♫ I get all my pleasure in your bedroom, in your arms
You get all your pleasure from my torture, from my harm ♪
(Christina Aguilera—Masochist)

"Cora."

A soothing, velvety voice slithered into Coralie's ears. It was feminine, and it lured her out of her slumber to find Delilah shaking her awake. Her form was blurry, but she wore her habitual Sunday outfit—a one-piece pantsuit used for going to church with her family.

"Huh?" Coralie yawned as she pulled herself into a semi-seated position. "What's up?"

Delilah arched one brow as she watched Coralie come to. "I was about to head out, but... someone's here for you."

"Here... for me?" Coralie jolted to a fully upright pose. "Who? What time is it?"

All manners of morose thoughts prowled through her mind. Was it Michael, returned to NYC after discovering she'd cheated? Was it Chester, here to ravage her again and worsen her wet dreams? Or someone from the label, come to fire her because of her sexy songs she sent them yesterday, and they decided they were too explicit, too inappropriate? Or to promote her for that very reason, instead?

"It's nine," said Delilah, plucking Coralie's phone from the nightstand and chucking it at her. "And it's Ryan." She glanced at Coralie's open laptop near the wall, its light blasting over the faded white plaster. Coralie had fallen asleep while typing up lyrics and had lulled herself into a state of delusion by envisioning Chester sneaking into her bed again. "I left him at the buzzer downstairs because I wasn't sure if you wanted to see him. Do you?"

Pressing a cold hand to her heated forehead, Coralie groaned. "No. Yes. Maybe? Ugh, I have no idea." She slammed her laptop shut, in case Ryan came up. She didn't want him seeing her lyrics, typed in her WORD document, stating that Chester had inspired most of them. "Did he say what he wanted?"

Delilah straightened up and fixed the creases in her suit. "I didn't ask. You know I dislike him, so I was hoping you'd beg me to tell him to fuck off, or something."

Coralie narrowed her gaze. "You dislike him, but I'm still stuck in this loop with him." She stretched. "Ah, fine, maybe in person I can better explain to him that he needs to cut me some slack. He's going to implore me to break up with Michael again."

"Ha," Delilah cackled, "that I agree with him on."

"Dude." Coralie threw her covers off . "You hate Ryan, you want me to end things with Michael... so is this your way of saying I should choose Chester?"

"No." Delilah strolled out the bedroom door but paused and flipped around with a scowl. "I think you've fucked up your shot with all three, and should go back to being celibate, as you said you'd be. For a year, post-Jayden, remember?" Coralie snickered, and Delilah waved at her. "Anyway, I'm off to sit in a pew and pretend like I'm a holy person. Should I buzz him in on the way out?"

With a cringe, Coralie nodded. Delilah's lasting expression of disappointment lingered in Coralie's head as she listened for the door opening and closing. She studied her phone—there were messages from Michael, claiming he'd arrived safely, along with a few snaps of his adorable face—and forced herself off the bed.

She slipped on a silky robe and tugged her chaotic curls into a bun. Her cheeks were blotchy, with pillow lines from her temples to her chin, and her eyes were glazed into a faded gray color she recognized as her fatigued and frustrated shade. "Ugh." She grumbled, padding into the living room to wait for Ryan. "Not looking forward to this."

Five minutes passed before a gentle knock on the door roused her from her daydreaming about her horrid predicament. A predicament she'd gotten herself into by following her urges... but that translated into catchy songs and potential praise from the record company.

Through the peephole, she sighted Ryan in all his glorious gorgeousness. He wore tight gray slacks, a crisp black shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and a cheeky checkered bowtie somewhat loosened around his neck. He'd dressed to impress; so had he come in peace, for once?

As she opened the door, Coralie discovered he was bearing gifts. He carried a travel tray with two coffee cups from her favorite Mom & Pop place near the label's headquarters, and a bag of what she hoped were macarons.

"That's not fair," she said with a smirk, allowing him inside. Since they'd reunited, she hadn't given him access to her apartment, so he peered around the living room as she closed the door behind him. She watched him enter, then spin on his heels with a smirk of his own. "You know my weak spots, and you've come to use them against me?"

"I wanted to see you in person, for a change." He handed her one of the coffees. "All we've done lately is argue over the phone, and I'm fed up with it. It's stupid, and immature, and..." He shook his head, widening his baby blues as he opened the bag of pastries. "And I realize it's mostly my doing. So yeah... I showed up with your favorites, but not to use them against you."

