SIENNA.

“I didn’t need the money,” I said, voice steady even as my pulse hammered. “I just needed an excuse to finally ask you to do the things I’ve been thinking about since the summer you moved in.”

Noah didn’t move at first. He stood on the other side of the kitchen island, black T-shirt still damp from his run, chest rising slow. His eyes dropped to the neat stack of bills I’d pushed across the marble. Disbelief flickered. Then something darker, hungrier, settled in.

“What the fuck is this?”

“Payment.” I kept my hands flat on the counter so he wouldn’t see them shake. “For you to touch me.”...