I do as he says, pulling the rings harder, bending toward him so I can run my mouth down the length of his taut neck. He reaches between us and circles my clitoris, making me cry out, the double sensations of him filling my body and playing with my clit driving me wild.

“Ryder.” I gasp out his name as he shoves himself deep. I pull at the rings, open my mouth against his neck, and succumb to the orgasm that comes barreling down upon me. I shake in his arms, my mouth still on his neck, my legs quaking around his hips. He thrusts hard and stills, my name falling from his lips as his own climax completely overtakes him.

We stand there, our bodies connected, my back against the door, for long, quiet moments as our breathing evens out and the shudders slowly leave our bodies. My heart races and I take deep, calming breaths. Clinging to him, our sweat-covered bodies sticky, his still hard cock inside my body, pulsing deep within me.

“Are you …” He clears his throat and I lift away from him. “Are you okay?”

I nod and smile, reaching up to smooth his damp hair away from his forehead. The swarm of conflicting emotions that washes over me makes me want to be tender with him. Why, I’m not sure. “That was …”

“Yeah.” He withdraws from me and I disentangle myself from him, wondering at his quiet mood. With care he settles me on my feet, then withdraws quickly, his gaze not meeting mine. As if he can’t look at me. “Where’s a bathroom?”

I give him directions and he makes his escape, leaving me a jittery mess still leaning against the door. I don’t know what to do. Since I answered the door naked, I have no clothes to pick up and throw back on as armor. And with the sudden odd way he’s behaving, I’m feeling the need for protection. Should I just go back to my bedroom and tell him to meet me there?

Before I can make a decision, he’s back and I figure he disposed of the condom. I admire his perfect masculine body and all the tattoos, drinking him in, imagining all the many ways I could kiss him everywhere. Touch him …

Instead I watch in mild horror as he keeps his gaze averted while he grabs his jeans and tugs them back on, then offers me a tight smile. His expression is bland, the cool, mysterious Ryder McKay back in place of the savage, aggressive man who just fucked me senseless with my name falling from his lips only moments ago.

“I, uh, I need to go.” He dips down and grabs his shirt and pulls it over his head, all of the colorful artwork disappearing from view. He rakes his fingers through his messy hair, trying to tame it, but there’s no use.

There’s no use for him. There’s no use for us. I don’t know how it happened, but I feel the distance grow between us with every second that passes. He’s shut himself down completely and I have no idea who or what I’m dealing with.

Blinking, I stare at him as if he’s sprouted two heads, because that’s how it feels. “You have to go?”

He gives me a look, one that says stupid, overconfident Violet. “You thought I would spend the night with you?”

I straighten, insulted at his tone and his words. “Of course not. I just figured it’s still early …”

“I need to go.” He offers no explanation and I know I don’t deserve one, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want one.

I step away from the door as he goes to it, resting his hand on the handle. Slowly he turns to look at me and for a brief moment, I see a flash of regret in his gaze. As if he doesn’t want to leave me but he’s making himself do it for whatever reason.

I cling to that hint of emotion I see. Probably too tightly, but I can’t help myself.

“Have a good weekend,” he murmurs, before he opens the door and exits my apartment.

Irritated, I go to the door and wrench the lock into place with a sharp twist of my wrist, letting forth an irritated sound. What the hell was that? He fucks me against the door, makes me come so hard, and then leaves? After all this talk of plenty of condoms and what we’re going to do to each other later?

The disappointment that settles over me can’t be helped. I feel like I lost this battle. A battle I didn’t even realize I was engaged in.

Doesn’t mean I’ve lost the war, though.

“Men.” Lily twirls her straw in her Bloody Mary before taking a sip. “I hate them.”

I can’t stand Bloody Marys because I hate tomato juice, so I can hardly look at my sister as she drinks it. “I agree,” I say, lifting my Bellini in agreement before I down it.

We’re at Sunday brunch but it’s past noon, so I don’t know if that’s what you call it. Rose is supposed to meet us, but she’s running late. Lily looks hung over, and she claims the only cure is a Bloody Mary. I beg to differ but don’t protest.

Last night I opened my laptop and tried to do a search on Alan Brown, but that first glimpse of his sneering face sitting at the defense table during his trial made me immediately shut the computer with a sharp snap, chills racing over my skin. I haven’t thought of him in so long that seeing him again takes me right back.

I can’t even mention any of this to my sisters. I don’t want to upset them. Bad enough how upset I am.

“Still mourning the loss of Zachary?” Lily makes a face.

Will I sound like a complete slut if I admit to my sister that I screwed another man only days after breaking up with my long-term boyfriend? And that his seeming rejection after the hottest sex of my life hurts far worse than my breakup with Zachary? My life has turned into a freaking soap opera. I feel like I’m completely unraveling and no one will be able to put me back together.