“Tell me you love me,” she whispered.

My heart was racing and my blood seemed to pound through my veins. “I love you. Wildly. I’m . . .” I’d imagined this a thousand different times, but this moment felt way too loaded and my words came out in a breathless rush. Taking a deep breath and closing my eyes, I murmured, “I’m wildly in love with you.”

“But you were mad at me when I left.”

My stomach tightened. Was this going to turn into a fight? And would that be a good or a bad thing?

Chloe leaned forward, kissed my chin, my lips, my cheek. She slid her mouth to my ear.

And then I felt a tug around my wrists; she had bound my hands behind the chair with my tie. “It’s okay,” she said. “Don’t worry. I just want to talk about it.”

She wanted to talk about it, wanted to feel comfortable hearing how it had affected me, how I’d been angry. But she needed me tied up first? I smiled, turning to catch her lips in a kiss.

“Yes, I was mad at you. I was mostly heartbroken, but I was angry, too.”

“Tell me why you were mad.” Her mouth moved farther away from mine, to my neck, and she sucked along my skin while I considered how to answer.

It felt like our breakup had happened a million years ago, but also like it happened only earlier today. The fact that she was here, straddling my lap and kissing me, reminded me that this was in many ways ancient history. But the way my chest twisted at the memory of her leaving me . . . it felt too close.

“You never let me explain, or apologize. I called. I went over to your place. I would have done anything to work it out.”

She didn’t say anything, didn’t try to defend herself. Instead, she stood and stepped away, bending to unfasten the strap of her heels. She stepped out of them, returning to me, running her fingers into my hair and pulling my face against her chest.

“We knew it wasn’t going to be easy to transition from hate-fucking to being in love,” I said into the soft fabric of her top. “And the first time I messed up you left me.”

She slipped the top button free on her jeans, slowly pulled the zipper down, and then peeled them off her legs. In a few more seconds, her shirt joined her jeans on the floor. She stood before me, completely naked but for her bra and tiny red lace panties. In the shadowed room, her skin looked like silk.

Fuck, f**k, f**k, f**k.

“I’d only realized that I loved you, that maybe I had been in love with you for a while, and then suddenly you were gone.” I looked up at her, hoping I hadn’t gone too far.

She slid over my lap, and I wanted more than anything to have my hands free to run up her strong thighs. Instead, I stared at where her legs parted over me, just a few inches away from my cock.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. I blinked up in surprise. “I wouldn’t change it, because I did what I needed to do at the time. But I know it hurt you, and I know it wasn’t fair to just shut you out.”

I nodded, tilting my chin so she would come closer and kiss me. Her mouth pressed to mine, soft and wet, and a tiny moan escaped her lips.

“Thank you for coming this morning,” she said against me.

“Would you have come to me?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow morning. After I’d finished my presentation. I’d decided that about a week ago.”

I groaned, leaning forward to kiss her. She arched away so instead I kissed her chin, and down her throat.

“Did you see anyone else while we were apart?”

I stopped and gaped up at her. “What—is that a serious question? No.”

A smile spread across her face. “I just needed to hear it.”

“If you let another man touch you, Chloe, I swear to God, I—”

“Settle down, Trigger.” She pressed two fingertips to my mouth. “I didn’t.”

I closed my eyes, kissing her fingers and nodding. The offending image evaporated slowly from my mind, but my heart didn’t seem to slow even a touch.

I felt her breath on my neck just a beat before she asked, “Did you think about me?”

“Several times every minute.”

“Did you ever think about f**king me?”

All words slipped from my head. Every word in the English language disappeared and I shifted under her, wanting her so intensely in this vulnerable and open and quiet moment that I feared I would lose it the second she freed me from my pants.

“Not at first,” I managed, finally. “But after a few weeks, I tried.”