“Jesus, Jase,” I whisper, moving my hand down and gripping his thick cock. I start stroking him back and forth, slow at first, then faster. His breathing quickens and he stops kissing me, staring at me with hooded eyes.

“That,” he murmurs, watching me stroke his length, “feels so good.” He closes his eyes for a moment, tipping his head back as he pants, and while he isn’t looking I figure I might as well do what I’ve wanted to do since I saw him naked in the shower. I sink to my knees, open my mouth, and close my mouth around the head of his cock.

As soon as I wrap my lips around his shaft his eyes snap open.

“Ohhhhh,” he says, as I suck and lick. “Jesus, if you keep going like that I’m not going to last.”

I smile up at him and let him bounce out of my mouth, because the last thing I want is for this to be over when it’s only just begun. Jase responds immediately, dragging me up to my feet and pressing me against the wall again. He holds my hips firmly and kisses a deliciously warm trail down my neck.

“Wrap your legs around me,” he says, lifting me effortlessly so my legs are spread around him, my ankles locked together.

He holds me with one hand as he guides his cock with the other, rubbing it in shallow circles against my clit until I’m thrusting my hips forward in frustration.

“Jase,” I whimper, not wanting to wait a second longer, and mercifully, I don’t. He surges forward, thrusting into me in one long movement that makes my eyes roll back in my head as I dig my nails into his back. “Oh, fuck!” I moan, as he slowly pulls out of me, only the tip of him remaining inside me. Then he thrusts again, just as quick and hard as the first time, and I begin to feel a wave of orgasm build inside me.

He notices too, because he thrusts harder, watching my face intently. “Come for me, Julz,” he whispers, and I do. I hold my breath as I reach that shattering crest, my core clenching tightly around his shaft as I come. He thrusts harder, deeper with each stroke, until I’m crying out his name, a loud scream that he covers with his mouth.

I see white and stars, stilling as my orgasm tears through every fiber of me. He tightens his fingers around my hips and takes over, lifting me up and slamming me back down onto him as my core clenches around him and I continue to cry into the night.

I collapse onto him, my head resting loosely on his shoulder, desperately needing a reprieve before we continue.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he says, stroking my tangled hair. “That looked intense.”

“Is this okay?” he asks, as he begins to drive into me again. I thrust my hips forward, drawing him deeper inside me, and he smiles devilishly.

“It’s better than okay,” I moan, grabbing his hips and pulling him into me so hard, it’s almost violent. “It’s everything I’ve ever wanted.”

My voice wavers as I say that. Jase cups my face in his hand, the other at my waist as he continues to thrust.

“I never stopped loving you,” he murmurs in my ear.

If I say any more, I’m going to cry, and I don’t want to cry right now.

“Stop trying to make me cry and just fuck me,” I whisper heatedly.

As soon as I say that, he stops and pulls out of me, hovering at my entrance like the cruelest tease. I try to pull him back but he resists me effortlessly.

“This is not fucking,” he says plainly. “I’m not fucking you.”

My eyes ask the question, what do you mean, and he doesn’t leave me hanging. He inches inside me again, deliciously slow, methodically and precise. I moan and press my fingers into his flesh.

It has been so many years, but he fills me with himself so that I am finally complete again.

So that I am loved.

“I’m making love to you, Juliette,” he murmurs.

And he’s right.

I’ve dreamed of this moment for over six years. A reality where Jase and I could be together again. In my imagination, this was perfection. This was the culmination of years of longing and loss, of patience and distance and blood. I thought I’d be relieved. I thought I’d be absolved, that we’d live happily ever after, the end.

And now that it’s here, I don’t feel any of those things. I don’t feel relieved, or content, or absolved of my sins.

I’m just afraid.

Afraid of so many, many things.

I feel completely powerless. I don’t know what’s going on with Jase, my only lifeline to the club—my only lifeline at all, for that matter. Over the three days that pass after the bomb blast, he comes and goes from the apartment several times, never really telling me what’s going on. Each time he leaves, I can tell he’s reluctant to be away from me, which is both a comfort and a worry. Is he reluctant to let me out of his sight because he misses me?

Or does he want to keep tabs on me because he doesn’t trust me?

I suspect both are equally true.

And really, he’s justified in his suspicion. I can’t help myself. The first chance I get—the morning after we first sleep together again—I wait until Jase leaves the apartment. As I listen to the roar of his bike fade into the distance, I hurry to the bathroom, a fresh pair of blue contact lenses in my eyes in a matter of seconds. A quick shower to wash any trace of our night together away, a change of outfit from the suitcase Jase thoughtfully grabbed from the clubhouse for me, and suddenly I am Sammi once again.

I take his car keys, slam the door shut behind me, and drive to the private hospital where I know Dornan’s been transferred.

I want to see his pain. I want to see just how close to death I brought him.

When I arrive at the hospital, I enter the large foyer and immediately recognize Dornan’s wife talking on her phone in the corner. I duck behind a large potted fern, praying she hasn’t seen me. Sure enough, she appears oblivious, ending her call and returning to the elevators nearby. I watch as she punches the button to go up, and wait patiently as she steps into the elevator. The doors close quietly behind her. Above the doors, the numbers count upwards, pausing for a moment on five. Level five—that’s got to be it. A large board says that the ICU is on level five, which makes sense. I snicker to myself as I imagine Dornan hooked up to machines and breathing tubes.

Whatever damage he’s sustained? I hope it fucking hurts.

I jog to the stairwell, trying to stay out of sight. I don’t really care if any Gypsy Brothers see me—after all, I am the obsessive club whore who never leaves his side unless I have to. But I don’t exactly want Dornan’s bitch of a wife to see me and start a smack down.

Five flights of stairs later, I’m panting so hard, my chest is wheezing. I used to be so fit, I think to myself as I catch my breath in the stairwell. With sex my only exercise of late, it’s no wonder I’m woefully out of breath.

I let a few moments pass before I steel myself. I’m nervous, my stomach in knots, and I’m not entirely sure why.

Jase. Jimmy. There are two reasons right there. I wonder if anyone suspects me of anything yet.

I enter the hospital corridor, plastering a look on my face that’s aiming for concerned girlfriend.

I glance down at what I’m wearing, pleased that I had something Sammi-worthy to wear. A black T-shirt that clings in all the right places and dips to show off my cleavage, paired with dark denim jeans and plain ballet flats. It’s not as whorey as normal, but it’ll have to do.

Thank goodness Jase thought to grab my suitcase from the clubhouse. I don’t think turning up in his sweatpants would really work.

As soon as I step into the corridor, I know which room is Dornan’s. Halfway up the long hall is a doorway flanked by three Gypsy Brothers, who look ridiculously out of place in a hospital. At the same time, they look like you wouldn’t want to mess with them. Which I suppose is the whole point.