My skin flamed hotter at her profanity. At her mouth. “Language,” I snarled.

She ignored me, prodding my chest again. Harder this time. “I know you’re experiencing some big feelings right now, but you aren’t going to do anything stupid with them. Do you understand? You aren’t going to prison because you love your mother. You aren’t going to die because you want to fuck a witch. Get—over—your—self.”

Each pause she enunciated with a poke.

My blood nearly boiled now. Ears ringing, I shoved past her toward the door. If she insisted on staying belowdecks, I would return above. I could endure the others, but she—she spoke to me as if I were a child. An errant, petulant child in need of scolding. Of discipline. It was too much. Wheeling to face her at the last moment, I snapped, “What I do or don’t do is none of your concern.” A brief pause. “And I don’t want to fuck a witch.”

“No?” Like lightning, she closed the small distance between us. In her eyes, anger glinted brutal and bright and beautiful. And something else—something like resolve. When her chest brushed my stomach, my muscles contracted near violently. “What do you want, then?” She leaned closer still, her face tipping toward mine. A hard edge crept into her voice. “Make up your mind. You can’t string me along forever, blowing hot one minute and cold the next. Do you want to love me, or do you want to kill me?”

I stared down at her, heat creeping up my neck. Flushing my cheeks.

“It’s a fine line, isn’t it?” Rising to her tiptoes now, she practically whispered the words against my lips. “Or . . . perhaps you don’t want either. Perhaps you want to worship me instead. Is that it, Chass? Do you want to worship my body like you used to?”

I couldn’t move.

“I can show you how if you’ve forgotten,” she breathed. “I remember how to worship you.”

Red swept across my vision at the image. Whether rage or lust or sheer madness, I didn’t know. I didn’t care. I was damned either way. My hands seized her shoulders, her jaw, her hair, and my lips crashed against hers. She responded instantaneously. Flinging her arms around my neck, she surged upward. I caught her leg as she did, hoisting her higher, wrapping her body around mine. My back collided with the door. We rolled. I couldn’t slow my hips, my tongue. Pressure built at the base of my spine as I ground into her. As she tore away on a ragged breath. As she clenched her eyes shut and threaded her fingers through my hair.

I didn’t stop.

My knee slid between her legs, pinning her against the door. I caught her hands above her head. Trapped them there. Worshiped her neck with my tongue. And her collarbone—her fucking collarbone. I bit it gently, relishing how her body responded beneath me. I’d known it would. I didn’t know how, but I’d known she’d make that exact sound. Like my body knew hers in a way my mind didn’t. Oh, and it knew her. It knew her intimately.

I can show you how if you’ve forgotten. I remember how to worship you.

The words incited me to a fever pitch. Instinct guided me, and I tasted her throat, her shoulder, her ear. I couldn’t touch enough of her. The wood groaned beneath my knee, the skin there already chafed and abraded from the pressure, the friction. Instinctively, I transferred her wrists to one hand, using the other to yank her closer, away from the door. I trailed that hand down her back, soothing it, as she rolled her hips along my thigh. Along the hard ridge there.

“Is this how I did it?” I traced her collarbone with my nose, near delirious at the scent of her. My own hips bucked involuntarily. The pressure built. Though a voice at the back of my mind warned me to go no further, I ignored it. We would burn for our sins, the two of us, here and now. I tugged at the laces of her pants. The laces of mine. “Is this how I worshiped you?”

Her eyes remained closed as she arched against me, as her entire body shuddered. I savored the sight. I craved it. When her mouth parted on a gasp, I caught the sound hungrily, plunging my hand lower. Fingers curling. Thrusting. Seeking. In this moment, I could have her—I could worship her—and pretend she was mine.

Just this once.

My throat constricted inexplicably at the thought, and my chest tightened. I moved my fingers faster now, chasing that empty promise. Pressing her into the door once more. “Show me,” I whispered on a ragged breath. “Please. Show me how we used to be.”

Her own eyes snapped open, and she stopped moving abruptly. “What’s wrong?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t answer. Shaking my head, I kissed her again, desperate to try. Desperate to relieve this ache between us—this yearning I’d once known and almost remembered. I wanted it. I feared it. I kissed her until I couldn’t tell the difference.

“Reid.” Her fingers curled around my wrist. With a start, I realized she’d pulled free. She eased my hand from her pants now, her eyes fixed steadily upon mine. They shone with keen emotion. Though I wanted to name the feeling I saw there, to acknowledge it, I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. “Not . . . not like this. You aren’t ready.”

“I’m fine—”

“I don’t think you are.” Leaning forward, she pressed a kiss upon my forehead, featherlight. The tenderness in the movement nearly broke me. The intimacy. “Slow down, Reid. We have time.”

Slow down, Reid. We have time.

We have time.

Defeated, I withdrew at the words, my forehead falling to the crook of her neck. My hands bracing against the door. She sank slowly to the floor as silence descended. When I didn’t break it, only clenched my fists against the wood, she nuzzled her cheek against my hair. She actually nuzzled me. I closed my eyes. “Talk to me,” she whispered.

“I can’t.” The words fell thick from my tongue. Clumsy. “I’m sorry.”

“Never apologize for being uncomfortable.”

“I’m not uncomfortable. I’m—I’m—” Adrift. Though I wrenched my face up to stare at her then, I immediately regretted the decision. Her eyebrows, her nose, her freckles. And those eyes—I could drown in those eyes. Light from the windows sparkled within their turquoise depths. This close, I could see the ring of icy blue around her pupils. The sea-green flecks of her irises. She couldn’t keep looking at me like this. She couldn’t keep touching me like she—like she— “Why don’t I remember you?” I demanded.