I’m sitting on my bike outside Gwen’s motel room, the engine off, staring at the room number. Fury courses through me, hot and thick in my veins.

A fury I have no right to but can’t control.

Earlier, Beau had called me and told me she was leaving.

It was like being punched in the gut.

On the phone, he’d asked me if I was going to man up and go see her. I’d told him no and hung up.

I’d been fighting the urge to come to her all night. And the more I fought, the angrier I became.

Anger at her.

At myself.

Anger that I can’t control this goddamn thing between us no matter how hard I try.

Finally, I gave up. And, now, here I am.

The anger still beats away at me.

The smart thing to do is to let her go without a word.

It’s what she’d expect from me.

It’s what Beau expects from me.

What I expect from myself.

So why the fuck am I sitting here?

Walking away affirms whatever everyone already knows. I’m a bastard, and I will always be a bastard.

I put my fingers on the key.

Drive away.

I’ll never see her again. There will be no messy confrontation. It will just be broken beyond repair.

Eventually she’ll become a memory. Someday I’ll forget she actually means something to me. I hate her for meaning something, but I can’t pretend it’s not true.

Which is why I need to ride away.

I click the key, but can’t pull the trigger.

Frustrated, I jerk the key from the ignition and get off the motorcycle. Resigned to my fate, I knock on the door and wait thirty seconds before she answers.

The moment she swings open the door my fury snowballs into a full-blown rage.

I slam my fist into the door, sending it swinging with a crash against the wall. “You were going to leave without a word?”

Hair a wild mess around her shoulders, cascading down her arms and back, she’s standing there in a tight black T-shirt with matching panties that shows a strip of her stomach and long, endless legs.

Lust rears its ugly head, mixing with the anger and making my head swim. My cock hardens at the mere sight of her.

Goddamn her.

She crosses her arms over her chest. “Why do I need to say goodbye?”

“Why?” I shout at her. What the fuck is happening to me? What am I even doing? “Why?”

Calm and composed, she shrugs. “We’re not in a relationship, Jackson.”

My own words thrown back in my face. I deserve it, but it doesn’t matter in the face of my own base needs and chaotic turmoil. I jab a finger at her. “That’s right, we’re not.”

“So there’s nothing to say.” Her tone is flat, her eyes remote.

I want her ruffled. Stressed. Out of control. Like I am.

Her calm, it’s a façade. One that becomes imperative I break.

I grip her arms, haul her to me and my mouth covers hers.

She doesn’t resist, there’s no protest. She kisses me back, surrenders under my onslaught. All our passion and volatile emotions overtake us, blotting out all reason.

I walk her back, kicking the door behind us.

She clings to me. Arches into me.

Everything turns wild. Hot. Consuming.

Our lips are demanding. Our tongues fighting.

Our bodies press together, straining and desperate.

Hands everywhere.

I bite her.

She moans, and claws at my back.

We part long enough to rip our shirts over our heads before her breasts are smashed into my chest and she’s trying to climb into me.

I need her.

Fuck.

I need her so bad and I don’t even know why or how to stop it. I can’t think about it now with her flush against me.

We tumble onto the bed and I pull her panties to the side, pushing my thigh between hers. With hands as desperate as I feel she fumbles with my zipper, and when my cock springs free, I impale her.

Her body welcomes my invasion, her pussy tightening around me like she’s never going to let me go.

She cries out, and I look down at her, head thrown back. She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life. I’ve never wanted anything or anyone the way I want her.

Fierce possession storms through me.

I slam into her.

She slides up the bed and I pull her down, surging back into her.

She tightens around me, moaning my name.

Realization rushes across my skin.

I’m going to lose her.

I need to imprint the look on her face, the red of her hair and blue of her eyes into the very heart of me.

I pound into her.

The feel of her body, enveloping me, it needs to be burned into my brain, so I’ll remember it always.

This is the last time I’ll ever be inside her.

I grit my teeth.

I want to slow down, but my need for her, it’s relentless.

It demands.

It knows no mercy.

“Jackson.” My name is a plea on her lips, sounding as needy as I feel.

I kiss her sweet lips, and when I raise my head, I meet her bright blue eyes. They shimmer with tears and it breaks something deep inside me I thought was dead.

She reaches up and runs her fingers over my jaw, and I have to grit my teeth to quell the emotions welling in my chest, fighting to get out.

“Don’t stop, please don’t ever stop.” Her words are breathy.

“I won’t.” I don’t want to. Not now. Not ever.

I change my rhythm, slowing down to a deep, excruciatingly intimate grind.

As our gazes stay locked together, our bodies break into a sweat, moving in an erotic sway that communicates everything unspoken between us.

It reveals everything.

That she’s breached all my defenses.

That I care.

That I can’t resist her.

