...Sun beat down on the world, and sweat glistened over his skin, spurring memories of sultry dance floors in hot clubs, hotter motel rooms, and bodies slippery with passion.

“Fuck me.” I said it aloud, but not nearly loud enough for him to hear.

Yet he nodded, as if I’d whispered it in his ear. I slipped my other hand into my sensible, white cotton panties.

The musky scent of him filtered into my memory, along with the feeling of his perfect cock—smooth, thick, pretty, if you can believe it—slipping through my fist a few hundred times in the alley behind the Red Velvet dance club. Usually, we reserved that dark, dank, public arena for foreplay, a way to prolong our inevitable rolls in the hay, but he’d screwed me to that dirty brick wall once, too.

Mortar digging against my back, his mouth had locked on mine, our tongues tangled in a frenzied kiss. His fingers had wiggled beneath my skirt, probed me in time with the boom, boom, boom of the dance mix inside. His erection pressed against my thigh. “Can’t wait,” he’d breathed between kisses, and the next I knew, he’d plunged into me with one thorough beat. I’d tightened my thighs around him. “Come, Cherry. Come.”

With the memory of it, my fingers now worked my clit fast.

Come, Cherry. Come.

I heard it over and over again, and across the way, his lips were moving, as if he were coaching me along. Wet everywhere, I leaned against the window frame and imagined his whiskered cheek against mine, his strong body invading my private space, holding me close.

Come, Cherry.

“So close.”

Come, Cherry.

My fingers slipped over my clit. I pinched my nipple.

Come, Cherry.

God, I would, if only if I had the chance to hear his voice again, to feel his whispers in my ears.

He refused to look away from me, and I wouldn’t dare take my eyes off him. I concentrated on the memory of him gripping my waist with both hands, pushing his rod into me, pulling my wetness over him. Come, Cherry.

At last, my orgasm broke. The strong gush left me weak in the knees, and my over-sensitized parts tingled with satisfaction. I withdrew my hand from my panties.

Brighton cracked a smile and acknowledged me with an open-palmed wave.

I returned the salutation with a wiggle of a few drenched fingers.

He pushed himself from the safe cradle of the branch and grabbed a foothold on another. Back to work.

I might’ve been embarrassed that he just watched me reach orgasm—how easily I’d gotten there!—but I’d always been easy for him. I doubt he’d heard me say no even once. But guilt now covered me like an oppressive cloud on an otherwise sunny day.

I’d come so far since I’d first crossed to the other side of the river, and I’d taken pride in my newfound control staying on my side. With one glance at a faraway Brighton, I’d lost it. Add to that my commitment to Vic, my trust fund so close I could taste it, and I couldn’t pull the shade over the window fast enough.

Vic and I wanted each other—at least that’s what we’d been saying—but waiting was important to him. If he’d done what I’d just done… Calling off the wedding seemed extreme, but how could we begin with a breech of trust? I decided then and there: Vic could never know.

I pulled up the corner of the shade for one last peek. Brighton was reaching, past the undeniable bulge in his jeans, for the bright orange chainsaw at his hip.