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I help her to her feet.

“I know you think I’m naïve, because you spent two years by my side, and I didn’t realize you kill people, but I’m not an idiot. I know what people do at these parties.” I play up the hurt my voice. Because this is how I want her to see me. As the sucker who can’t over his betrayal. “I’m still not going to fuck you tonight.”

Her brow knits in frustration. “We’ll see.”

“I won’t,” I say as firmly as I can.

She shrugs if you say so, points to the chair, and motions after you.

I sit. She saunters to me and slides onto my lap backwards.

“Help me with this, baby,” she says.

I unzip her dress.

She stands and slides it off her hips, revealing the long line of her torso, ass, and legs.

She’s in only her black silk thong and high heels now.

“Like you’re paying to touch me, Matteo,” she says, and she turns back to me.

I did a lot at the worst points of my addiction. Slept with people whose names I forgot the moment we touched.

Paying for it would have been kinder, but I couldn’t perform when money exchanged hands.

I can’t touch her like I want my money’s worth. But I can touch her like I want to drive her as crazy as she drives me.

I cup her ass with my palm. I trace the waistband of her thong with my thumb.

“Sit in my lap, angel,” I say in the demanding tone I’d use if we were playing the scenario she’s invented.

She slides up from my knee, throws her head back so her neck is on display.

“Better,” she says, in a soft voice.

“Can you survive thirty minutes of this?” I ask.

“Survive thirty minutes of the fantasy I fucked myself to last night?” There’s no pretense in her voice.

She means that.

And it’s probably true.

We were always good there.

I run my fingers over her hips, waist, chest. A circle against her soft skin.

Again and again until she groans. Then I cup her breast and run my thumbs over her nipple.

She lets out a soft purr. “You’re hard.”

I press my lips to her neck and bring them to her ear. “I’m still not going to fuck you.” I tilt her so I can see my work. “Is it less fun, knowing that?”

“No. More.” She leans in and presses her lips to mine.

For a moment, I taste the familiar flavor of tonic water and Jamie.

Then I bring my gaze to the door.