cut visiting hours for the night.”

“I was so scared, dad. Tell me she'll be okay?” I look up, searching his eyes.

I know that look. Dad wants to lie. Reassure me the entire world isn't caving in. It's like a horrible living memory from the night everything went wrong, after Jace got done talking to the police.

And speaking of my idiot brother...there's another awful question in my throat, sour as it is necessary.

“Jace?” I whisper. “Does he know?”

Dad just clears his throat, pulls his mocha cardigan tighter, and beams daggers out his eyes over my shoulder. If looks could kill, he would have torn Trent up several times over.

“Let's step into the phone room first, peanut. Family business only.”