Disappointment replaces the previous high. Disappointment in myself.
How could I have been so stupid to think that this was a good idea?
“We aren't together anymore.” It comes out snapped because I'm frustrated with myself.
“Say it again, Honeycomb,” he growls as he spins me around so I'm facing the mirror. I brace my hands against the cold marble. My legs feel weak, but he's right behind me, holding me against him.
“Lie to yourself and tell me you don’t think about me every time you let someone else touch you.”
“I don't think about you.” It's not a lie. I don't. The fact that I haven't let any other man touch me is beside the point.
Our eyes connect in the mirror, and I fully expect to see annoyance. I don't. He’s smirking, and then he lets out a low laugh, shaking his head as though I’ve just proved his point for him.
“Cute,” he murmurs, bunching my dress around my hips so he can get a better grip on me. “You can keep lying to me if it helps, but your body has always been terrible at keeping your secrets.”
I twist my head, trying to glare, but the words die the second he lines himself up and sinks into me with one slow, claiming thrust.
“Zach—”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he says, his mouth brushing my ear. “Remember this, Honeycomb? How good we fit.”
He cups my jaw, turning my face so he can kiss me while he fucks me. It's deep, messy, and he swallows every broken sound I make. His other hand slips between my legs, his thumb circling my clit until I’m clenching around him, helpless.
My second orgasm hits like a freight train, ripping a cry from my throat that he muffles with his palm. He follows right after, burying himself to the root and coming with a guttural groan, pulsing hot and deep, claiming every inch he can reach.
When it’s over, he doesn’t pull out. Just stays pressed inside me, his arms banded around my waist, his lips against my damp temple.
“Still think we’re done? That I only wanted you because wefake datedin high school?” he murmurs, his voice softer now.
Then he eases back, and out of me as his hands skim down my thighs.
“Zach—” My voice is hoarse.
“Shh,” he murmurs again, almost gently, before hooking his fingers into the panties he never took off me, and in one smooth motion, he slides them down my legs. When they reach my ankles, he lifts each leg to free the fabric.
“Hey—” I start, but he’s already stuffing the lace into his suit pocket, his mouth curving in an infuriating, cocky smirk.
“Souvenir,” he says. “Something to keep me company until you decide to stop being stubborn and come home.”
I’m still trying to catch my breath when he leans in, kisses me deep and slow, and leaves me standing there against the bathroom vanity—panting, flustered, and with no underwear and my dress still rucked up around my hips.
When the latch clicks shut behind him, I press my fingers to my lips, cursing under my breath.
Damn him.
Stepping out of the bathroom, I adjust my bow tie in a vain attempt to hide my smirk.
It's impossible when Honeycomb's taste is still on my lips. I can still smell her; still feel the way her body shook underneath me as she gave me everything I needed to prove we're still worth fighting for.
As I head back to the table, I catch Mike's eye. Even though he's on the dance floor, he has enough coordination to throw me a shady brow.
He knows what just went down in that bathroom. He knows because the poor idiot has had to hear me talk about how in lovewith Honey I have been since senior year.
I give him a wink before stuffing my hands in my pockets, feeling for the lacy fabric.
Yup, still there.
The fabric is soft, delicate, and still warm. I close my fist around it, feeling the evidence of what we just did, what she let me do to her despite all her protests about being over me.
