The first time she saw him after four years, Cassie’s stomach dropped like a stone.
She was crossing the main quad of Northwood University, a iced latte in one hand and her phone buzzing with notifications about the alumni reunion mixer, when she spotted a familiar broad-shouldered figure leaning against the brick archway of the old humanities building. Even from this distance, the confident slump of his posture, the way he ran a hand through dark, messy hair, sent a pulse of heat through her—followed immediately by a cold wave of panic.
Derek. Her stepbrother. The one who had taught her how to drive stick shift in his beat-up Jeep. The one who had held her hair back when she got too drunk at her high school graduation party. The one she had kissed, full on the mouth, in this very spot three years ago, just before he’d graduated and vanished from her life like smoke.
She had been eighteen. He had been twenty-two. And they had danced around the edge of something incandescent and terrifying for six months before he pulled the plug, citing “awkwardness” and “for the family’s sake.” She hadn’t spoken to him since.
Now she was twenty-one, a senior, and he was back for the reunion weekend. Fuck.
Cassie considered ducking into the library, but her feet kept moving, as if possessed by something greedy and desperate. She watched him push off the wall when he saw her, that slow, devastating smile spreading across his handsome face.
“Cass.” His voice was deeper, rougher around the edges. He wore a simple dark henley that hugged his chest, and his jeans were worn in a way that spoke to a life of physical work. His jaw was sharper, his shoulders broader. Time had been very, very good to Derek Vance.
“Derek.” She stopped three feet away, clutching her coffee like a shield. “You’re back.”
“I said I’d come for the reunion.” He studied her with those dark eyes, and she felt stripped down to the bone. “You look… different. Good different. Grown up.”
“I am grown up,” she said, sharper than intended. “I’m twenty-one. I can legally drink and vote and do everything else you said I wasn’t ready for.”
A muscle twitched in his jaw. He remembered the conversation too. “I see. That’s fair.” He stepped closer, and the air between them thickened. “Cass, I—”
A group of alumni burst through the archway, laughing and shouting greetings. Derek stepped back, and the moment shattered. “The mixer is at The Oak Barrel at eight,” he said, his voice low and strained. “Will you come?”
She should say no. She should walk away and never look back. But the hunger in his eyes matched the ache in her chest. “I’ll think about it.”
She spent the rest of the day trying not to think about it. She failed spectacularly.
By seven-thirty, she was standing in front of her dorm mirror, wearing a short black dress that hugged her curves, with silver hoops in her ears and her dark hair loose and wavy. Her heart hammered like she was about to face a final exam she hadn’t studied for.
The Oak Barrel was packed. Bodies moved to a live band, and the air smelled of beer and perfume and nostalgia. Cassie ordered a whiskey neat—because she was an adult now, dammit—and scanned the crowd.
She found him at the bar, nursing a dark beer. When his eyes landed on her, the heat in them was unmistakable. He didn’t smile this time. He just watched her walk toward him, his gaze tracing the lines of her body, the curve of her hips, the confident sway she had practiced in the mirror.
“You came,” he said, his voice rough.
“You asked.” She took a sip of her whiskey. “So. What have you been doing? Besides ignoring my texts.”
He winced. “That’s fair. I’ve been working. Construction management in Denver. Saved enough to buy a place. It’s small, but it’s mine.”
“Good for you.” The bitterness in her voice surprised her. “I guess some things matter more than others.”
“Cass.” He set down his beer and moved closer, so close she could smell his cologne—something woody and clean. “We need to talk. Properly. Not in a crowd.”
“Then suggest somewhere else.”
His eyes flickered. “My room. The hotel is two blocks away. We can have a drink, talk without the noise.”
Every instinct screamed at her to run. But her body had different ideas—her skin flushed, her nipples tightening under her dress, a familiar heat pooling between her thighs. “Fine.”
The walk was torture. They didn’t touch, but the air crackled with electricity. In the elevator, she could feel the heat radiating from his body, and when the doors slid shut, they were trapped in a glass box of tension.
His hotel room was clean and neutral—king-sized bed, a desk, a minibar. He tossed his card key on the dresser and turned to face her.
“I never should have done what I did,” he said, his voice raw. “Pulling away like that. It was cowardly.”
“It was cruel,” she corrected. “You made me feel like I was just some kid with a crush.”
“You were never just a crush.” He took a step forward. “You were—are—the most terrifying thing that’s ever happened to me. Because I wanted you so badly it scared me. You were eighteen, and I was supposed to be the responsible one. But every time I looked at you, I wanted to forget everything else.”
