Claire

2018

All of Bri’s bridesmaids live in Chicago, which is a few hours away, so it’s just me and Bri for the first leg of the trip. We play car games we made up when were kids and talk about the wedding. I’m only half listening, a skill I developed, being her sister. Whatever she wants to do, wherever she wants to go, I’ll agree. It’s just easier that way.

The trip flies by. Before I know it, we’re pulling in front an apartment building. As soon as we pull up, Bri’s phone chirps. Giving the screen an annoyed swipe she sighs and rolls her eyes before hitting the call button on the intercom.

“You rang?” Jaxon’s deep voice fills the back of the limo, and I have to tip my head down to hide the fact that I’m laughing.

If Bri recognizes his response as Lurch’s tagline from The Addam’s Family, she doesn’t act like it. “Driver, I have to go upstairs for a few minutes.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Almost immediately, Jaxon’s door pops open, and I hear him climb out.

“Sara’s having a wardrobe crisis,” she says, shaking her head as the door opens.

“Want me to handle it?” I’m maid of honor, these things are my job.

“No.” Bri waves her hand at me. “You stay here—” A broad, masculine hand appears in the open door. “I’ll be right back.”

Before I can argue, Bri’s gone, leaving me alone.

The door doesn’t close behind her.

Jaxon climbs into the back of the limo, claiming Bri’s seat. Now he closes the door.

The limo is a late model stretch. There’s enough room in here for the Chicago Bears offensive line, but I suddenly feel claustrophobic. Like I can’t breathe. I aim my gaze out the window and ignore him.

“Lurch.”

Against my will, the one-word question that isn’t really a question, draws my attention. Sunglasses off, I can see his face. He looks different. His face is leaner. Harder, making me wonder where he went. What happened to him while he was gone. What he saw while he was there.

But he’s still beautiful. The way he looks at me is still the same. Direct. Intense. Like he’s trying to convey everything he is, everything he feels, through the weight of his gaze.

“I apologize if I hurt your feelings,” I say, flicking my gaze over his face. “I forgot your name.”

The air changes between us. Thickens. Heats. Makes it hard to breathe. “No, you didn’t.” His tone is low. Quiet.

“Sorry.” I look away, aim my gaze out the window again. “I have no idea who you are,” I lie, before dismissing him completely.

“Claire.”

He says my name softly, like a warning, the sound of it causes my heart to stutter and stall in my chest. Sends a flush of heat rushing through my entire body before it pools in my belly. I start counting cars as they roll past to combat the onslaught of memories.

The way his mouth followed the line of my throat, pressing and nipping its way from my collarbone to my lips.

One

His fingers, pushing past the waistband of my pajamas to brush the elastic edge of my panties before slipping inside.

Two

The heat of his fingers between my legs, the soft, deliberate trace of them along the seam of my pussy.

Three

His tongue, tracing the curve of my breast while his—

I hear the door locks engage, seconds before I feel the car rock around me as he moves closer. No longer in Bri’s seat, he’s sitting on the plush leather bench, right next to me. “Look at me, Claire.”

His tone, sharp and angry forces me to turn in my seat. He’s too close. Close enough to touch. His face inches from mine. His dark brown eyes intense, sharp enough to cut. “You know me,” he says, reaching for me, cupping his hand around the back of my neck, pulling me closer. Despite his rough tone, his hands are gentle. Almost reverent. Just the way I remember them. “You remember me.” His thumb traces down the line of my throat. Mouth dry, I lick my lips, inadvertently drawing his gaze to them.

I remember that I gave you my virginity and woke up the next morning to find you’d dropped off the face of the earth.

I almost say it. Instead, I channel my inner-Bri. “Are you this familiar with all your clients, Lurch?”

My words draw his eyes back to mine, and they narrow on my face. “You can call me Lurch all you want. It doesn’t change the fact that you know exactly who I am and it doesn’t change what happened between us.”

My heart starts to race. My breath catches in my chest. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He moves closer. “Then I guess I’m going to have to remind you,” he murmurs softly, his lips brushing against mine, hand at my nape cradling my head as he tips it back to catch the press of his mouth.

I fight it for the space of a second before I’m sinking. Letting him pull me under. My lips part under his with a soft moan as his tongue sweeps in to wrap around mine, hands lifting and grabbing the lapels of his suit jacket, dragging him closer.

