I groan into his mouth and press myself closer, wanting to feel every hard ridge of him.

He pushes me up against the wall and then his hands are under my dress, pulling my panties aside and sweeping his fingers across my wet center.

“Wait…” I say softly.

“What is it?”

“I don’t even know what to call you.”

“Call me Hale, just like you always have.”

His lips crash back into mine, and the intimacy of finally knowing his full name is intoxicating. One finger and then two thrust slowly inside me, and I cry out, weak from both the arousal and the confusion I feel.

“I can’t stay away from you, do you understand that?” he murmurs, pressing his hard cock into my belly while his fingers continue sliding in and out.

He knows my body so well that within minutes, I feel myself losing control. His show of dominance is overwhelming. Knowing that he’s unable to control the alpha side of him from coming out to play, I’m soaking wet and on the verge of orgasm almost immediately.

“Hale…” I whisper against his mouth.

I’m so close. He bites down on my lower lip and at the same time, presses his thumb to my clit. I come apart, violently, crying out and clutching him for support. He pulls his fingers from me and puts them in his mouth, sucking my juices from them.

“So fucking good,” he growls, bringing his mouth to mine again.

He’s devouring me, and I’m letting him. I feel his hands working between us, and the clang of his belt buckle as he releases his pants. I want him more than anything, but some part of my brain is screaming at me to stop this.

“It’s never been like this before,” he whispers.

My legs are shaky, and my brain feels like mud. I’m so confused. My feelings when I’m near him are intense, all consuming, and hot.

Just as I feel the hot flesh of his erection, something snaps into place. It’s always been about the sex between us. And look where that’s gotten me. My life is spinning out of control. I’ve been rejected by not one, but two men tonight. Kirby, who I’ve secretly harbored feelings for for years, and another who’s just recently stolen my heart but wants nothing to do with commitment or monogamy.

“S-stop,” I stutter, looking up into dark, stormy eyes burning with his arousal.

“We deserve this. This pleasure. This connection,” he says, stroking my cheek with his thumb.

There’s no way I can give myself to him, not with the million doubts and emotions swirling in my head. I know what I need to do.

Staring into his eyes, I say deliberately, “Peach.”

At my firm tone, he pulls back immediately, his jaw tight. “Why?” His expression is broken, confused. I’ve never used my safe word in all the times we were together.

“You taught me to stand up for myself, to demand more, that sex was an intense experience to be shared between two people. But most of all, you taught me that I’m worth more than this.” I gesture to our surroundings—a public bathroom. “I deserve more.”

He nods, his face solemn, but his expression unreadable.

Reaching below my dress, I adjust my panties, then grab my purse from the bathroom counter. I leave him with his cock in his hand and look of confusion slashed across his face.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Brielle

“Brielle?” The sound of my name in his familiar, low voice immediately sends tingles shooting down my spine. Closing my eyes in shock for just a second, I halt in my tracks on the city sidewalk, trying to suck in a breath but find my chest tight, constricted.

“Hale…” He’s all I’ve thought about this past week since the party. I’ve seen him in my dreams, heard his voice in my head, and now he’s here.

I turn to face him and see he’s not alone. An elderly black woman is hanging on to his bicep. She’s wearing a floppy purple hat and a bright green scarf. Her lips are painted blood red, and somehow I know this is the sassy woman he’s told me about. His nana.

His eyes search out my face, and his mouth lifts in a smile. “You look well…happy.”

“I am.” For once in my adult life, I really am. I’m carrying a large pizza box—bacon and mushroom, my favorite—and a colorful bouquet of flowers I’ve bought myself just because.

I wish I could say the same for him. He looks tired, pale, and lifeless. There are dark circles under his eyes and the shadow of a beard dusts his jaw.

“Nana, this is Brielle,” he says to the woman at his side.

I glance over at Nana and see an amused expression on her face.

“You’re the one who’s got him all spun up,” she says. It’s not a question, and even if it were, I wouldn’t know how to answer.

“I’m not spun up,” he says.

“He’s not himself,” she tells me, leaning closer as if we’re two old friends swapping recipes.

“It’s complicated,” I say.

She nods her head, her hat flopping with the movement. “It always is.” She reaches out and takes my hand, squeezing it in her own. “He’s a difficult man, but he’s got a beautiful heart.”

I have to practice deep breathing to avoid the tears threatening to spring to my eyes. “Merry Christmas,” I murmur.

“It’s Christmas Eve, you shouldn’t be alone,” he says.

Ever since our restroom activities, we’ve had no connection at all, and I’ve fought with myself over the need to move on. But now that he’s standing in front of me, all masculine and gorgeous, I know I’ve been fighting a losing battle. My attraction to him, to his heart, hasn’t faded at all. His nana is exactly right. He is a difficult man with a beautiful heart. If only he would let me in, things might have been different.