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sweat...maybe even another woman's scent...from his skin. But standing there watching him...I hated that I still wanted him. I still wanted him to want me and only me. And I knew that tonight might be the last time I could have him to myself. Maybe it was already too late. I was trembling, still unable to stop this unsettled feeling inside me. And when he finally turned off the shower and reached for his towel, I ran my hands along his hips and pulled him close. He turned and the tight expression on his face nearly sent me away. I steeled myself. He exhaled slowly and leaned into me. He captured my lips with his, kissing me tenderly at first, his lips grazing mine, the tip of his tongue gently urging me to let him in. I squeezed my eyes shut and let my arms tighten around him.  For a little while the rising heat between us was enough to make me forget. I let him peel away my camisole, let him push down my shorts. I kicked them aside. My body was coming alive for him even while my doubts were whispering to me, "This won't help..."
    But I wanted him, wanted him to fuck me until I could stop feeling so empty inside. I wanted him to claim me, to make me his again. And as he lifted me, pressed me against the wall and I hooked my legs around him, I opened my eyes again and tried to remember every moment of this. He plunged into me and, once we were joined, a tiny ball of heat flamed inside me. "It's been too long..." he gasped in my ear. I tried to stay focused; I just wanted to feel how he throbbed inside me, remember each sensation of his chest against mine, his hands gripping my ass, my hips... the damp tile wall pressing into my back...With each thrust, with each moan, I told myself, "Remember this...remember how good it feels..." And I cried out as he touched me, deep inside, rubbing the right spot, sending waves of liquid heat through my veins, and still I wanted more.
    He carried me into the bedroom, still buried deep inside me, still hard and ready for me...we fell onto the bed and he picked up the pace, pinning my hands over my head, keeping his eyes trained on me... I begged him to fuck me, forgetting that we were not alone in the apartment, that at any moment we might be interrupted, forgetting the balcony door was open and our neighbors could probably hear each squeak of the mattress, each creak of the bed frame and our ragged breaths, and Mads... moaning my name again and again. He fucked me...made me come once...and then again...until my body was sore, until he was finally satisfied. When he came, his body shuddered against mine, I writhed under him, wanting just a little more before the fog returned. He rolled off me, breathing heavily and reaching out to stroke my thigh.
    "It's just you, Laney..." he said softly. He ran his fingertips along my thigh.
    But I'd made up my mind already.
    And I still wasn't sure I believed him.
     
     
     

 
    CHAPTER FOUR: Mads
    Is This the End?
    She was on my mind all day. I'd be fine at first and then I'd remember the disappointment and simmering anger etched on her face when she walked into the workshop, when she saw me with Benny, and it would all come back. The argument, the sudden change of mood when she came to me in the bathroom. I thought maybe this was our first step to righting what was wrong...but when we went to bed, she didn't stay close to me and she inched away when I tried to bridge the gap. I needed to make this up to her. I couldn't fix this with sex. No matter how good it felt to be inside her again, to hear her moaning my name, to sense her every reaction to even the slightest move... we still weren't whole.
    Jonas and Morten pretended not to notice my lack of focus. They talked around me, went to Anton with questions, and let me drown myself in sketching new ideas that didn't quite feel right. Even Benny kept her distance. She stayed on the other side of the workshop with Ibrahim and Willem, assembling the credenza Anoushka had ordered. Had Anton warned her off?