It's been months since her snowboarding trip with Justin.

Two months, one week, four days. The rarely used mathematical whiz in her mind keeps up with how much time has passed since that fateful night. That wonderful night of pure unadulterated passion that had moved from the living room of the cabin to the kitchen to the bedroom. His bedroom.

She shivers now as she attempts to focus her attention on the task at hand. Decorating the Christmas tree has always been so exciting and wonderful, ever since she was a kid and got to help choose where ornaments would go. But now, gazing at the twinkling lights, she can only think of how the golden light of the fireplace had glinted against perspiring skin. And though she's made love to her boyfriend many times by the light of the tree she is currently decorating, all she can picture is the twinkle in his eyes.

She hasn't avoided him. Those first few times he'd dropped by had been a little awkward but they had promised each other that their affair had been a one-time thing. Okay, several times over two days. But it's in the past now. And she likes it that way.

Right?

Sighing, she steps back to look over the tree. He should be home from New York soon. The roast in the oven has been timed to be ready just as he's walking through the door and she plans to greet him with a smile and a kiss and a glass of his favorite wine. She's tried so hard over the past two months to not act guilty but she can't help but wonder if he's noticed a change in her.

Deeming the tree perfect, she gathers the tissue paper and empty ornament boxes, stowing it all in the large plastic bin that she stores the ornaments in. For now she makes do with pushing the bin out of sight behind the couch. As she's turning out the overhead lights she hears a car in the drive and smiles, hurrying into the kitchen to pour his wine and remove the roast.

She can see the outline of his trim body through the frosted glass of the front door and swings the door open for him. Truly happy to see him, because it's been almost a week, she throws her arms around him and catches his lips in a tender kiss. "Damn, I missed you."

But something's wrong.

Rearing back as the cologne assaulting her senses triggers a torrent of steamy memories, she winces when she sees Justin's look of confusion.

"I just saw you yesterday," he laughs, fingers reaching to lightly trace his lips, which glisten with her lip gloss.

"I thought you were someone else."

"Obviously," he snorts. "He's not back yet?"

"If he was do you think I'd be throwing myself at you—Don't answer that," she groans when his eyebrow rises in challenge. But she knows he won't bring up the fact that she threw herself at him plenty of times two months ago. He's not quite that immature. "Sorry."

"I didn't mind. Okay if I come in or are you planning to throw him on the floor and fuck him before he can put down his suitcase?"

"Not hardly." Their days of clawing at each other before the door is closed have passed. She hates to admit it, even to herself, but their lovemaking has become rather predictable. Dinner. Few glasses of wine. Cuddle on the couch. Kissing followed by a soft suggestion that it's time to go upstairs. Nothing at all like the impromptu— She attempts to cut off the memory but it continues and she turns to go back to the kitchen, praying that Justin's not thinking of the front door of the cabin he had pressed her against. Hoping that he's not remembering how they had managed to keep their bodies connected while undressing and meandering back to the bedroom. Cheeks flushed with heat, she leans closer than necessary to the pot of steaming potatoes, knowing they'll be ready in five minutes.

"Pot roast? Damn, girl. You told me you didn’t know how to cook." Justin's got the glass of wine she poured and is sipping it as he leans against the counter.

"I told you I don't like to cook," she corrects, replacing the lid of the pot before moving to pull the prepared salad from the fridge. She tenses at the sound of a car door slamming outside and shoves the large bowl onto the table, hurrying to greet her boyfriend. She double-checks to make sure it's him before throwing herself into his embrace and she reminds herself than the arms around her are the ones she belongs in. "I missed you, Jace," she whispers between kisses, fingers easing his leather jacket from his shoulders. He releases her long enough to shrug out of it and she tosses it aside, blatantly aware of Justin's gaze as he watches from the kitchen door. Let him watch, she decides, hands sliding into the perfectly coiffed hair that always feels like silk. "Hungry?"

"Starving," JC enthuses, catching her close for another kiss and she sighs at the taste of his favorite cinnamon gum. "Just let me get my shit upstairs. You staying, J?"

"If there's enough." Justin glances at her as JC moves to the stairs.

"Of course there's enough." She grits the words out but smiles sweetly as she goes back into the kitchen. She gathers an extra plate and salad bowl and yanks open the drawer to retrieve silverware.

"You don't want me here, do you?" he asks softly, reaching past her to pull another wine glass from the cabinet. "You fucking hate when I hang out here now, Claire. Don't even," he warns when she opens her mouth to argue. "You're always polite and say it's no problem but it really burns you up. Why? Afraid I'm going to have one too many drinks and brag to JC that his girlfriend is an amazing fuck?"

"I know you'd never do that," she whispers. And she does, because he values his friendship with her boyfriend. And she hates herself for giving in to the temptation and causing him to potentially ruin that friendship.

"But you still worry," he adds, grabbing the bottle of Cabernet and filling the glasses. "Don’t worry, Claire. I can keep our secret."

