careful with me before, but when he slips two fingers under the edge of my shorts and beneath my thong, sliding them along my wetness before pressing all the way inside on a long, undeniable stroke, I know it’s true.
He’s not careful now.
My body squeezes around the invasion, and I gasp as I fall back against the piano, my elbows banging on the keys.
He touches me like that, stroking with those fingers while he circles my clit with his thumb.
Unlike the last times we were together, he’s all in this. Present, in this moment.
So am I.
He builds me up with that simple touch. I’m panting by the time he pulls back.
“You know what you want. Say it.”
God, he’s sexy. All of it makes me stronger, bolder.
“I want your filthy mouth on me.”
His chuckle is half groan. “That makes two of us. Take off everything except your thong. Kneel on the bench and brace your elbows on the piano.”
There’s a hint of something earnest under the command, something that reminds me of last night—how good it felt to be close to him, how he might have something at stake here, too.
It’s enough that I don’t argue as I shimmy out of the rest of my clothes and his hungry gaze drags over my body.
My nipples are hard buds, and I’ve soaked through the last remaining item of clothing as I lean over the dark wood, my forearms resting on the cool surface.
Tyler palms my ass. “The show you saw in London. Tell me you fucked yourself to sleep after and wished it was me.”
He presses a thick finger inside me and I fall forward, my eyes squeezing shut. Emotions clash in my chest, but I don’t want to lie to him. “Yes.”
Instead of continuing, he pulls out and plants a kiss on my bare shoulder.
This was a bad idea.
The tension inside me is stronger, bigger, tighter. He’s making it worse, not better.
If I ever questioned what happened to the quiet, repressed teenage boy I loved…
He turned into a man. One who won’t be denied.
Tyler’s fingers comb through my hair. “Wider.”
My knees ache from the hard surface but I force them apart another inch. “Happy?”
“Ecstatic. Tell me something. Are you young and naive?” he asks.
I look over my shoulder to meet his gaze. It’s hot and hungry and steals my breath.
“No.”
I drop my forehead back to the piano and wait.
Tyler drops kisses down my skin, soft but deliberate, one after another. “No, you’re fucking not.”
He spreads my ass and doesn’t hesitate, not even there, until finally, his lips press where I’m hot and wet and aching for him.
“Oh shit, Tyler,” I moan.
His scarred hand covers my mouth the next instant. It’s all I can do to keep from crying out as his mouth settles between my thighs and he devours me.
Yes.
It might be his mouth on me, but we’re equals in giving, in taking. The energy flows between us, tension and relief. We’re two musicians improvising together, inspired by one another’s actions and reactions.
Nothing in the last two years has felt like this.
Nothing has ever felt like this.
My back arches hard, the pressure between the hand on my mouth and his lips where I’m wet and aching forcing me to coil like a tight, needy spring.
It’s only physical.
I repeat it like a mantra, hoping I’ll believe it.
“Your legs are shaking,” he rasps, his hot breath warming my already-heated skin. “I bet it’s been years since you came so hard you forgot your name.”
I shudder into his hand.
“Bet it’s been even longer since you came so hard you forgot my name.”
Fuck.
When we had sex before, there was always a sweetness to it. A reverence. As if we were afraid we’d lose each other.
Now it’s as if the last shred of protectiveness between us broke.
This isn’t sweet.
It’s anarchy.
We’re not in love.
We’re at war.
My first crush, my first love, my first heartbreak… He’s back, and he’s fucking me with every inch of our baggage.
Tyler builds me up with his lips, his tongue, his fingers.
I’m mindless, my hands sweaty on the piano, to keep my balance or my sanity as I drown in the pleasure.
“Scream if you want,” he murmurs against my slick skin, the hand not covering my mouth tracing wet lines down the back of my thigh before gripping possessively around the top. “I’ve got you.”
I don’t scream.
But I do come.
In a shaking, sweaty mess of past and present, of bittersweet memories and shocking desire, I break.
Pleasure washes over me in waves, each one