It's not that I want to think about Sebastian right now. I don't. At all. But a twinge of emotion strikes my stomach, and my entire body tenses. Is it guilt? Fear? Anxiety?

Because now that Griffin's back, I'll have to break off my relationship with Sebastian. Of course I want that to end.

But will Griffin understand? His feelings are all that matter. Do I have to even tell him about what happened with Sebastian? Maybe not. Why would it make any difference? Unless Sebastian wants me to pay back all the money he's spent for Ash's medical care.

Why am I thinking about this when everything I've wanted for the past four months is between my legs, gloriously naked, making me feel precious? Griffin's perfect for me, and it's not worth worrying about Sebastian at all. Not while this is happening.

Joy surges through me as I scrape my fingers on Griffin's scalp and spot that his butt is still round and firm. I've always adored his butt.

His hair, too, is unchanged. It looks like he cut it recently. And he must have gone to a barber, because his face — which he's now rubbing on my stomach like a cat against a sofa corner — is like velvet. Goosebumps spread across my skin.

I know something's happened to him, though. While he's treating me like the old Griffin did, skimming his nose into the little landing strip of hair between my legs, he's definitely different. Thinner. More deliberate in his movements. Those eyes of his are more intense. He brushes his mouth on my sensitive skin and looks up, his eyes a golden brown blaze of happiness.

Griffin sits up between my legs, running his hands over my thighs, my stomach and my breasts, as if he's getting reacquainted with me.

Even as a thinner guy, he's gorgeous. He'd probably qualify to be a runway model, with his lanky frame. Before, he looked like a muscular lion.

Now he looks like a wild panther, underfed and starving. Before, he looked at me with lust and love. This is something different. Carnal. Needy. All-consuming. It's a heady rush. Maybe it's our reunion, or because I'm naked and splayed for him. But I wouldn't have it any other way. This is what I can offer in my confused, emotional state.

My body. My physical love.

My intellectual love will come later, once I've unpacked and answered all the questions racing through my mind. A twinge of doubt also flits around: has he been with anyone else in the past four months?

Something tells me no.

His hand slips between my legs and one finger skims through my wetness. I gasp. It's as if I've forgotten how he can affect me so quickly, so profoundly. He stops stroking and lifts his hand to his mouth, licking the finger coated in my wetness. As he does this, his other hand goes to his cock and pumps a few times, slow and sensual.

The sight is mesmerizing.

He returns his hand between my legs and touches me softly, moving in those little circles I love. He stops touching himself and uses both hands to finger me, one to stroke and the other to slide a finger inside me. I wriggle my hips toward his hands, wanting more of a firm touch. His lips curl at the sides, as if to say, patience, Juliette, and I'm all the more aroused that we haven't said one word to each other.

We don't need to. We both know what we need.

I mewl to convey that I'm enjoying his touch, and that inspires him to stroke me with a concentrated rhythm. He stops to sink a second finger in me, and I moan, the swift current of need becoming a raging river. I can tell he's just barely containing himself. I know his body, and the way he thinks in bed. He wants to fuck.

His eyes are hard with arousal. I rock against him, because I'm throbbing and needy, caught up in an edgy, seductive dream. With a growl, he flattens himself on his stomach and spreads me open with his fingers. He gives me a long, slow lick.

I clutch fistfuls of the duvet as he laps and sucks. God, he's so good at this. I'm getting wetter and wetter and his tongue is working my clit, and my body responds to him the way it used to. It's as if my body knows what it needs, allowing me to shut down my overworked, exhausted, grief-addled brain.

And for a few blissful moments while Griffin makes love to me with his tongue, my brain silences. Gone are the thoughts of Sebastian, the anger over where Griffin's been all this time, the depression of the last four months.

I don't care about any of it. All that matters is his tongue, on my throbbing clit, his fingers, sliding in and out of me. He's French kissing my pussy and I'm loving every second. I'm moaning, loud, not caring if all of South Beach hears. The sun is strong coming from that sliding glass door, and a column of sweat forms between my breasts.

Before, when we were together all those months ago, he would have been crazed by my noises. He'd usually wanted to bring me to orgasm fast because he couldn't wait to fuck. But now, he's being tender. Loving. He's licking me like he's immortal, like time means nothing. Like I'm a delicacy, and maybe to him, I am.

I want this to last for hours, but he's so gentle and erotic that I surrender much quicker than I want. A pleasure so sweet and sublime, so intense and wonderful, shoots through me, and I'm contracting and pulsing against his mouth. I gasp for air and let out little breathy grunts, and the orgasm ripples from my toes to the top of my head.