She's saved from replying by JC's arrival. Conversation quickly falls into the work he did in New York on his album and she's glad that he seems enthusiastic. So many times he's sounded so downtrodden over his work and it's nice to see a spark in his eye as he talks about the tracks he recorded. Claire inputs a comment when she can, but leaves the brunt of the discussion to the men who know the industry. She watches as the potatoes and salad disappear and wryly notes that there isn't enough of the roast left to worry about saving. She leaves the men to their talk and their wine, busying herself with loading the dishwasher. And when JC scrapes his chair back she bites the inside of her lip. Maybe Justin will take the hint and leave.

But there's no hint for him to take. Instead, JC crosses the room and gives her a series of tender kisses. "Dinner was great, baby," he murmurs. "I'm exhausted so I'm going up to crash."

"Sweet dreams," she whispers, leaning close for one final kiss, knowing he doesn't see the flash of disappointment in her eyes. Jamming the last of the silverware into the tray, she thinks ruefully of the gold lace negligee she had purchased that afternoon as a welcome-home gift. It will have to wait until tomorrow, she decides, glancing to the ceiling when she hears the master bedroom door close.

"Need any help?" Justin offers, all eagerness and helpful as he always is and she laughs bitterly.

"Yeah, go upstairs and give him some of your energy so he can fuck me. Can you manage that?" she asks, slamming the dishwasher closed and starting the pre-rinse cycle. She's not prepared for the feel of his hands on her, lurching when his fingers curve around her hips, pulling her back against him.

"No, but I can make sure you get fucked tonight." His voice is a sultry whisper that sends her heart fluttering.

"Justin," she gasps. Has he lost his mind? Does he think she's lost hers?

"Tell me you haven't thought about us," he hisses, breath hot against her ear and she shivers at the feel of his fingers slipping beneath the hem of her shirt. "Tell me you don't look at a fireplace and think about riding me in front of one."

"God, please…" She brings her hands up to cover her flaming cheeks. "We can't. Especially now. He's right upstairs."

"And he's already dead to the fucking world."

Warm fingers are sliding up her sides, leaving goose pimples on her skin. She knows he speaks the truth. JC undoubtedly collapsed in bed as soon as he was undressed and a war starting on the front lawn won't awaken him. But she can't. She can't give in and risk being caught… Turning, she bites down hard on her bottom lip to quell the whimper when his hands curved around her bare breasts. "I… He… You…" She's faltering. "Let me just check on him."

He nips at her earlobe in response, thumbs brushing over her aching nipples before allowing her to slip away. Her steps across the kitchen are shaky and she knows her knees are about to give out but she hurries to the stairs, not believing she's about to repeat a past mistake. But she is.

Upstairs, she sees that JC is fast asleep already, clothes in a heap by the bed. She slips into the bathroom, discarding her clothing in the hamper and reaching for the negligee she bought that afternoon. She pulls it on and adjusts it over the curves of her breasts and hips before dragging a brush through her hair. Her bare feet are silent on the carpet as she tiptoes through the bedroom, not daring to look at the man snoring softly in the bed.

Justin's on the couch, open bottle of wine and two glasses on the coffee table. When she joins him she sees his eyes light up and her ass barely touches the couch before she's pulled into his lap. "I'd never go to sleep without giving you what you need." His voice is barely a whisper as his lips hover over hers.

"Please don't," she whispers, arms circling his neck as she leans into his kiss. She doesn't want him to compare himself to JC. She doesn't want promises that he could be better than the man she's chosen to be with. She almost snorts at that thought – how can she say she's chosen to be with JC if she's currently making out with Justin?

His kiss is liquid fire that spreads from her lips throughout her body and unbidden, the memories flood her mind. The searing kisses that were unexpected but left her weak-kneed. The slip of his tongue over her skin that turned her into a towering inferno of desire. How can he do this to her? How can he be so fucking good at this that she craves his body as an addict would crave another hit? His rough fingers pull at the hem of her negligee and she gasps into his mouth when she feels his jeans against her crotch, writhing against the firm ridge that nestles so perfectly against her.

"God," she breathes, hands sliding through his hair.

"How long has it been for you?" he asks breathlessly and she knows he can feel the heat of her desire.

"Two months." She lightly nuzzles his neck and is not surprised that she remembers the spot just below his earlobe that makes his entire body seize up when she lightly suckles it. "Two months, one week, four days…"

"Same here." A mirthless chuckle rumbles his chest and his hands slide between them. Claire gasps when she feels his fingers slide over her slick heat, finding her ready. The sound of his zipper is ungodly loud in the quiet of the room and she waits impatiently as he pushes his jeans down slightly. Then his hand is on her hip, roughly jerking her forward and guiding her down his length.

"Oh…" she hisses, dragging the one syllable into a soft growl as she settles over him. She digs her nails sharply into his shoulders, remaining still once he's fully inside her. But he won't let her grow accustomed to the feel of his thick cock filling her completely. No, his hands are tight on her hips, pulling and pushing hurriedly. "Jus…"

"I can't make it last," he manages between harsh breaths. "It's been too fucking long…"

"Come on, Jus," she encourages softly, tightening around him with each thrust as she bounces in his lap. His head falls back, Adam's apple jumping in his throat and she forgets all about her own pleasure, reveling in the power she holds over him. She knows she could torture him if she wanted. But she doesn't. She wants to help him come. She doesn't care if he spurts like an overeager teenager. She wants to see his face contort, wants to feel his entire body tense and tremble, wants to see him bite down hard on his bottom lip. She braces her hands on his shoulders, fingers curling in his red t-shirt as she increases the rocking of her hips. "Come for me, Justin…"

"Almost." His voice is a strained whisper and he arches beneath her, fingernails digging harshly into her hips.

