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She didn’t know. She didn’t know that I hadn’t touched anyone. That I still slept on the same side of the bed we once shared. That her things were still exactly where she left them. That I hadn’t let a single person get close since the night I walked out.

My jaw tightened as I stood there, hidden just out of her view, watching her breathe like her ribs were being crushed.

And all I could think was—let her feel it. Let her feel exactly what I felt when I saw her in Colt’s apartment, wrapped up in his shirt. Let her drown in that same sick ache that nearly split me in half.

My eyes locked on her, even if she hadn’t seen me yet.

She would.

And when she did… I wanted to see it in her eyes. The realization. The sting.

And I did.

But I didn’t feel any better.

FORTY-ONE

Nick

And now… now I have her pinned between me and the wall. It’s the first time I’ve touched her in so long, and I do it like a man on the edge—with fury, and desire. All mixed together, a recipe for a clear failure on my part.

Because I might explode.

And if I do…

No. I can’t go there. I have to control myself.

God. The way her hands feel on my back… Warm. Familiar. Unforgiving. I don’t even know why I chose to strip everything off. It would’ve been enough to stay in my shirt.

Actually, I know. Because I couldn’t breathe anymore. And I needed to stay calm. And for that, I had to do something—anything.

I press her harder against the cold wall, my breath ragged, the heat between us unbearable. My fingers dig into the small of her back, tracing fire along her spine despite the chaos raging in my mind.

Every nerve ending screams her name. But my heart? It hammers with a mix of anger and pain that I can’t shake off.

Her eyes search mine, glassy and vulnerable, trembling beneath my gaze. I catch the flicker of fear, confusion, and something softer—longing. It’s like holding lightning in my hands—dangerous, unpredictable, and yet impossible to let go.

I can smell her—the faint scent of her perfume that always clung to my skin, mixed now with something raw and real. Something that belongs only to her. It sends a shock through me, reminding me why I never walked away completely. Why the silence between us was so loud.

But the wall isn’t just behind her—it’s behind me, too. A barrier I’ve built and rebuilt—and now I’m seconds from crashing into it.

I swallow the words I want to scream, the promises I want to make, and the apologies I owe. Because right now, all I can do is hold her—fierce and trembling—and hope that maybe, just maybe, she can feel the truth beneath all the chaos.

“Oh, so you don’t want to fuck me?” I ask, deciding to ignore the other part of her question for now. It’s better for my sanity. “If I slid my hand between your legs right now, wouldn’t I find you wet? Soaked, actually,” I whisper the words low, right against her jaw, letting my mouth trace a slow, maddening path—close enough to tease, not close enough to satisfy.

Touching her—but not completely. Just enough to drive her crazy. Because, to her misfortune, I know her body better than she knows it herself.

“No,” she answers firmly, lifting her chin as if daring me.

She’s wearing a tight-fitting jumpsuit, made of some elastic material that wraps around her like a second skin. Every curve, every line—visible. She’s lost weight—I noticed the moment my eyes landed on her.

Maybe she’s been hurting too? Maybe from longing? Or maybe from guilt?

And fuck me if that doesn’t make this even harder.

Over it, she wears a cropped red jacket that barely reaches her waist. On her feet, black leather boots stretch up to her knees, hugging her legs like they were made to tempt and destroy me in the same breath.

The jacket is open, and the jumpsuit has a zipper running all the way down the front—from her neck to below her belly button. Just one bite on that zipper with my teeth, and she’d be completely exposed in front of me. No barrier left.