Oh fuck.
She used this. Recently.
There’s residue on it. On the sheet. In the air—there’s still a faint trace of her.
She hasn’t cleaned it yet.
I could probably still taste her.
Don’t do it, Reid. Don’t be a fucking creep. You’re here to help her.
But I don’t move.
I’ve been starving for her since she got here. Before that, even. I haven’t touched another woman since I left her, and every time I’ve gotten myself off, it’s been her—her body, her smile, her eyes.
I tried to fight it. I lost.
I want her. Always have. Always will.
A voice in my head whispers, No one’s here. She’ll never know.
My pulse pounds low and hard. Every instinct tells me to drop it, walk away.
I don’t.
I try—talk myself down, force myself to move—but my body won’t listen.
And then I give in.
I lift it to my nose and inhale.
“Oh God.”
The sound tears out of me, heat flooding my body. I barely manage not to grab myself, even though I’m hard as hell.
But I keep breathing her in like I’ve lost my mind.
And then I go further.
I taste it.
Plastic. Faint tang.
But my mind fills in the rest—her, wrapped around me, her voice, her body?—
“What the hell are you doing?”
I jerk back.
Sierra stands in the doorway.
Fuck.
My chest is heaving. I didn’t even close the door.
Of course I didn’t.
She looks furious.