He groans against my mouth, his massive shoulders pressing me back into the seat, the hem of my skirt pushing up my thighs. He pulls back, his gaze, dark and intense, burrowing into mine. “Say it, Claire,” he says softly, his tongue skimming my bottom lip. “Say my name.”

“You’ll have to tell me what it is first.” I don’t know why I’m pretending. Why I can’t admit that I remember that night. Him. All I know is when I think about it, I hurt, and I want him hurt too.

“Careful,” he growls the word at me, nips my lower lip with his teeth, ripping a gasp from my throat. “You don’t want to play this game with me...” I feel his hand stroke the inside of my knee, fingers gliding upward to brush against the lace of my panties, stroking me softly. “Jesus...” he drops his head to my neck, his breath shuddering against my chest. “You always get this wet for complete strangers?”

The observation stains my cheeks, but I don’t push him away. If anything, I slide lower in my seat, giving him better access. “My sister is going to be back, any minute.”

He smirks at me. “Then you better hurry up and give me what I want,” he says, running the length of his long fingers along the seam of my pussy, rubbing me through my panties. “Because I’m not stopping until you say my name.”

Oh, my god. I’m already so close to coming it’s almost embarrassing. “Is your name Jimmy?” I say, barely able to push the words out. “Did you used to work at the pizza place on 5th?”

“Close.” He hooks his fingers around the crotch of my panties and jerks them to the side. “Try again.”

I open my mouth to say something, but the words spin away from me on a low moan as his fingers slide inside me, his thumb finding the top of my cleft, drawing tight circles against my clit. Another rush of heat, this one pushing lower. Deeper. I’m suddenly trembling on the edge, rocking myself against his hand, trying to push myself over. Sensing how close I am, he eases up on the pressure his thumb is putting on my clit, giving me nothing more than light, feathery strokes that hold me in place. Keep me dangling.

“I went easy on you the last time we did this, Claire,” he whispers in my ear. “I can keep you here all night. As long as it takes... all you have to do is say my name.”

I squeeze my eyes shut and lift my hips off the seat, seeking the pressure of his hand even as I set my jaw, refusing to give him what he wants. “Jason? Were we chem lab partners?”

“I forgot how stubborn you are.” The words come out on a growl, each punctuated by a curling stroke of his fingers. “You want to know what I remember?”

“Don’t...” I don’t want him to say it. I can’t hear it because the moment I do, I’ll be lost. I’ll give in.

“I remember what it feels like to make you come on my tongue. My cock.” He keeps stroking me, every thrust hitting just the right spot. Holds me steady without sending me over. “What you taste like. How warm and sweet you are. How hard your pussy squeezed around me when you—”

“Stop. Talking.” I shake my head, refusing, even as what he wants to hear threatens to push its way free.

“Say my name.”

“Jaxon.” His name comes out on a rush of breath, shaped around a moan.

He groans against my neck. “Again.”

I tilt my head back, giving him access to my throat. “Jaxon.”

He brushes his thumb, hard against my clit again, circling it slowly. “You remember me.”

My legs start to tremble, my hands fisting so hard in his shirt, I can feel the stitches give. “Yes.”

He picks up the pace, stroking his fingers inside me, the pad of his callused thumb quickening against the top of my mound. “Who I am? What we did?”

“Yes.” I’m moaning uncontrollably. It’s Jaxon pumping his fingers in and out of me. His mouth on my neck. His hard cock pressed against my thigh. Making me come. “Yes.”

I start to fall, the walls of my pussy squeezing around his fingers, shuttering and gripping the length of them as wave after wave washes over me. He covers my mouth with his, tongue thrusting in tandem with his fingers inside me, fucking and stroking me through my orgasm.

He brings me down slowly, his dark, heavy-lidded gaze searching my face as he eases his fingers from me. Then he puts them in his mouth and sucks them clean. Fixes my panties. Straightens my skirt. Looking at me with a mixture of tenderness and regret that feels like a knife to the chest.

“You remember me,” he says softly, and the reminder breaks my heart, all over again.

“I remember waking up alone,” I tell him, holding his gaze. “I remember wondering what I did to make you leave without saying goodbye.” His brow crumples at my words, and I have to look away because he doesn’t get to make me feel sorry. He doesn’t get to be hurt.

He left me.

He didn’t want me.

“Claire, I—”

“I remember Simon telling me you went away and that he was going away too.” Thinking about Simon, my heart trembles in my chest, a quick fluttering that forces me to turn away from him completely. Aiming my gaze out the window, I pretend to dismiss him the way he dismissed me five years ago.