I unlock the door to my mom’s house and stare at the perfectly clean living room in confusion. What the… Roman runs ahead of me, yelling “Grannie!” I run a finger on the coffee table and look at my fingertip. No dust? What the hell?

I normally spend at least an hour a week cleaning her place up when I bring Roman over on the weekends. It has been a week since I’ve been here, and she’s far too weak to clean. Who the hell was here? For some reason I’m pissed. I storm into my mom’s room to find her hugging Roman. Her hair is wispy on her mostly bald scalp and her eyes are tired but kind. She smiles lovingly at him, hugging him back with her frail arms. “My little Romeo,” she says into his hair. “I missed you.”

“Mom,” I say. “Who was here?”

Her brows pull together in confusion. “That handsome young man you sent. He came by yesterday.”

I feel my heart racing. Handsome young man? “The one with tattoos?”

She grins. “That’s the one. I didn’t mind watching him clean at all. And he was such a gentleman. Where did you find him?”

On parole from a prison sentence. “What did he say to you?”

“We talked about you a lot, actually. You know he asked if you had a boyfriend, I think he might be interested, sweetie. I told him you were pining after the one who got away a few years back, which has kept you depressingly single. I suggested he fix that.” She winks. “You’re welcome.”

“Mom!” I say, outraged. “You didn’t really say that did you? Please tell me you’re kidding.”

Roman lets her go and runs off to find the cat. “C’mere kitty!” he shouts. “Meow!”

My mom just gives me a small smile. “If you don’t take him, I will. He looked like a real catch.”

“If you’re interested in criminals, maybe,” I say, sitting on the edge of her bed and feeling her forehead. “You’re freezing,” I mutter, reaching to grab more blankets for her.

She lets me tuck her in tighter, watching me with those eyes of her that haven’t lost any of their mischief, despite years of fighting this fucking cancer. “Your father was a good man. The only law he ever broke was illegally parking on the Fourth of July every year. I swear that man would have rather given up a limb than sit a minute longer than he had to in traffic. I loved him more than anything, and he was great to you. But…” she says, smiling deviously. “If he had a wild side, I wouldn’t have complained either.”

I can’t help but laugh a little. “Mom. You’re grossing me out. Please stop.”

“I know I’m doing my job if I’m grossing you out.”

I hear Mr. Paws give a death-curdling screech from the living room. Roman must have found him. Those two have been clashing ever since Roman could crawl. Roman loves the cat more than he loves me, and the cat just wants to be left alone.

“You know I didn’t tell him to come see you, Mom. I didn’t even tell him you were sick. I have no idea how he found out or how he knew where to find you.”

She raises her eyebrows and purses her lips. “So he’s resourceful, thoughtful, and passionate. You really had better make a move before I steal this one from you, Jules.”

I look down, pulling at my fingers. “I was going to say he’s a stalker.”

“Bullshit. The only difference between a man being labeled a stalker and a charmer is whether you want his attention.”

“I don’t think that’s entirely true, Mom.”

“Well, I must just be getting old and crazy, then, because I would be all over him like honey on ham.”

I cover my face with my hands, laughing and falling over on her legs. “I really didn’t need that image.”

I knock on Leo’s door once Roman has gone down for sleep later that night. I’m holding the baby monitor in my hand. It buzzes with white noise from the noise machine in Roman’s room and broadcasts an image of his little body curled up with his dinosaur and favorite blanket. Leo opens the door. He’s wearing a crisp white shirt and black slacks. His sleeves are rolled up casually and his buttons are undone scandalously low. I wish I could stop losing my breath every time I see him.

“Hey,” I say, a little breathlessly.

He leans against the doorframe, looking at me with undisguised surprise. “I didn’t expect you to stop by.”

“Yeah, well, me neither,” I say, “But imagine my surprise when I found out the criminal next door was at my mom’s house today.”

He nods. “I can see how that would be a surprise. I didn’t realize they let criminals live here. Should I be worried about this guy?”

I smile a little. “I’m still trying to answer that question.”

“Let me know when you do.”

I glance into his still-bare apartment. “Are you ever going to decorate this place? Maybe get a bed?”

“Please, come in,” he says, gesturing grandly. “It’s not much, but I actually got used to sparse living in prison. Having too much stuff around doesn’t feel right anymore.”

“You should really get a bed, at least. I don’t like the idea of you sleeping on the floor.”

He smirks knowingly. “I didn’t realize you’ve been over there thinking about me. Seems like you are really fixated on where I sleep.”

I blush, but my embarrassment quickly turns to anger, as it always seems to around him. Just seeing him happy, cocky, and smiling is enough to piss me off. He gets to walk away for four years while I do the hard work and then thinks he can show up and reap the benefits? Fuck that. “Is it possible to have a real conversation with you where you don’t turn everything into innuendo?”

That sobers him up. Good.

“Sure. But I just want to make sure you understand a real conversation isn’t synonymous with an interrogation.”

