I tried to be strong—I really did. Ten weeks of no contact, and I was doing so well. But of course, he has to ruin everything.

Standing in the middle of this overcrowded party, music pulsing too loud, bodies pressing too close, I wonder why I even came. I didn’t want to, but my friend insisted, practically dragged me here. And now, I regret it.

Because he’s here.

I feel him before I see him—the heat of his body at my back, the scent of expensive cologne and cigarettes wrapping around me like a vice. Then, his arm, strong and stupidly familiar, snakes around my waist, pulling me flush against him. My breath catches. My grip tightens around the red Solo cup in my hand until the plastic caves in with a quiet crunch.

“Missed me, darlin’?” His voice is a low whisper in my ear, smooth and taunting.

Yes. No. I don’t know. My brain is a war zone, torn between logic and the intoxicating pull of him.

“Rafe, stop.” I force the words out, steady and firm—at least, I try to. I push at his arm, but it doesn’t budge. It stays locked in place, like he belongs there, like I belong to him.

He leans in, his lips grazing my ear, voice dripping with something dark and delicious.

“I want to kiss you on the mouth, lead my mouth and leave the southbound. Baby, put some faith in me. Put your waist in my face, come and violate me.”

The words send a shiver down my spine, and just like that, the familiar, unwelcome heat coils in my stomach.

Fuck.