I whip around to find Sam leaning in the doorway, a half-smile on his face.

Here, up close, he’s even sexier than I had thought during the toast, and my mouth is dry with the sudden want that I feel. I shouldn’t want that. I should want to kick him and scream at him, take out eleven years of frustration until he understands the agony that every thought of him brings me. But my body doesn’t want that. It wants to touch him.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I just needed a minute away from the crowd—found myself here.”

“You never were one for crowds,” he says.

“No.” We’re smiling at each other for a second, and then it’s over. I shouldn’t be here.

I take a step toward the door, and he straightens. “Are you sure you came up here to get away? There’s no other reason?”

“Of course not,” I say, walking to the door. “I shouldn’t have come up here. I’m sorry.”

In one second I’m taking a step to slip behind him, and in the next, his hands are on my waist and my back is against the wall. I lose my breath entirely because he’s so close and so real and even though it’s been years, all I want is this. His hands aren’t on my waist anymore, and I’m wishing that they were. Instead they’re on the wall, blocking my escape. “I don’t believe you,” he says quietly.

I can feel the heat from his body, smell the hint of his cologne, and it’s like no time has passed. I’m suddenly more than ready, tingles running across my skin. I’m wet, and extremely aware of the fact that I’m not wearing any underwear. Sam’s breath drifts across my skin, and the goosebumps that follow make my nipples harden. If he looks down he’ll see and he’ll know. But he doesn’t. His eyes never leave my face, searching every corner of it. More than once he glances at my lips, and I’m suddenly remembering what it feels like to kiss him. All fire and focus and oh my god I want that.

I’m staring at his lips and I can’t look away.

“Fiona,” he says, voice low. “I’ve been thinking about you for a long time.”

“Have you?” My voice sounds weaker than I want it to, nothing more than whisper.

He smirks. “It’s a bold move, walking into my house, trying to get my attention like this.”

I bristle. “Is that what you think I was doing?”

Sam places a finger on my shoulder, and all my senses narrow down to that single point of contact. He moves it, stroking across my shoulder to the center of my chest and downward. I’m shivering with his touch and he only has a single finger on me. It keeps dropping, skimming the bare skin exposed by my neckline, and all I can do is watch his face. He finds the bottom of the plunge—closer to my belly button than my breasts, and meets my eyes. I feel like time is moving in slow motion as he leans in, lips pressing to that spot just below my ear. His voice is a whisper that has me quaking with need. “No one walks into a party in this dress and those shoes not wanting attention. And since you seem to desperately want it, I’m going to give to you.”

I laugh, trying to regain some sense of myself. Trying to convince myself that I’m not hopelessly lost in him. “You noticed my shoes?”

“Just enough to imagine them over my shoulders while I fuck you senseless in this dress.”

My stomach drops into free fall, and I feel a gush of wetness spreading down my leg. Sam kisses me, and everything in my body comes to life. It’s familiar and comforting and new and thrilling and I moan because it’s like I’ve been waiting for this moment for years.

Sam’s tongue brushes across my lips and I open my mouth to him and damn. He’s gotten better. His tongue dances with mine and I feel it all the way down to my toes. He can use that tongue on me all he wants, anywhere he wants. He gathers me up in his arms and I’m done for—the only thing I want in the world is to be closer. To have more. My hands are slipping off his jacket and in turn his hands grip the back of my thighs, lifting me, carrying me, tumbling me onto the bed. Our kiss only breaks for a moment, and then Sam’s lips are on mine again.

It’s all consuming, sending heat straight down to my pussy like his kiss is pouring fire straight down my spine. I grab at his shirt, pulling it free, and we struggle with the buttons together until it’s off and thrown to the floor. Managing a look, I do a double take. Fuck. He’s hard—cut. Even more so than he was when he was a swimmer. All the lines of his body leading underneath his belt, where it’s obvious that his pants are way too tight.

He laughs, low and rough. “You like what you see.”

It’s not a question but I still feel compelled to answer. “Yes.”

“Good.”