"I want to feel you come inside me," she urges, unable to tear her eyes from the way the lights from the tree reflect in his electric blue eyes. Just watching the passion rising in him is enough to bring her to the brink. She can feel it and she chases it, pussy clenching around him so tightly he can barely move within her. And she's so focused on his pleasure she doesn't care when she hears his breath hitch in his throat. She doesn't care when he yanks her down roughly, lips brutal against hers as his body shudders and a series of low growls vibrate in her mouth. She hisses in delight, riding out his orgasm as she feels his cock twitch repeatedly, heat filling her as he whispers her name over and over again.

Moments pass, feeling like a few brief seconds but at the same time it feels as though hours have swept by. Her body cools and she glories in the heat of him, whining when she shifts and feels him, still hard and ready, filling her to completion. Her fingers sweep the perspiration from his brow as his powerful kiss turns gentle. The hands still clutching her hips relax, sweeping delicately over her body.

She vividly remembers this. The gentle sweetness that exudes after frantic, hurried sex. She was so surprised by it after that first time, but when the tenderness had returned in the middle of the night and she had fallen asleep curled in his powerful arms, his lips pressed sweetly against the top of her head, she had gloried in it.

"Your turn," he whispers, fingers easily tugging the top of her negligee down over her breasts. He cups them together, plucking gently at her nipples until they're so tender she cries out softly. He shushes her, lips finding hers again as he guides her so she's lying back on the couch and she whines into his mouth when his dick withdraws from her. Her negligee is bunched at her waist but she barely notices it, arching as his lips sweep down her neck, easily finding the most tender places on her skin that elicit the most powerful moans.

"Goddamn," she gasps as his mouth closes over one tight nipple. One of his hands slips over her mouth to muffle her cries, the other pressing down on her hip to keep her still. Not being able to move only heightens her arousal and she makes do with holding onto his shoulders, doing her best to muffle her sharp whimpers before they reverberate in her throat. One hand flies from his shoulder to clutch at the back of the couch as she wriggles in vain beneath him. She whines at the feel of his hand sliding between her legs, the orgasm she lost earlier now back in full force when she feels him spread her, thumb tracing the length of her slit. She jerks in surprise when he lightly brushes her clit, staring when he pulls his mouth from her breast to offer a smirk.

His gaze locks with hers as his thumb leans on her clit with firm pressure. He's silently urging her to work with him and she starts to rock her hips upward, spreading the roaring fire that he created with just one finger. And when his other fingers slip within her slit to stroke the inside of her pussy, she feels her entire body spasm. A scream of delight dies low in her throat and she keeps her gaze firmly locked with his, finally allowing her eyes to close when he drops his head to her stomach. He licks and nibbles at her navel, fingers tight against her jaw to keep her from crying out as he trails his kisses lower. And when he buries his face between her thighs, teeth finding her clit, she knows it's possible to die from pleasure.

Her hands flutter, hoping to find something to grasp for leverage as her body convulses with her fast-approaching orgasm. She finally makes do with her own body, palms curving around her breasts. Her fingers pluck at her nipples, drawing the tortured peaks out even further as her breath comes in sharp pants, body arching upwards. His hand seems to be everywhere, stroking her thighs and teasing the entrance of her pussy before sweeping down the length of her legs. His teeth and mouth never leave her clit, alternately suckling and biting, driving her right to the brink before relaxing into tender sweeps of his tongue. She gives in, head falling back and pressing her hips upward to prolong the sweet torture. The pleasure rips through her and she doesn't feel her fingernails digging into her own skin and when she comes it's violent, lifting her off the couch until only her shoulders rested against the warm cushion beneath her. Then tension he's created within her gives way to shuddering delight and she grinds against his mouth to prolong the pleasure, whimpering as he guides her to rest fully on the couch once more. His hand falls away from her mouth and she gasps his name, fingers sliding into his hair as he kisses his way up her body. She slides her legs over his as he presses a flurry of kisses along her neck, over her jaw before their lips crash in a kiss. She makes sure to draw every remnant of her essence from his mouth before relaxing back against the couch, now completely sated.

"I don't want to leave," he whispers as his hands gently cup her face. "But I should…"

"I know. That was… Jus…"

"Shh." His index finger press against her lips briefly before he offers another quick kiss. "Call me when you can," he whispers before sliding away. The zipper of his jeans and the clink of his belt buckle are absurdly loud in the silence of the room and before she can drum up the words that would thank him he's gone.

Which leaves her wondering how she's come to this. And how she's supposed to stroll upstairs and crawl into bed with her boyfriend like nothing's happened.