“Don’t, Vic.” The words were a plea, my feet stepping back and hitting the wall, his eyes darkening as he stepped forward, his hand reaching out, brushing up my bare arm before his palm settled on the wall by my head. A breath eased out of me as I closed my eyes and pressed against the wall, feeling the familiar warmth of him, the press of his body as his legs brushed across mine. I waited for the touch of his lips even as I stiffened, searching for a word, a protest, something to keep from falling. And through it all, my skin yearned, inches of exposure pulled between desire and distrust, the rough slide of his sigh letting me know exactly how close his mouth was to mine.

“Chloe.” There was such torture in his voice, such unexpected pain, that I opened my eyes. I could see his whole face, the tight line of his jaw, the piercing stare that had pinned me from the first moment we’d met. “Chloe,” he repeated, so soft it was almost air.

“Yes?” I should have said something else. Vic, get off me. Vic, you’re an ass. Vic, I watched you fuck her and our future, all in that minute in time.

“I need you to want this.”

I wanted it. I wanted it so badly that I was already wet. I wanted it so badly that my fingers twitched against my side, wanting to reach forward and grip his suit. I wanted it so badly that I looked at him and said nothing. Prayed he would turn and walk away because I wasn’t strong enough to just say no. I closed my eyes, knowing he’d see desire in them. “Please, Vic. Don’t.” It was the best I could do, the best my weak voice could manage. And still … it sounded sexual. A plea for more instead of for less. Please, Vic. Don’t. Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop chasing me.

My skin jumped when the soft skin of his lips trailed down the side of my neck, a light skim of pressure, hot breath floating out between his lips, his journey occasionally punctuated by a kiss. Then, he moved from my mouth and to the place that always weakened my resolve, a hand settling on my hip as he pushed a gentle kiss on my forehead.

“I need you to want this,” he whispered through the kiss, his hips against me, showing me exactly how much he wanted it.

And that was the other problem. He didn’t need me to just want hot passionate trailer-shaking sex. He needed me to want forever, too.

I lifted my fingers, running them up his arms, across his broad shoulders, and dug my hands into hair I had missed. His eyes met mine for one last moment of hesitation, and then his mouth crashed down onto mine. And there, in that frantic collision of tongues, I found my Vic. A man who took the lead, his fingers greedy as they ran down my body and up my legs, pushing my skirt up, my ears registering the sound of his belt as he yanked at its buckle.

“Wait,” I gasped out the word in between kisses. “We can’t, not here.” It was a waste of words. This was the man who finger-banged me in a crowded theater, then threw enough cash at the manager to have the auditorium cleared so he could do a better job with his cock. This was the man who bent me over the kitchen sink at his parents’ house during Thanksgiving dinner, the faint sounds of conversation floating down the hall as his hand covered my mouth and his hips pounded against my ass.

“Are you kidding? Joey Plazen would get down on his knees and suck me off right now if I told him to.” He gritted out the words as he yanked down my panties, his mouth greedy on my neck when I turned my mouth away from him. “No one’s coming in.”

My response died when he got past my panties, his fingers pushed inside causing my knees to buckle. Two years of sexual history had taught the man exactly how, when, and where to touch me. In the last months of our relationship, that had felt like a problem. Too formulaic. But now? When his other hand got his belt loose and his pants unzipped? It didn’t feel like a problem. It felt like Pompeii: no point in running, no point in fighting. I slid my hand under his jacket and gripped his shirt, spreading my feet slightly and tilting my pelvis, his mouth lifting off my neck, his eyes hard on me as he pulled his fingers out and pushed the full length of himself inside.

I cried out his name on the first thrust. Let him lift up one of my legs and wrap it around him on the twentieth. Ripped an expensive button on his shirt off when I came. Sank in his arms when he followed suit. He lifted me, our bodies still connected, and laid me down on Joey’s couch. Pulled up my panties as he kissed my thighs, then my stomach, then my neck.

I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t. I couldn’t bear to see myself reflected in those eyes. I curled onto my side, and wanted to take it back. I closed my eyes, my cheeks against the cool leather of Joey’s couch, and prayed he would just leave.

Then, when he did, the door quietly shutting behind him, I wanted him back.

Life might be a bitch, but love? She kicked that bitch’s ass.

“So when did you start banging the finance guy?” Joey’s voice boomed out, and I rolled over on his couch and lifted my head, meeting his eyes, ones that twinkled in amusement. “He’s not the finance guy. He’s my ex.” I said tartly, sitting up and pulling down my skirt, my panties still damp when I crossed my legs. Thank God I was on birth control. One thing that hadn’t changed about Vic—he always did like to leave his mark. Vic. Oh my God. I closed my eyes in shame.

“Your ex is also the movie’s newest investor,” Joey remarked, leaning against the same wall where I had lost my common sense.

“Of course he is,” I responded dully. “Was that the reason for your fawn session?” I smirked.

Joey raised his eyebrows at me, and I shut my mouth. It really wasn’t the time for me to be throwing jabs. “I must say,” he remarked, a grin taking over his handsome face, “you’ve got a hot fuck-me voice.”

“A what?” I glared at him.

“You know … the moans, the screams, the way you called his name?” He winked. “It was hot.”

I groaned, pushing to my feet. “Please tell me you’re joking.” I wasn’t that loud. I couldn’t have been that loud.

“Don’t worry. Nobody else heard.” He moved off the wall, scooping my purse off the floor and passing it to me.

I thought of the calls from Vic over the weekend. “When did he sign on to invest?”

“Friday. Twenty-five mill.” He raised his eyebrows. “First, he drilled me over whether we were dating.” He smirked. “Your ex must have some liquidity, Chloe. Investing in the movie just to keep tabs on you.”

“My ex’s dad has liquidity. Vic just has … access.” When I had dated him, he hadn’t yet turned twenty-five. But now, he had full access to his trust. The Vic I’d dated had thrown cash around like confetti. I couldn’t even imagine a Vic with the coffers opened wide. This investment was probably interest on his bank balance. I stepped toward the door. “Sorry about the whole…” I waved my hand in the generic direction of our activity, not sure how to put it into appropriate words.

“This trailer has seen worse.” He laughed, then grew serious. “Chloe, I really need this movie to work. We need his money to make it work. Nicole needs it too.”

I laughed. “Nicole is the last person I care about, Joey.”

“What about me?” he asked. “Do you care about me?”

“We’ve been friends for a month, Joey,” I shot back. “I dated that asshole for two years. Do you know what he—”