He’s kissing me again, and his hand slips around to my neck where my halter dress is tied. He was paying attention. It doesn’t even take a minute for the knot to slide free and then I’m bared to him. Sam devours me with his eyes, that same fire in his eyes that I saw during the toast. He skims his fingers down my ribs, and I can’t help but arch into his touch. I haven’t felt anything like this in a long time. I haven’t felt this alive in a long time.

In the corner of my eye, I realize that the door is open. And I’m half naked. “We should close the door,” I say breathlessly.

An amused smile plays on Sam’s mouth. “No.” It takes me a second to absorb the word. And I’m about to protest when he kisses me again. He pulls back and there’s a condom in his hand. I’m not even sure where it came from.

Sam undoes his belt and I feel like I’m hypnotized by it. Holy—

He’s bigger than I remember. Thick and hard and he rolls on the condom with a smooth efficiency that turns me on. “We’re going to leave the door open, and I’m going to fuck you hard enough that you’re going to want to scream. But you’re not going to make any sound.”

“No?”

“You wouldn’t want to ruin your sister’s engagement party by everyone hearing you moan, would you?” he smirks. I shake my head. He’s right, but the possibility of being caught sends a pulse of heat straight through me. I don’t have time to respond because he’s pushing inside me and I’m gasping. “Oh God.” I thought he was bigger than I remembered while looking at him. Feeling him is a whole other story.

“Shh,” he says against my lips, but then he smiles. “Or not. I can think of other ways to keep you quiet.” He moves his hips slightly, and my pussy clenches down on him, not yet used to his size.

“Oh?” I manage to say, absolutely breathless.

There’s lust and fire in his eyes as he looks at me. “I remember how much you like my cock in your mouth.”

I turn red—the flush rolling up my body until it reaches my face. Half from embarrassment and half remembering the times he’s talking about. He’s not wrong. I loved giving him pleasure. I loved watching his eyes close and his lips part. The tiny jumps of muscles as he got closer. I have flashes: on my knees under the bleachers at a football game, in his car, in the back row of Hawthorne’s movie theatre, and right here in this room.

“You’re imagining that.”

I wasn’t, but I am now, and I shiver. The image of someone—anyone—walking in while Sam is feeding me his cock, my dress in this state…I like the danger of that. “Yes.”

We always pushed the boundaries a little, just a touch of exhibitionism. I guess he hasn’t lost his love of it, and neither have I.

Sam’s hands slide down across my ass, fingers curving around my thighs. And then he lifts, pushing my legs up and back until they’re over his shoulders. Just like he said he’d imagined it. With my legs in this position I’m stretched, and I can feel every inch of him. Going by the smirk on his face, he knows it too. He doesn’t give me a warning, pulling back and sliding back in, fast and smooth.

I gasp, barely keeping back a moan, and Sam grins. And then he starts to fuck me. He’s pressing down and back so I’m almost bent in half, legs caught on his shoulders, stretched on his cock. His face is close, watching my every expression with a confident grin, listening in case I make a sound. Pleasure explodes through me, and I bite my lips to keep quiet. Sam’s lips crush down on mine, kissing the breath out of me, stretching me even tighter with my legs pinned over his shoulders. Every stroke drags with a glorious friction, and I close my eyes, letting it wash over me in waves. Sam is grinding his hips into mine, each thrust brushing against my clit and sending me higher.

I can’t hold back the small sounds I’m making. It’s a miracle that they’re small sounds because the way he’s fucking me makes me want to scream. Sam inches a hand between us, fingers circling my clit. Everything draws into sharp focus, pleasure tightening and I can feel the orgasm building. I’ve never been quiet during sex, and I can feel my lips burn from biting them.

Sam never slows down, and the rhythm sends me over the edge. The orgasm bursts outward, and I’m breathing hard, shuddering with pleasure trying not to cry out. But I don’t get any relief—I’m fucked into a pleasurable haze, Sam speeding up his rhythm until I’m doing nothing but feeling. Tiny orgasms sparkle across my body. They don’t stop. God. Yes, yes, yes. I’m breathing the words, urging him on, and I feel when his cock jerks inside me, his rhythm faltering. He’s close, and I reach out, pulling him closer, and he thrusts in harder. Again, and again, and he comes. He shudders against me, and I go with him—a final orgasm sweeping through and leaving me spent.

