“Tell me one thing,” he says, his lips brushing across mine with his words. “Has anyone else kissed these lips?” His thumb comes between us and flicks my bottom lip.
Who the f**k does he think he is asking that question? I’m ready to push him away, to shove him on his ass, but instead, what happens is a whisper of, “Fuck you.”
“Answer the f**king question, Dayton.”
My chest heaves at the thickness of his voice. I can hear the emotion beneath the demand. “No. They haven’t,” I answer.
His lips crash against mine once more, this time rougher, harsher. I can feel nothing but his palms rough against my cheeks and his lips soft against my own. His tongue sweeping through my mouth and owning it completely. The ball of need building in my lower stomach and sending aches down through my pu**y.
He kisses me deeply, completely dominating my mouth, possessing me until I’m consumed by him, and for a long moment, I forget why this shouldn’t be happening.
Until he pulls back, his nose resting alongside mine, and I remember again.
I take a deep breath, meeting his eyes as the reality of what just happened settles into a heavy ball in my chest. “You have five seconds to get your ass out of here before I go crazy at you.”
He smirks, igniting a new kind of fury inside me. “Remember that the next time you think what you do is none of my business.” My cheeks feel cold when he drops his hands, and he walks backward, his eyes fixated on me. “Good evening, Dayton.”
He climbs into a waiting black car. I watch, frozen to the spot, as it pulls away. My hand trembles as I turn the key and scramble inside my house. I slam the door shut and lock it—like a few bolts and a chain can keep him away from me.
I need the barrier. I need a ten-foot-high wall.
I lean against the door, my heart thumping and my chest heaving, and slide down to the floor. I can feel the ghost of his lips on mine. I can taste him on my tongue, rich and woody, and the warmth of his body is still threading through mine.
My anger dissipates before I have time to process it. It’s replaced by that hollow, empty hole I thought I’d filled, and tears fill my eyes. I look up at the ceiling as the tears spill over and drip down my cheeks.
Fuck.
***
I run my fingers through my wet hair, my eyes closed. The water beats down on my face in a futile attempt to wash any traces of Aaron Stone from me. If it were that easy, I would have done it a long time ago, but he’s seared into my skin. He’s burned in, like I’m branded by him.
My lips still feel swollen from his forceful kiss, and there’s a light red rash on my chin from the stubble that covers his jaw.
I feel like I’ve spiraled back to where I was when I left Paris. Like I’m back in the dark pit of heartbreak and longing and disbelief. I still want him. I crave his touch whenever I’m alone, and I crave the sound of his voice through the silence.
I want him to fight so I can say no. So I can beat him back and so he can feel even an ounce of the pain I feel whenever his name is mentioned. Whenever I think it. Whenever he turns up in front of me like a little f**king surprise and drives me to insanity.
It doesn’t matter that it’s been more than twenty-four hours since I found him outside my house. It doesn’t matter that I should be working right now but I can’t because of him.
What matters is that I can still feel him all over me.
I can still feel his breath and his fingers wrapping around mine and everything. I can feel everything.
I step out of the shower and dry off, throwing on some sweatpants and an old tank before heading downstairs. The doorbell goes off as I open the fridge, and I leave it open as I answer the door.
“Hello?”
“Miss Black?” A young girl peers at me over a bunch of flowers.
“Uh…” I look at the extravagant bouquet and back to her. “That’s me.”
“Delivery for you.”
“Who from?”
She shoves the bouquet at me and shrugs. “Doesn’t say. Have a good day!”
I frown and back into the house, kicking the door shut. I don’t need to ask who they’re from. I know.
I set them down on the island in my kitchen and carefully look through the lilies and roses and blossoms and god knows what f**king else until I find a card.
Tu me manques, Dayton.
“You are missing from me,” I whisper, rubbing my thumb over the scrawled words, and close my eyes.
He said them a thousand times to me when we were in Paris—the first time. Whenever we weren’t together, he’d text me or get the concierge to pass a message on, and it was always the same. I didn’t know what it meant until I finally plucked up the courage to ask him.
“The French don’t say ‘I miss you,’” he whispered. “They say, ‘You are missing from me.’ And that’s true. Whenever we’re apart, I feel half complete. That’s why I tell you, ‘Tu me manques.’”
That was the moment I fell entirely in love with him. Whatever part of me was holding back, that was the moment I really, truly lost my heart to him.
I felt the same. Whenever we weren’t together, I was convinced I was missing a part of myself. Whenever we were together, I felt whole.
Exactly the way I feel now.
I grab my cell, snap a photo, and send it to Liv. My cell rings almost immediately, and I balance it between my ear and shoulder as I pour some juice.
“Holy shit!” she exclaims. “Is that from Aaron?”
“Yep. Just got delivered.”
“He can break my heart any day. They’re f**king gorgeous.”
“Yes, heartbreak is a real hoot,” I reply dryly.
“Shit. Sorry. Didn’t think.”
Obviously, Liv.
“What are you going to do?”
“With the flowers? Fill my sink with water and put them in it until I find a vase large enough for them.”
Her sigh is heavy and a little pained. “Not about the flowers, ass**le. About the guy.”
“Pretty sure everything I’m considering would be considered illegal.”
“We’re thinking different illegals here, aren’t we?”
“Probably.” No doubt she’s thinking of sexy things. I’m thinking of not-so-sexy things—unless you’re into dead bodies. “But what the f**k, Liv? Flowers? Who sends flowers?”
“Guys who haven’t forgotten how to romance a girl.”
“I’d rather be romanced in the bedroom, if I’m honest.” I nudge the fridge door closed and stare at the flowers. “They are pretty though.”