It feels amazing, until it doesn't. Somehow, the orgasm unleashes more pent-up emotions, guilt and anger and sadness. A flood of feelings, not all of them good. I'm breathing hard, trying not to cry, trying to hold it together. Because whatever I've been through, it's clear that he's been through worse.

Moving up my body, his mouth brushes mine. I can taste myself on him. He sits up. I'm still spread wide for him, but for once, he's not mesmerized by my pussy. He's adoring all of me, and his look is so reverent that it makes me feel a pang of guilt for the time I've spent with Sebastian.

I watch his eyes sweep from the apex of my thighs, to my breasts, down to my stomach and then up my torso.

What will he think when I tell him about Sebastian? What will he do when I tell him I spent all of the cash on Ashton? That I've been so angry for months, all because of him?

And where the fuck has he been?

Our eyes lock, and fresh tears slide down my face. It's all too much, like a beautiful nightmare.

His sudden reappearance. Us getting naked almost instantly, needing to devour each other. The fact that we haven't uttered a word to each other.

The explosive, sudden orgasm that shattered what was left of my heart.

Sex isn't what I want right now. I know it's unfair, having just climaxed while he's still hard as a rock. But I need something else right now. I reach my arms toward him. I need him to comfort me, hold me, tell me that the worst is over.

An orgasm is wonderful, but reassurance and love is even better.

"Oh, angel." He moves up my body and gathers me in his arms. Hearing his voice makes me bawl harder, and I say his name over and over. I whisper something about how I missed him and how I thought he was dead.

He makes a long shhhh sound. "I'm back, Juliette. I'm back for good. I love you. It was my fault you went through hell. I'm sorry."

That makes me hysterical. I'm a fucking mess, straight up.

He threads his arms around me and we roll onto our sides side while he scoops me up. His hand is on the back of my head, cradling it into his neck. I cling to him as if he's the last buoy on a sinking ship. It's too warm, too intense, and my skin is sweaty and sparkling. Feeling his body next to mine is the best thing that's happened to me in months.

"I'm sorry, I don't want to have sex, I mean, I do and I'm turned on but my emotions are a dumpster fire right now and I just want to feel you against me..." I blubber on and on, not making sense, until my words dissolve into a mess of snorts and sobs.

"It's okay, angel. It's okay. You have nothing to apologize for. I'm the one who needs to apologize. I'm going to apologize to you again and again for the rest of our lives."

He holds me tight, laying a kiss on my forehead. Then he rolls me onto my back, lifts himself up on his forearms, and stares into my eyes. I adore his amber-colored eyes and knowing that he's alive makes me laugh and cry. Clearly, I'm manic.

"We don't need to do it now." He pushes a lock of hair, which was stuck to my sweaty forehead, away. "We have a lifetime for sex. Forever."

Forever. Will we have that, when he finds out about Sebastian?

I pull him close again. His hug is perfect. "I want you to keep holding me. Or I'll keep holding you. Like, forever. You're going to have to go through life with me wrapped around you. Like a monkey. Or a barnacle."

He chuckles, a genuine, warm sound that spreads warmth through my body. It's as if I'm defrosting after years in a block of ice. Now we're both laughing and that of course makes me cry. Everything's overwhelming. I nuzzle his neck, lick his shoulder like I used to. He's slightly salty.

"I almost didn't make it without you. I couldn't handle a world without you in it." I'll tell him about my anger later. Then, thinking about the day he left for Amsterdam, I remember the card, which I still have on my bureau. "Do you still want to get married?"

Rolling to one side while still attached to me, he puts his lips to mine. I missed his kisses. Even though his body is less muscular, his lips are the same, full and sensual. He's delicious-tasting and tender, and although the kiss is soft, sparks are going off throughout my body.

And his smile. I feel like I'm defrosting just from his smile.

"God, yes. As soon as possible."

He puts his forehead to mine and inhales. His hand caresses up, then down, the side of my body.

"You're so beautiful." He pulls back to look into my eyes. "Jesus, you're beautiful. I can never be without you again. I'm yours, angel."

I put my hand on his cheek and grin at him through tear-stained lashes. My thumb brushes over his lips. The buzzing, overwhelmed feeling stills.

Everything stills. I put my palm to his velvet-soft cheek.

"Griffin, I need you to tell me what happened. I want the truth, about everything you've done, everything you did on that trip, and everything going forward. You need to promise to tell me all."

With a seriousness in his eyes that I've never seen, he nods. "I promise. Only the truth from now on."

I stop breathing for a few seconds because I realize that if he promises the truth, I'll have to do the same.

____