I can’t breathe.

Sam is staring down at me, face no longer hard. He looks…awed, and I feel the same. We had good sex when we were teenagers—better sex than most people our age—but it was nothing compared to that. We’re both trying to catch our breath, and there’s a sheen of sweat on Sam’s skin that’s goddamn sexy. I don’t know if there’s anything that turns me on more than seeing a man work up a sweat trying to pleasure me. He’s still inside me, and I remember us like this. Laying together after we’d finished, reluctant to pull apart. It somehow feels more intimate now.

I look away, overcome with an emotion I can’t name.

Sam slips out of me, slips away before he’s back with me, now naked, his hands on my skin again. “I wonder,” he says softly, moving down my body, “do you still taste the same?”

His mouth falls on me, and I gasp just as my eyes fall on a picture on his dresser. I feel like I can’t breathe, and I’m not sure if it’s because his tongue is brushing across my clit and my body feels on fire with pleasure or if it’s because the past just punched me in the chest. The picture is of the two of us. On prom night. I remember that picture too—in my front yard with Sam’s arms wrapped around me. I remember feeling like it was the happiest moment of my life. And it all came crashing down a few hours later.

What the fuck am I doing?

“Stop,” I say. Sam pauses, and I push him away. “Stop.”

Scrambling off the bed, I pull my dress up over my breasts, struggling to tie it again. I pull it down over my hips too, and ignore the sensation of my own arousal running down my legs. Arousal from Sam. I’m going to be sick.

Sam is watching me carefully, and lying on the bed he looks like a perfect marble statue in a museum. It’s infuriating. “Something wrong?” he asks.

“Was this your plan?” I ask. “Somehow trick me so you could fuck me one more time? Congratulations. You win, but never again. Not after…” I glance back towards the photograph of us. Our blinding smiles from that day mock me.

Sam follows my line of sight to the picture. “That’s what this is about?” he says.

“Of course it is,” I spit at him.

“What exactly is it,” he asks, standing, “that you think I did?”

It’s almost impossible to speak to him standing there naked in front of me. My eyes keep scanning his body. The shadows of his abs, the hard line of his cock jutting towards me. “You…” my chest tightens, just like it always does when I try to talk about this. My worst memory. My worst regret. “You broke my heart. You cheated on me with that girl. Lacy.”

Sam’s jaw tightens, and he crosses his arms. Naked, it just makes him look more muscular, and I feel a tremor in my legs. My body wants more of him. All of him. But I’m not going to be that weak again. I won’t.

He doesn’t say anything. Nothing to confirm or deny the accusation that I’ve just thrown at him, and it’s a terrible déjà vu. “You wouldn’t talk to me about it then. And it hasn’t changed, has it? You just shut down.”

It takes a long moment for him to meet my eyes. And when he speaks, it’s soft. Almost gentle. “There’s nothing I could say.”

Those words lodge in my chest, and the pain that I thought had lessened over the years comes flooding back. Tears surge into my eyes and I have to look away. “Of course not,” I say thickly. “Why would anything be different now?”

I brush past him and he doesn’t reach for me. He doesn’t try to stop me or explain or apologize, and despite everything that’s happened, I somehow still thought he would. It’s only the hand I press to my chest that convinces me there’s not an actual knife cutting into me. I remember this kind of pain, and I can’t show it in front of people. I hurry down the stairs, not bothering to conceal my tears now. I’ll lean into it. Fiona, Rose’s crazy sister.

But Rose is at the bottom of the stairs, and she’s the last person I want to see. This is her party, she doesn’t have to deal with my drama. She turns, hearing my footsteps down the stairs and I see her eyes go wide with shock at the sight of me. “Fiona—”

“I’m sorry,” I say, pulling her into a brief hug. “I have to go. I’m fine. Please have an amazing rest of the party and say goodbye to Thomas for me.” I push past her and out the door. I hear her calling my name, and I am sorry, but I can’t look back. If I look back I don’t know what I’ll do.