Something like pain flickered in his eyes, but it was gone just as fast. “Then let me make you forget.”
And then he was pushing her panties to the side to push inside her— fast, deep, and so achingly familiar she could’ve cried. Her back arched, hands clawing at his shoulders as he moved, thrusting hard enough to knock her breath loose with every snap of his hips.
“Ali,” he rasped, burying his face against her neck. “So fucking tight,” he groaned. Then he was whispering in her ear, “Tell me this is real. Tell me you feel it too.”
She didn’t answer— not with words. She couldn’t.
She just kissed him like he was the last mistake she’d ever make. He grabbed one of her legs and hitched it around his waist, and she held on like she might fall apart without him.
The sound of the party was a distant hum now— muted by the pounding in her chest, the soft grunt of his voice in her ear, the wet, heady sound of skin on skin.
And when she came— his hand slapped over her mouth to silence her screams— he followed, hips stuttering, breath ragged, and groaning her name.
They stood like that for a moment, tangled and trembling. The air between them thick with things unsaid.
She was still breathless, unmoving, when she heard a crunch on the gravel.
“Mac?” a woman’s voice called. “Have you seen my phone?”
Ali froze. His hands were still on her hips. Her dress was still bunched.
He turned toward the voice. “Kallie?”
That was all she needed to hear.
Ali shoved away from him so fast she almost stumbled. Her dress fell back into place as she backed up a step, eyes wide, lips still parted.
“Ali— wait—” Dylan reached for her.
But she was already gone.
She was moving. Fast— shoving her way past the building, heart in her throat. Inside, the party spun by in streaks of light and sound, but all she could hear was her own pulse pounding.
Kallie. Of course.
She didn’t know why she’d assumed he was here alone. Of course they were close— his friend, his agent.Fuck, what if they were more?Ali had just made herself the punchline in a story she swore she wouldn’t rewrite. Not again.
The Archer
Dylan
The humid air hit his sweat-damp skin like a slap. He was still catching his breath, the sharp edges of reality rushing in all at once.
Then he saw it.
Ali’s clutch.
It lay on the concrete like a forgotten piece of something sacred, small and glittering under the floodlight. He bent to pick it up, fingers shaking.
From the sheer panic rising in his chest.
She was gone.
“Mac!”
He turned as Kallie came around the corner, her white red-bottom tennis shoes shining. She looked polished, every hair in place, perfectly composed in a Tritons-branded cocktail dress. Until she got close enough to see his face.
“You okay?” she asked, scanning him quickly. Then her eyes dropped to the clutch in his hand. She stopped cold.