Her breath caught. “And now? I’m not eighteen anymore.”
“Now,” he said, closing the distance between them, “I have no more excuses.”
He kissed her. It wasn’t gentle or tentative—it was a collision, months of longing pouring into the space where his lips met hers. His tongue swept into her mouth, and she gasped, her hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt. He tasted of beer and heat, and she drank him in like a woman dying of thirst.
He walked her backward until her thighs hit the bed. “Tell me to stop,” he breathed against her lips. “Tell me this is too much, and I will. But I need you to know that I want this. I want you. Since that night at the archway, I haven’t been able to think of anyone else.”
“Don’t stop,” she whispered. “Please, don’t stop.”
He groaned and claimed her mouth again, his hands sliding down her back to cup her ass, pulling her hard against him. She could feel his erection straining against his jeans, and the knowledge of what she did to him sent a wave of wetness between her legs.
“I want to taste you,” he murmured, his lips trailing down her throat. “Every inch. I’ve been fantasizing about this for years.”
She arched her neck, offering him access. “Then stop talking.”
He laughed, a low, dark sound that vibrated against her skin. “Bossy. I like it.”
He pushed her back onto the bed and knelt between her thighs, his hands sliding up her bare legs until he reached the hem of her dress. He pushed it up, exposing the black lace of her thong.
“Jesus, Cass,” he said, his voice thick. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
He didn’t remove her panties immediately. Instead, he leaned down and pressed his mouth to the damp fabric, sucking gently. She cried out, her hips bucking against him. The sensation was maddening—his hot breath through the lace, the pressure of his tongue teasing her clit through the barrier.
“Please,” she begged. “Derek, please take them off.”
He hooked his fingers under the lace and slid the thong down her legs, baring her completely. The cool air hit her slick folds, and then his mouth was on her—hot, wet, and devouring. He licked from her entrance to her clit in a long, slow stroke, and she fisted the sheets, a guttural moan escaping her lips.
“You taste like heaven,” he said against her skin, his tongue circling her clit. “I could live between these thighs.”
He worked her with expert precision—flicking, sucking, pressing while he slid one finger inside her, then two. She was so wet, she could hear the sounds of her own arousal as he pumped his fingers in and out, curling them to hit that spot that made stars explode behind her eyes.
“I’m close,” she gasped, her thighs trembling.
“Not yet,” he said, pulling away. She whimpered at the loss, but he was already standing, unbuckling his belt. “I want to feel you come on my cock.”
He pulled off his shirt, and her mouth went dry. His chest was sculpted, roped with muscle from years of construction work. A trail of dark hair led from his navel down into his jeans. He kicked them off, and his cock sprang free—thick, long, the head dark and glistening.
“Condom?” he asked, his voice strained.
“I’m on birth control.” She reached out and wrapped her hand around his length, stroking slowly. “And I’m clean. I trust you.”
He shuddered, his eyes closing. “I’m clean too. Fuck, Cass, if you keep doing that, this is going to be very short.”
“Then do something about it,” she said, pulling him toward her.
He positioned himself at her entrance, the head of his cock pressing against her slick folds. He looked into her eyes, his gaze searching. “Ready?”
She nodded, and he pushed inside. The stretch was exquisite—a fullness that made her gasp. He paused, giving her time to adjust, then began to move. Slow, deep thrusts that reached deep inside her, angles that made her see white.
“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, like that.”
He picked up the pace, his hips slapping against her thighs, her breasts bouncing with each thrust. The bed creaked beneath them, and the sounds of their union—wet, rhythmic, primal—filled the room.
He leaned down and captured her mouth in a kiss, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. The new angle drove him against her G-spot with every stroke, and the pressure built inside her like a coil winding tight.
“I’m going to come,” she sobbed against his lips.
“Come for me, Cass. Let go.”
She shattered. Her orgasm ripped through her, her inner walls clenching around him in waves. He groaned, his thrusts becoming erratic as he followed her over the edge, his hot seed spilling deep inside her.
They lay tangled together, breathing hard, slick with sweat. He kissed her forehead, her nose, her lips.
“I love you,” he said quietly. “I loved you then, and I love you now.”
She looked up at him, her heart cracking open. “I love you too. I never stopped.”
He pulled her closer, and they stayed that way, skin to skin, while the night deepened around them.
In the morning, they would talk about what came next. For now, they had this—four years of longing, finally satisfied, and the promise of something real.
