I turn to the two-story house Connor bought four years ago with our future in mind. Despite being in our twenties, we’ve never lived together.
My parents were adamantly against it without marriage, and I couldn’t bring myself to defy them. Connor had been disappointed but understood, so we compromised with frequent overnight stays and vacations instead.
My fingers hesitate for only a second before punching in the code—our anniversary. The keypad beeps its approval, and the lock clicks open.
I step inside, greeted by the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and ESPN’s familiar drone from the living room. Dropping my bag and luggage by the door, I look at the photos lining the hallway.
Images capture us in Cancun, hiking the Adirondacks in matching flannel shirts, feeding each other beignets in New Orleans with powdered sugar on our noses. Four years of memories carefully framed and arranged, each one a reminder of what I risked.
My eyes land on the newest addition from Christmas at my mother’s house in Ruby Coast. I’m opening the small velvet box,mouth open in surprise, while Connor watches intently. I touch my engagement ring unconsciously.
The sound of running water grows louder as I climb the stairs. I slip off my shoes after entering his bedroom, then my jeans. By the time I reach the bathroom door, I’m down to nothing but guilt and bare skin.
I ease the door open. Through the fogged glass shower door, I can make out Connor’s broad shoulders, his head tilted back under the spray. Water cascades down his muscled body.
My own body responds to the sight, and I move closer, sliding the shower door open. Connor spins around, eyes wide with surprise, water droplets clinging to his dark lashes.
“Meesha?” His voice, deep and tinged with that French-Canadian accent that still makes my knees weak, wraps around me. “What are you—I thought your return was scheduled for tonight?”
I step into the shower, letting the hot water sluice over my travel-worn body. “Surprise,” I manage, my voice catching. “We got an earlier flight.”
His strong hands find my waist, pulling me against him. The familiar contours of his body press against mine, and I forget the Vegas lights, the stranger’s lips, the crushing weight of what I’ve done.
“This is some surprise, ma belle.” His mouth curves into that half-smile that’s been making my heart skip since I was sixteen. His hands slide up my back, leaving trails of heat. “I missed you.”
A terrible thought flashes through my mind. Would he still touch me like this if he knew? Would his hands still worship my body, or would they push me away?
The fear makes me cling to him more desperately. I twine my arms around his neck, pressing my body flush against his. IfI can just get close enough, maybe I can erase the memory of another man’s touch.
“I need you right now,” I whisper against his lips, desperate to feel only him, to remember why what we have is worth fighting for. Worth saving.
His eyes darken, but there’s something questioning in them too. Does he know? Can he sense it?
“Meesha...” His accent thickens when he’s emotional, my name becoming something exotic on his tongue. “Is everything okay?”
I silence his question with a kiss, pouring my love, my guilt, my fear. My hands tangle in his wet hair as the steam rises around us, shrouding us in a world where nothing exists but this man.
His hands slide down to cup my ass, pulling me against his growing hardness. I can feel his need, urgent and insistent, pressing against my stomach. I break away from his lips, trailing kisses down his neck, his chest, until I’m on my knees.
I take him into my mouth, swirling my tongue around his shaft. He groans, his hands finding their way into my wet braids. I can taste the faint saltiness of his pre-cum, feel the silky smoothness of his skin. I take him deeper, relishing the feel of him.
His hips move slowly at first, then faster, matching the rhythm of my mouth. The water cascades over us, dripping from his body onto my face as I take him deeper still.
His grip on my head tightens, his muscles tensing. I can feel his orgasm building, but before he can reach the peak, he pulls me to my feet.
“Not like this,” he growls. “I want to be inside you.”
In one motion, he lifts me and presses my back against the cold tiles. He hitches my leg up around his shoulder, his cock poised at my entrance.
“Connor,” I whimper when he thrusts into me, hard and deep.
My nails dig into his shoulders, holding on as he moves. The steam surrounds us, creating a cocoon of heat and desire.
His hips pound against mine, each thrust pushing me harder against the wall. The sensation is intense, almost overwhelming, but I want more. I always want more from him.
His mouth finds mine again, his tongue mimicking the movements of his hips. I can taste his desperation, his love, his all-consuming need for me. It matches my own.
“You feel so good, Meesha,” he groans against my mouth. “So fucking good.”