She motioned for him to follow her to the couch, and he set the bag—sure enough, they were vanilla, strawberry, and chocolate macarons—on the coffee table. She took a sip of her java and let its dark taste drench her tongue and stabilize her breathing, which she hadn't even noticed was erratic. Being in Ryan's presence tended to do that; whether from high blood pressure due to the irritation he caused her, or the allure of him, of the ways he'd use his body to persuade her... she couldn't tell.

"So..." She crossed one leg over the other but remained stiff at his side. "Why else did you come, if not to torment me?"

He lifted a hand, as if to place it on her thigh, but hesitated. "To apologize." He retracted his hand and set it in his lap instead. "For being so... what's the word Americans use? Ah, yes... clingy." He chuckled. "Still getting used to some of the lingo. I haven't adjusted as fast as you did."

Coralie issued a weak smile; she missed her English accent and wished she hadn't gotten rid of it so fast. But she enjoyed listening to Ryan's accent as he spoke, and more so when he was calm and composed. "It's okay."

"It's not." He took a swig of his brew and leaned against the sofa cushions. "You were never like that while I was married, when we were having our affair. You asked for a quick smiley face before bed, or a kissy face when you woke up. So easy, so sweet. And I'm an arsehole." He reached for a chocolate macaron, its soft brown coloring the same hue as his skin, blending into the palm of his large hand. "You and Michael are new, yes, like you said... but it's hard to break up with someone, especially under pressure, no matter how long you've been dating them."

To hear him talk of Michael like that—with no rudeness or resentment—reminded Coralie how much she cared about the skateboarding photographer from San Francisco. She remembered the pictures he'd sent her overnight; his boyish grin, his happy thumbs-up selfie to assure her he'd made it home. He occupied a bigger spot in her heart than she'd anticipated, and it stung. She loved Ryan, yes... but she had deep feelings for Michael, too. Feelings that might grow fonder and tougher to erase the longer she drew her situation out.

Fuck. Delilah is right.

And the matter of Chester—the one she lusted after, who animated cravings in her that no amount of kisses and sex would fix—didn't help at all.

"That's all to say I won't push anymore." Ryan scratched his chin and grimaced as he twisted to her. "Yes, I'm conscious I already said that, but I mean it this time. I get it. I understand that if I keep acting like this, you'll not only restrict me from seeing you, but you'll cut the cord altogether and return to him. Is that the truth?" His lips down-turned. "You'll choose him if I keep up this behavior?"

He didn't need confirmation from her; he already had the answer but wanted to make sure his assumption was correct.

And she wouldn't deny it. He was coming closer and closer to destroying what they had with his incessant inquiries and his outbursts. Coralie had experienced enough of those in her life and had had no inkling that Ryan was prone to such mood swings. With this attitude... he was more and more like Jayden and represented all the reasons she'd broken up with him in the first place.

But to blatantly compare Ryan to Jayden would wound Ryan more than he deserved, so she chose not to inform him of that train of thought. He'd been overbearing and annoying as of late, but he wasn't Jayden and never would be.

"I guess." She plopped a vanilla macaron in her mouth and savored the flavor as it melted on her tongue. "But I trust you." Her nostrils wrinkled, and she pivoted from him so he wouldn't read her doubt.

Did she trust him? After everything he'd put her through, after lying and cheating on his wife, after betraying his own children? The taste of the macaron turned sour on her tongue; no, she didn't. And not only did she not trust him... but he had no reason to trust her, either.

He shifted next to her. "So... I'm still winning your heart, then?"

She flipped to him and detected a flush on his cheeks. His words harbored a shyness that she hadn't heard in his voice in years. Almost as if he was innocent, free from guilt, blameless. As if after everything, he still expected to come out on top and be the victor in her love games.

Biting her tongue, Coralie again concealed her expression from him. Was he still in the lead? Or had Chester's reappearance delayed all her decision-making and shifted all her original emotions around? Or had Michael's more mature, more respectable nature taken the advantage? Not to forget the major disruption of him potentially moving to New York, rendering the break-up harder to orchestrate. Did that put him in first place?

She wouldn't tell Ryan that part—Michael's big move—until absolutely necessary. If he knew Michael might be nearer, he'd resume his pushiness. Or he'd give her an ultimatum, and she didn't have the mental stability for that now.

