I needed my passport. My birth certificate. Anything with my real name on it.

So the next morning, I went back to the house I didn't remember.

Julian parked in the driveway and stared up at it. White stone. Black shutters. Not a single toy on the lawn.

"You okay?"

"It looks like a bank," I said.

"It looks like Grant." He killed the engine. "Want me to wait here?"

"No. Come in with me."

...

Tessa was already on the porch with Milo, holding two coffees and a bag of donuts.

"Reinforcements," she said, shoving a cup at me. Then she saw Julian.

Her eyebrows shot up. Her eyes slid from him to me, then back to him.

"Well," she said. "Hello, Julian Hawthorne."

"Hey, Tess."

"You look like someone punched you."

"Someone did."

She hummed. She watched me unlock the door, watched Julian's hand hover at the small of my back without touching. Her mouth curled.

Inside, Milo stuck close to my hip while I dug through the study. The safe code was my wedding date. Of course it was.

Tessa leaned in the doorway. "Hey, buddy. Want to hit the trampoline park? Unlimited jumping. I'll buy you a slushie the size of your head."

Milo looked up at me. "Can I?"

"Go. Have fun."

He grinned and ran for his shoes.

Tessa pulled a small pink gift bag out of her purse and pressed it into my hands.

"What's this?"

"Stress relief." She winked. "You've earned it. Open it when you're alone. Or not alone." She tipped her head toward the hall, where Julian was pretending to study a painting. "Two hours, Maren. Use them."

The door shut behind them.

...

Julian wandered back in. "What'd she give you?"

"No idea." I pulled out the tissue paper. A sleek white box. I flipped the lid.

A small pink egg sat in velvet. Beside it, a remote.

My face caught fire. I slammed the lid down and shoved the box behind my back.

"Nothing. It's lotion."

"Lotion." His mouth twitched. "With a remote."

"Julian."

He reached around me, slipped the box out of my fingers, and lifted the remote. He turned it over like he was checking blueprints.

Then he met my eyes.

"Do you need me to help you with this?"

I stopped breathing. "That's not funny."

"I'm not joking."

The room shrank. He set the box on the desk and didn't step closer. He just looked at me, serious now, the grin gone.

"I left New York because I thought you'd chosen him. I told myself I was over it." His voice dropped. "When your wedding invitation came, I didn't open it. It sat in a drawer for six years. I never read it."

"Six years?"

"I threw it out when I moved. Still didn't open it." He laughed, rough. "I never got over you, Ellery. Not once."

My hands were shaking. I pressed them against the desk.

"For me," I whispered, "it's still that year. I'm still waiting on that roof for you to say it."

His throat moved.

"I still like you," I said. "That part didn't go anywhere."

He closed the distance in two steps and kissed me.

It wasn't gentle. It was fifteen years of waiting crashing into my mouth. His hand slid into my hair. I grabbed his coat and pulled him down harder.

"Tell me to stop," he said against my lips.

"Don't you dare."

He lifted me onto the edge of the desk. Papers slid to the floor. He tugged my jeans open, worked them down my hips, and left my underwear on.

Then I heard the click.

A low buzz filled the room. He pressed the little egg against me through the cotton, right over my clit.

My whole body jerked. "Oh, fuck. Julian."

"Too much?"

"No. God, no."

He rolled it in slow circles. My thighs clamped around his waist. The buzz climbed up my spine, hot and sharp, and I dug my nails into his shoulders.

"Look at you," he murmured into my ear. "You're soaked, Maren. I can feel it through your panties."

"Shut up."

"No." He hooked a finger under the cotton and pulled it aside. Now the egg pressed straight against my bare clit, slick and buzzing. I bit my lip so hard I tasted copper.

"Fuck, Julian, right there—"

"Right there?" He thumbed the remote. The buzz doubled. "You used to sit next to me in studio and I'd think about this. Touching you until you forgot your own name."

"I already forgot it."

He laughed, hot against my neck. "Then I'll teach you a new one. Say mine."

"Julian."

"Again."

"Julian—"

My hips were moving against his hand now. I was dripping onto the desk. My stomach drew tight, tighter, every nerve wound up at the spot where that egg kept circling.

Then the front door slammed.

"Maren?"

Grant.

I froze. Ice poured through me.

"Maren! I know you're here. Your car's in the drive."

Footsteps. Heavy. Coming down the hall.

"Julian," I hissed, shoving at his chest. "Stop. He's—"

He didn't stop.

He looked toward the door. Something hard flashed through his eyes. Then he looked back at me, and he smiled.

He slid the slick egg down, lower, and pushed it inside me.

It filled me in one smooth, buzzing push. My pussy clenched around it on instinct, and the vibration hit somewhere deep, somewhere I'd never been touched.

A moan tore out of me. Loud. Raw. Impossible to swallow back.

The footsteps in the hall stopped dead.

"Maren?" Grant's voice was right outside the study door. "Who's in there with you?"

The doorknob began to turn.