Chapter 116

Sean's POV

For two weeks, I hunted for her, tearing through every lead I could scrape together. Old friends, her favorite coffee shop, anywhere she might've left a trace.

Nothing.

Desperate, I even called Christopher, choking on the suspicion that she'd run to him, that they were together now.

The thought burned like acid, but he stonewalled me. "I don't know where she is," he said, flat and final, before cutting the line. I didn't know if he was lying, but it didn't matter-I was still nowhere.

Then last night Tristan hit me up about some racetrack outing.

"Got a meeting with this woman-stunning, brilliant. She's launching a company, and I might invest. Come check it out." Tristan said excitedly over the phone.

I wasn't in the mood for his conquest stories.

"Not interested in your women, Tris," I said, "but I'll hear the pitch. Need something to do."

He laughed, carefree as ever, and I figured a day out might dull the edge of my obsession.

I never saw it coming.

We got to the racetrack, the air thick with dust and horse sweat, and Tristan dragged me over to meet his "stunning founder."

There she was-Angela. My Angela.

She wore a fitted jacket and jeans that clung to her like a second skin, her dark hair glinting in the sun. When she turned and saw me, her face went pale, her mouth dropping open in shock.

It was almost satisfying, watching her squirm. Five years of nothing, and now she couldn't hide from me.

She didn't stick around long. After a few minutes of Tristan's chatter about her startup-some tech thing I didn't care about-she mumbled an excuse about changing for the next race and bolted.

I didn't think twice. I followed her, my pulse hammering as I tracked her to the changing room. She didn't notice me until I slipped in behind her and locked the door with a quiet snap.

"Sean-what are you doing?" Her voice was sharp, edged with panic as she spun to face me.

I didn't answer, just closed the distance until she was backed against the wall. She smelled like jasmine and memories, and it hit me like a drug.

"Five years, Angela," I said, my voice low and jagged with everything I'd held in. "You left me. No warning, no goodbye. Just gone."

She pushed at me, her palms flat against my chest, but it was useless-I wasn't budging.

"Get out-this isn't-" Her words died as my hand slid up her side, brushing the swell of her breast through her T-shirt.

She froze, her breath catching, and I couldn't stop myself. I lifted her shirt, my fingers sliding under the fabric and pulling it up.

Her skin was warm, smooth, and when I unhooked her bra with a quick twist, her breasts spilled free-full, perfect, the way I'd dreamed of them too many nights.

"Sean, stop-" she hissed, but her voice wavered, and her body didn't fight half as hard as her words did.

I pressed myself closer, my thigh nudging between hers, feeling the heat radiating off her.

"You don't get to tell me to stop," I growled, my hand cupping her bare breast, thumb grazing her nipple until it stiffened under my touch. "Not after you ran. Not after you left me to rot."

Her head tipped back against the wall, a shaky exhale slipping out as I rolled her nipple between my fingers, harder now, watching her fight the shiver running through her.

I yanked her jeans open, my hand diving inside, past the waistband of her underwear. She was already wet-slick and hot against my fingers-and it drove me wild, knowing she still reacted to me like this.

I pushed two fingers inside her, deep and deliberate, feeling her clench around me as her hips jerked involuntarily.

"You're mine," I rasped, my voice thick with a possessiveness I couldn't rein in. "You don't get to disappear and act like this doesn't belong to me."

She grabbed my wrist, trying to pull me away. I thrust my fingers deeper, curling them, and she bit her lip hard, a muffled whimper escaping as her knees trembled.

I couldn't wait anymore.

I spun her around, shoving her jeans and underwear down to her thighs. My cock sprang free, throbbing with need.

I gripped her hips, pulling her back against me, and pushed inside her with one hard thrust. She gasped, her hands braced against the wall, and I groaned at how tight she was, how she fit me like she'd never left.

"Fuck, Angela," I muttered, my breath hot against her neck as I started moving, deep and relentless, claiming every inch of her.

Her body responded despite herself-her back arched, her walls pulsed around me-and it fueled the fire in my gut.

I slid one hand around to her front, fingers finding her clit, rubbing tight circles as I pounded into her.

"You feel that?"

I whispered, my lips brushing her ear.

"You can't run from this."

Her breaths came in short, ragged bursts, and I felt her tightening, teetering on the edge.

Someone knocked on the door-a girl's voice, asking if she was okay-but Angela stammered out a quick "I'm fine" before I could even pause. Good enough.

My phone buzzed a minute later-Tristan-but I hung up the phone quickly, too lost in her to care.

I thrust harder, my grip bruising on her hips, my other hand still working her clit until she shuddered, a choked cry slipping out as she came apart around me. It pushed me over too, and I buried myself deep, spilling inside her with a low groan, my forehead pressed to her shoulder.

But then she broke.

"How can you do this to me?" she whispered, her voice cracking, and I felt the wet heat of tears against my skin.

I pulled back, stunned, and saw them streaming down her face-raw, unguarded, cutting through me like a knife.

My anger drained away, replaced by a hollow ache. I reached out, brushing her tears with my thumb, my lips following, kissing them away with a tenderness I didn't know I could still muster.

"Angela, shit-I'm sorry," I said, my voice rough and unsteady.

She wouldn't look at me, her shoulders trembling, and I felt like the ground was slipping out from under me.

I'd wanted her so badly-wanted to prove she was still mine-but now she was crying, and I didn't know what to do.

My hands hovered uselessly, afraid to touch her again, afraid I'd already gone too far. Five years of pent-up fury had poured out of me, but seeing her like this-broken, hurting-it gutted me.

What if I'd fucked it up for good this time? What if she walked away again, and I couldn't follow? The thought clawed at my chest, and I stood there, helpless, terrified of losing her all over again.