He has a way of annoying me by pointing out things I should’ve realized myself, but haven’t. “I realize that,” I snap. I just wanted to ask you a few dozen questions. It wouldn’t have been an official interrogation. ”But you also need to understand what’s at stake here. This isn’t like before. I can’t just open my heart to you on a whim.” I hold up the baby monitor and shake it toward him. “I have to think about my little guy, and what’s best for him.”

He takes a step toward me and I suddenly realize how close we are. I can see each of his long eyelashes and deep into the dark pools of his eyes, tempting me to fall in. Stop it. Be an adult. Talk through this with some self-control before you start thinking about how gorgeous he is.

“Is having a mother who’s sexually frustrated good for him?”

“I’m not—” I say indignantly. Then I lower my voice. “I’m not…sexually frustrated.”

“Then why is your heart racing right now? Why are your cheeks flushed? I bet your panties are already fucking soaked.”

I slap him. The sound cracks out in the quiet apartment. He looks down, laughing quietly, ominously. “You shouldn’t do that.” The way he looks up at me with his chin tilted down is frightening to say the least, and I start to realize how dangerous it was for me to come here alone, at night without telling anyone where I would be. This man is a killer. I can’t just forget that. He may say he wants to protect me, but how do I know?

“What are you going to do?” I wish my voice sounded stronger, less like a strangled whisper.

“Whatever you want me to do,” he says huskily. His body is against mine, pinning me to the wall.

Just one more time. Just this once. I need to get him out of my system. I need to let him take me again and use me how he wants. I need this. Once it’s behind me, I can start to look at the situation without the clouds of lust blinding me to the truth. Just this once. I carefully drop the baby monitor to the floor beside me.

His hard cock presses into my stomach and I feel my pussy throbbing with need. Just the memory of what it was like to have him inside me is too much. I’m already tearing at his buttons, struggling to get his shirt off.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” I gasp into his ear as I strip his shirt. “It’s just physical.”

He kisses the sensitive skin beneath my ear. “If that’s the lie you need to tell yourself.”

I glare over his shoulder as he lifts me so that his cock grinds into my waiting heat. I’m just wearing a simple pair of black yoga pants, and the thin material is barely a barrier between us. Being called out on my little lie pisses me off, but for some reason, it just makes me press my hips into him harder, squeezing tighter against the muscles on his back and shoulders. The driving force behind my passion is anger. Anger at him, anger at where I am in life, and anger at the unfairness of it all. I just want a release, and part of me even feels guilty using him for such an impersonal purpose. Even he sees through my lies, though. I want this as much, if not more than he does, and it’s not just about the anger. It’s about the years I’ve spent craving this exact moment, even if I thought my mind would be in a more secure place when it happened.

He rips my shirt over my head and my breasts bounce down, still held by my bra. He squeezes my tits hard enough to hurt a little, but then the warmth of his mouth on my nipples soothes away the pain as he skillfully unhooks my bra with one hand and frees my tits. The air is cold on my already hardened nipples, and it’s not long before the warmth of his mouth is on them. I arch my head back, reeling as the shockwaves of pleasure fire through my body, igniting every nerve from my fingertips to my core.

I squeeze the back of his head, pressing him into me, unable to get enough. I want him so bad it hurts. He pulls back so that my feet fall to the floor and yanks my pants down in one swift motion so that I’m only in the pink lace panties I wore, guilty conscious of the possibility that he might see my underwear. He steps back and admires me, pacing before me, shirtless and clad only in his slacks. His hard, powerful body is a masterpiece, and my eyes can’t decide if they want to drink in the curves and cuts of his muscular frame, or the perfect lines of his face and the smooth swell of his lips. He looks at me like his property, like he’s deciding what to do with me, and I’m surprised to find that I want nothing more than to be used by him however he likes.

Just for a little while I can let go. Just one last time, I can forget my problems and let his touch burn them away.

He flicks the buckle of his belt free and unbuttons his slacks, letting them hang loose, giving me a tantalizing peak of his lower stomach. I reach to touch him, but he takes my hands, pinning them above my head. I struggle a little against him and he presses back, eyes full of fire. “My way,” he growls. “We’re doing this my way.”

His voice gives me chills. I press the back of my head against the wall, letting him pin me there, waiting to see what he wants to do with me. He takes his time looking at my body, eyes lingering on my lips, neck, tits, and panties. He reaches down, grabbing my panties with a tug he tears them off me. I quiver, surprised by how much it’s turning me on to be used like this. It’s all I can do not to throw my legs around him now and grind myself into him hungrily, but the smoldering intensity in his eyes makes me afraid to disobey, so I wait.

“You don’t get to cum until I give you permission. Do you understand?” he asks as his hand begins working my clit, moving in slow circles and making my knees weak. How am I supposed to keep from cumming when he does that? A slow pressure starts to build in my lower stomach, blossoming quickly through my body so that my eyebrows draw down and my eyes close. “God,” I moan.