The hot water hits my skin, runs down my neck, over my breasts, across the places where Zane’s mouth was, and every nerve in my body answers as if he were still touching me. My thighs are weak, my skin is too sensitive, and my heart is beating too fast for someone who is supposed to be putting herself back together.
I press both hands against the tile and lower my head.
“Fuck,” I whisper, as every inch of me remembers him. His mouth. His hands. His cock. The way he said my name when he came, as if it had been ripped from some locked part of him.
I close my eyes and tilt my face into the water, letting it beat down on my skin as if it could wash him off me. It can’t. Of course it fucking can’t.
I don’t know how I convinced myself this would be simple.
One night.
One stupid, reckless, desperate night to fuck Zane out of my system. That was the plan. Let him touch me. Let him ruin me one last time. Let me have the thing I had spent years pretending I didn’t still want. Then I would walk out of here with the memory of him under my skin and somehow be fine.
A rough laugh catches in my throat, but it sounds too close to a sob.
You’re a fucking idiot, Skylar.
I turn off the shower before I start crying beneath it.
The bathroom falls quiet around me, except for the slow drip of water on the cracked tiles and the old pipes groaning. Steam clings to the mirror. My chest feels too tight. My body is still too awake, too sensitive, too aware of every place his hands touched, every place his mouth dragged, every place he made me forget why having him one last time was supposed to be the smart thing.
I reach for the towel and wrap it around myself, pulling it tight across my chest as if it could hold me together.
I wipe a patch of the mirror clear with my palm.
My reflection stares back at me. Flushed cheeks. Tired eyes. A mouth still swollen from his kisses.
And soon my gaze catches on the side of my neck.
I go still when I see the mark left there by Zane. It sits there, dark and obvious against my skin. A bruise blooming right where his mouth had latched onto me as I was coming apart in his arms.
My fingers lift before I can stop them. I touch it lightly and heat rolls through me so quickly that my stomach twists.
I should be pissed. Furious that the man has been back in my life for roughly five minutes and has already left evidence on my body as if he has any right to me. Possessive asshole with excellent mouth placement.
But beneath the irritation, something softer yet more dangerous opens within me. Part of me likes knowing he lost control enough to leave it there, that for one night, Zane wanted me desperately enough to leave something behind.
I stare at the mark until my eyes burn.
God. I am so fucked up.
I dress quickly, tugging my clothes on with hands that are not yet steady. Every movement pulls a memory out of me. Zane’s hands, mouth, and his voice, rough against my skin, as if he were trying to ruin me slowly and make sure I thanked him for it.
I drag in a breath and reach for my hair, pulling it forward, tucking it close, pretending for one stupid second that wet hair can hide a bruise left by a man who has never done anything quietly in his life, even when he barely says a word.
Finally, I give up. There is no hiding it or pretending I didn’t let Zane Rivera put his mouth on me and drag every last shred of common sense out of my body.
I step out of the bathroom and head toward the stairs.
Each step down seems louder than it should. Every sound rings through the workshop as if the whole place wants to announce my arrival.Hey, it’s Skylar James, emotionally unstable. Recently fucked by the man she swore she would be over after that one night with him.
Zane looks up first and our eyes catch.
It’s ridiculous and absolutely humiliating. I had him inside me less than twenty minutes ago, and still, one glance from him makes my pulse trip over itself. As if my body has not learnt a single lesson and one look can turn me into the weakest version of myself.
Then Rainer looks up.
His eyes fall on me.