"I'm postponing that discussion with him until I find the right words. I don't want him to think the break-up is because of his visit." She gulped a few sips of coffee. "It would be cruel to end things so quickly; I'd hate for him to believe he did something wrong, because he hasn't. He... deserves better. Much better."

Ryan took her hand in his and raised it to his lips. "Being a cheater doesn't make you evil, Cora. I had an affair, and I'm not going to hell for it. We all make mistakes, right?" He kissed her knuckles, drawing her a smidgen closer to him. His unusually peppery cologne hit her nostrils, and she sucked it all in. "You are a rare find. That's why he and I are so interested in you. At least I'm aware I have competition; that poor sod has no clue he's up against me, someone you've loved for a long time."

She allowed him to embrace her but nuzzled her nose into his shirt to avoid showing her frown. Neither he nor Michael knew of the third, secret competitor who risked blowing them both out of the park with his seductive words and magical body. Neither of them had any inkling that Chester had been the most recent man to quench her thirst and devour her whole, and only a night or so ago. And she still struggled to think of anything other than Chester's promise of having plans for her. What were those plans? What had he plotted? And when would she find out?

"Hey," said Ryan, his voice low in his throat as he pulled away from her, elevating his eyebrows. "Why don't you come over tonight? I can cook us dinner, or we can order takeout, and watch a movie or something."

She squinted at him and pouted. "Since when have we ever watched a movie?"

He laughed. "No, I know, but we will, for once. Let's turn over a new leaf, yeah? Try to spend quality time together instead of fucking each other's brains out. Though I'll never say no to that if it's what you want."

The more she contemplated it, the more she realized she had no other way to get Chester out of her mind. Last time she'd considered using Ryan to soothe her cravings, Michael had showed up. But there was little risk of him visiting again so soon... so why the hell not? When hanging out with Ryan, she didn't have to fumble with as many excuses or hide her phone as much. He knew some of the truth, which meant she'd only have to be careful if Chester texted or called her. Less effort equaled more relaxation, and she needed that.

"Sure," she said, planting a kiss on his cheek. She got up and motioned at him to do the same. "But for now, I need to check my emails and work on some songs. Let me be productive today to prepare for the office tomorrow, okay?"

"Yes." He also got up. "Pack your overnight things, and I'll drive you to work in the morning, okay? Message me when you're ready, and I'll send my driver to pick you up later." He kissed her, soft and sensual, but not enough to wake her lower abdomen into wanting more than a few smooches. "I love you."

After he left, Coralie seized her laptop from her bedroom and settled on the sofa with her feet resting on the coffee table. She checked her emails and found a message from Nikita complimenting her on the creative and quite steamy content... but asking if she had any sadder, more sentimental stuff, too.

"We can't justify recording *only* sexual songs, as well-written as yours are. And when we hired you, we did state it was your harsher, more depressing content that had initially drawn us to you. Not that that's all we want—but we have had none of that in a while. If you're not in a *sad* mood—which is wonderful, don't get me wrong—maybe revisit some tunes we needed more work on? I'm sure shifting a few sentences around and using different, rich vocabulary would do the trick. You're talented, girl, and we believe in you. I'll submit this stuff in the meantime, but I'd encourage revising some of your older compositions."

"Fuck," she said, deflating in her spot, sensing warmth drain from her face. "I've been so wrapped up in my hormonal changes and my sex-drive... fuck. Again, Delilah was right."

She clicked through her folders to her discarded/revision tab and opened an old song she'd written about her split with Jayden. One that was raw, violent, angry—exactly what the label had hired her for.

"I've been thinking with my vagina, and not my heart or my brain."

So caught up in her drama, she'd neglected to focus on the reason she'd moved to New York, the reason she'd risked her relationship with Michael: her songwriting, her singing. All her gallivanting and flirting and make-out sessions in elevators were interfering with her true goals.

Another thing Delilah had said came to mind—something about her celibacy? She had vowed to stay single for at least a year; where had that vow gone? How had she discarded it so easily for a few thrills from boys with pretty eyes and sassy comebacks? Why had she lost sight of her objectives to revisit good times with blasts from the past? Here she was with a boyfriend, and not one but two lovers. She was confused and horny and desperate for air and answers. And instead of concentrating on her job, she continued to let three men mess with her head and manipulate her through her hunger for them.

"Shit. What the hell is wrong with me?" She huffed. "And why am I only now noticing this?"

♥♥♥