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To explain.

To tell him about the therapy, the fears, the spiral I couldn’t control.

To ask him not to give up on me, even if it’s too late.

But he knows exactly where to aim. And he pulls the trigger without blinking.

“You need a good fuck to see if I’m still the one? I mean… still the playboy?” His voice sharpens even more, soaked in bitterness. “Because I don’t think I was ever the one for you. No, Sierra?”

And just like that, the tight knot in my chest snaps.

Okay. That’s it.

The sting is instant. It burns. My blood roars in my ears—and something in me, something I kept buried deep, claws its way to the surface.

Anger. Pain. Months of it.

Laced with heartbreak, loaded with guilt.

He’s not the only one who knows how to hit where it hurts. And this time, I’m ready for it.

I shake my head slowly, the soft sweetness in my voice belying the storm building inside me.

“No, Nickolas, I didn’t come for sex.” After a pause, I add, almost hesitant. “If I wanted sex, I wouldn’t have flown eight hours just to get here. I could have…”

I don’t finish the sentence—because his hand is suddenly at my throat, firm but controlled, reminding me who holds the power here.

A Warning.

His body presses against mine, no space left between us, heat mingling, the closeness almost overwhelming.

God.

How much I’ve missed this. His touch. His presence. His scent. The way his body feels through my clothes, through skin. It’s intoxicating. But it’s also a torment.

I can see it—how calculated he is, how calm and reserved he keeps himself. Not a shred of softness, just steel.

But I didn’t come here to lose. I never lose. And this won’t be the first time.

If he wants to play games, to test me, then so be it.

“Don’t you ever dare say that again. You hear me, Sierra?” His breath is hot by my ear as he pushes me hard against the wall.

I feign a shaky laugh, my voice light but sharp.

“What?” I whisper. “That I don’t want to fuck you? Or that I could’ve had sex without flying here?”

Since he’s touching me, I decide I have the right to touch him back. My hands slide up his bare back—slow and deliberate—nails digging into the skin from the small of his back to the waistband of his pants, pressing hard enough to leave marks. A reminder.

My heart races, adrenaline flooding my veins. The heat between us is a living thing—dangerous, electric, impossible to ignore.

Every breath I take is a battle between desire and defiance. I’m not here to break. I’m here to fight.

To win him back.

FORTY

Nick