That she’s broken me.

That she reminds me of everything I’m missing in my life.

Makes me confront everything I want to ignore.

It’s all there for her to see, and I can’t fucking stop it.

Can’t hide it. No matter how much I want to.

It becomes…unbearable.

The rawness of the moment. The movements of our bodies as we try and seep into each other.

The vulnerability.

Finally it’s too much for me and I have to bury my head in the curve of her neck. She wraps her arms around me and holds me close, and we go on like that until the need of our bodies is too demanding.

I rise up to my palms and thrust into her.

She arches her back to meet me.

Once again our gazes meet and I won’t deny myself this one last time. Her cunt contracts around me and pleasure breaks over her face.

Her orgasm pushes me over the edge and my vision blurs as I pump hard and fast, soaking up every last sensation of her coming around me as I tip over the edge.

The climax rocks me to my very core, the pleasure so intense it’s blinding.

And the second it’s over, loss comes crashing around me, threating to suck me under. I haven’t felt this sick with it since I got that midnight call and my entire life changed.

Gwen is a dangerous woman.

That the loss is so keen is further validation she needs to leave.

But, despite the panic bathing me, I don’t pull away from her. Because I know this will be it, and I’m not ready to say goodbye.

I don’t know how long we stayed like that. Jackson buried inside me, me clutching him tight, his breath on my neck. It’s all so acute. So wrenching.

I don’t know if I’m in love with him. How can I be? I don’t even know him, and it hasn’t been enough time, so I can’t possibly be. I’m not crazy or illogical.

So I don’t know what this is, but I know I’ve never felt it.

It’s crushing. The weight of it. Knowing that the most emotionally intense sex of my life will not change one thing. Jackson is still going to get up and walk out the door. I’m still going to get on a plane later tonight.

And that will be that.

It will be the end.

Maybe it’s for the best. Obsession like this can’t be healthy. Can’t be normal.

He stirs and instinctively I tighten around him.

He whispers in my ear, “We’re only making it harder.”

“I know,” I whisper back, closing my eyes and running my fingers down his back.

So we stay like that.

Unmoving.

Still.

Like we can freeze time.

Our bodies cool. The sweat dries.

And finally, in unspoken agreement, we move.

It’s time.

In silence we get dressed, picking up clothes and shrugging them on as shields against what needs to be done. What we need to say.

When he puts on his shoes, the panic washes over me and I’m unable to help myself. I bite my lip. “Can’t you give me a reason to stay?”

He’s sitting on that chair by the door, half shadowed. Unreadable. “What reason would be enough?”

I blink, looking down at my hands. “You could tell me what you’re hiding.”

“It won’t change anything.” He laces his fingers between his splayed knees. “You still live in Chicago and I still live here. Nothing we say will change that.”

“Can’t you at least tell me why?” I hate the pleading in my tone, but I can’t help adding, “Please.”

He doesn’t speak, he barely moves and the air is suspended.

I don’t even breathe while I wait.

He shakes his head. “It’s not another woman.”

“You’re not going to tell me why, are you?”

“It’s nothing you can change, Gwen.”

I nod. “Okay.”

I’m not going to press because he’s not going to tell me his secrets, and I don’t want to make it easier for him to say goodbye.

I want it to crush him. Like it’s going to crush me.

He clears his throat. “When’s your flight?”

I look past him, out the window. It’s not a pretty view. Just cars whipping down the highway. “Early evening.”

“I have to get to work.” His voice is thick.

“Okay.” This is it. It’s awful. Worse than I feared. My only consolation is I can still feel him inside me.

That will carry me home.

Tomorrow I’ll wake up in my condo. The sun will be out, and I’ll drink coffee on my balcony, watching the waves lap up to the concrete shore.

I’ll start anew, like a phoenix from the ash or some such nonsense.

He rises to his feet and I follow.

Tension fills the air as we walk to the door. We stand there. Suspended. The clock on the nightstand flips over with a click. The knob squeaks as Jackson twists.

And then the door is open.

I can no longer pretend this isn’t the end, that something will save us.

I blink rapidly against the tears threatening to spill over.

The sun is shooting shards of light into the dim room. I’d like to imagine this is some sort of sign that everything will be okay, but I don’t believe it.

I don’t think he’s going to turn around, but he takes two steps out of the room and then swings back before hauling me close and crushing his mouth to mine.

I throw everything I have into that kiss because I know it will be the last. I hold absolutely nothing back.

When he pulls away, we are both breathing hard.

He cups my jaw and runs his thumb down my cheek, wiping a wayward tear.

In a gruff voice he says, “If it was going to be anyone, Gwyneth, it would be you.”

And with that, he turns and gets on his bike.

Our eyes lock.

A thousand things pass between us.

Then he puts on his sunglasses, and is gone.