Claire

I have no intention of trying any of this stuff on. I grabbed a few random items off the rack made a beeline for the changing room so I’d have an excuse to sit in a quiet room by myself for a few minutes. I walk down the long row of changing rooms.

Choosing one, I push the door open and flip on the light to reveal what looks like a 5x5 closet, complete with vinyl bench, mirror and door lock. There’s a box of wet wipes on the floor next to the bench.

I don’t even want to think about what goes on in these rooms.

Behind me, I can hear Bri and her friends laughing and shouting. Even without an audience, they’re putting on a show.

No. They have an audience.

They have Jaxon.

Stepping through the open door, I turn and shut myself in, sagging a little bit against its frame. Eyes closed, I take a deep breath. Let it out slowly. I do it again. And again.

I want to go home.

I want to go back to pretending that Jaxon Bennett doesn’t exist. That what happened didn’t happen.

No, you don’t, you big liar. What you want is for Jaxon to come back here and—

Someone knocks on the door I’m leaning against, the sound and feel of it reverberating through my bones. Like my filthy thoughts brought him to life, I open it to find Jaxon on the other side.

I slam it in his face.

I hear him sigh, the sound heavy with frustration and something else. Something sad. “Claire—open the door. Please.”

It’s not locked. He could open the door if he wanted. He doesn’t even try. I twist the knob in my hand, popping the latch before backing away. Jaxon pushes it open wide enough to let himself in before shutting us in together.

“What do you want?” I say, wrapping my arms around myself, hangers full of lingerie still hanging from my fingers. I keep forgetting how big he is. How much space he occupies. I put as many feet between us as possible, backing myself into a corner but it’s not enough. I need more.

I need mountains and oceans between us. Continents and eons. I need him to disappear again, this time forever because that’s the only thing that’s going to keep me from him. The only way I won’t fall again. Knowing he has that kind of power over me scares me a little. I’d forgotten how easily he can pull me under.

“I want to explain.” He takes the hangers from me, doesn’t even look at what’s on them before tossing them on the bench seat. “I want you to give me a chance to explain.” He looks down at me, shaking his head. “I know I don’t deserve it but I’m asking anyway.” He steps into me, and I retreat. I should feel crowded. Overwhelmed. I should be screaming at the top of my lungs.

I don’t.

I feel achy. Needy. Weak.

“I’m leaving.” I don’t know what’s happening, but it’s not what I expected. What I thought. I thought... I shake my head. What I thought doesn’t matter. All he wants is to clear his conscience. “That’s all you had to say, Jaxon. All it would’ve taken—I’m leaving.”

“I know.” His shoulders slump, and his head tips forward eyes squeezed shut. “I know... I should have said something, but I was afraid if—”

“That I wouldn’t let you fuck me if I knew you were going to take off on me.” I finish his sentence for him, feeling the same fierce satisfaction I felt earlier when I slammed the car door in his face.

His eyes blink open, and he stares at me for a moment before they narrow, his jaw snapped tight. “No, I—”

“Because I would’ve, you know.” I lay it all out, too angry to think about what I’m saying. “I would’ve let you do anything you wanted to me, even if I’d known I was never going to see you again. That’s how crazy I was about you.” My voice breaks, the sharp pieces of it cutting me wide open.

The truth tumbles out, too fast for me to snatch it back and I stare up at him, wide-eyed, praying to god he thinks I’m crazy. That I didn’t mean it.

He steps closer, and I counter, trying to get away but only succeeding in bumping into the mirrored wall behind me.

“Are you getting married?” he says softly, angling his head even further. I have to jack my neck all the way back just so I can keep looking at him.

I feel myself blink, slow and stupid, like some blinded animal. “Married?” I finally say, shaking my head like I don’t understand his language. “You want to know if I’m getting married? Now?” I can feel my anger rising to near epic proportions. “You’re asking now? After what you did to me in the—”

He growls at me, his hands clamping over my bare shoulders to haul me against him, even as his mouth crashes down. His tongue brushes against my lower lip, licking and teasing its way inside to tangle with mine. I whimper in response, the fight leaving me the second his lips meet mine. I’m lost.

Floating and spinning, the only things keeping me from drifting away is the weight of his mouth. My hands on his chest, fingers curling into the lapels of his suit jacket. His hand in my hair, his rough fingers tight against my skull, while his other slips to my hip, holding me tight, letting me feel the hard length of his cock between us. I forget about how insulted I am. How much he hurt me. Keeps hurting me. All I can remember is this. How good he felt, moving inside me. How much I wanted him.

Still want him.

The thought sends a rush of heat through me, so hard and fast I feel like I’m spinning. I slip a hand between us, lower and lower until my fingertips are grazing along the length of his rigid cock.

He groans, flexing his hips into my hand, again and again. I tighten my grip, sweeping my thumb over the engorged head of his shaft until I feel pre-cum seep through the fabric of his pants.

“Fuck...” Tearing his mouth away, he glares down at me. “Answer the question—are you getting married?”

I keep giving in to him. I keep letting him in.

Giving him what he wants. Every time.

I feel my jaw set itself in a mutinous jut. “Does it matter?”

He doesn’t even hesitate.

“Nope.” I feel the hand on my hip start to tighten, gathering the fabric of my skirt. “Not even a little bit.”