Page 90 of Face Off

“Yes.”

I moved closer and caught her jaw, refusing to let the truth send her retreating into herself. Her eyes lifted.

“There’s no woman waiting for me to come home.” The truth escaped before I could stop it. “But I’m still wearing this.”

“Because you don’t trust me?”

“Because feeling you without anything between us is more than I can handle tonight.”

The hurt remained in her eyes, but she nodded. “Okay.”

I opened the packet instead of weaponizing the women who had meant nothing. Charm had already watched me leave once. I didn’t need to carve every mile of that distance into her before touching her again.

I undid my pants and pushed my boxers down enough to free my cock. Charm watched without hiding what the sight of me did to her, and when I rolled the condom on, her attention followed my hand.

“Come here,” I ordered.

“I’m already here.”

“Closer.”

Her mouth curved as she stepped into me. “Bossy.”

“You haven’t seen bossy yet.”

I caught her hips as I pressed her back to the door. Her palms flattened against the wood as I lifted her, guiding her legs around me rather than leaving her to struggle for balance. Charm locked her ankles behind my back and pulled me against her.

No bed. No careful distance. Only the unyielding door and the unbearable need between us.

I held her there with my body and brought my mouth near her ear. “This is what you want?”

“Yes.”

“One night. No promises.”

“I heard you.”

“Say it again.”

“I want you, Ryan.”

That was the only answer I needed.

I entered her in one deep movement that stole the breath from both of us. The door shuddered softly behind her as I stopped, buried inside the body I had spent fifteen months trying to forget.

Charm’s forehead fell against mine.

For one fractured second, neither of us moved.

The fit of her devastated me. Her body held mine with the same impossible familiarity, as though time had changed everything except the place where we joined. My hands tightened beneath her thighs while I fought the urge to close my eyes and surrender to the illusion that she had never left.

“Mírame,” I said.

Her eyes opened.

I moved.

There was no careful rhythm and no attempt to make the moment sweeter than it was. I gave her the hunger I had once controlled, driving into her while she held my shoulders and met every movement. Anger remained inside me, but it wasn’t aimed at her body. It powered the desperation, the force, and every rough breath torn from my chest.