An hour after Maddie leaves—I lied, telling her I needed a nap, because I'm a terrible person—Sarah knocks on my door. There are a lot of people I don't want to see right now, and she's very high on the list.

"Hello, Mia," she says, not bothering to ask if she can enter. She just stalks into my room, shuts the door, and puts her hands on her hips.

"Hi."

"There's a stipulation in the contract I doubt you read stating that you must, within reason, go where Henry, Danny, and I tell you. It's written in legal jargon, but you get the point."

I know where she's going with this, and I want to sink into the floor, then the next floor, then through the basement, then spend the rest of my life as a mole person. "Okay."

"Mr. Vaughn is awaiting you by the violet picnic table on the western side of the beach. You two are to have a conversation about your feelings for each other and what happened last night. Got it?"

"Now?"

"Yes."

I look like shit. "Can I put on some makeup first?"

"Nothing flashy. You should look apologetic, not enticing. You have five minutes."

There's no use trying to mask the bags under my eyes or my red nose—does anyone else turn into Rudolph when they cry, or is that just me? Probably just me. Nothing enticing about the misfit reindeer, that's for sure.

I swipe on some mascara—waterproof, of course—and a thin layer of foundation, tie my hair into a ponytail, and grimace at my appearance in the mirror. A sundress feels too happy for today, but I'm pretty sure I have less than a minute before I need to be downstairs, so I tug it over my head and hope the editors take pity on me.

Sarah escorts me to Max. She must think I'm a flight risk or something, which is stupid, because there's an ocean on one side of us and security guards on the other three. The only way I'd be a flight risk would be if I could actually fly.

Max is wearing aviators, and I deeply regret not wearing mine until Sarah barks, "Sunglasses off!"

He obeys silently.

Sarah huffs. "Mia, you start."

Deep breath in, deep breath out. "I thought you cared about me," I say in the firmest voice possible.

"I did."

"Did? You don't anymore?"

He shrugs. "I confided in you Wednesday. I told you things my best friends don't know. Imagine how I felt when I walked into your villa with cupcakes I asked the chefs to make for you, only to see you and Elijah cozied up on the floor."

"There were, like, six of us cozied up on the floor. We were hanging out and talking."

"You were practically on his lap, Mia."

"We were all sitting cl—"

"You couldn't have sat somewhere else?"

He's right. I could have sat somewhere else. I also could have pushed away the thoughts I had about still being into Elijah. I didn't do either of those, and I pushed away two men who cared about me. I deserve every last bit of this pain.

"You're right," I mumble. "I'm sorry, Max."

He just stares at me, eyebrows slightly raised, lips tight. I'm sure he knows exactly what I'm thinking right now, but I have no idea what's going on in his head.

I break the silence. "I hope Adriana is better to you. You deserve better."

"You're right. I do." And with that, Max flips on his sunglasses, stands, and walks off.

I bury my head in my arms and fantasize about a future as a mole person.

"Mia! For heaven's sake, Mia!" Sarah yells.

I lift my head.

"We have a blanket and umbrella set up for you and Elijah," she says, pointing. "He'll be there in a few minutes."

"Please, no," I groan. This is torture. Pure emotional torture.

"Yes," she snaps. "Come on."

I trudge after her like a grumpy toddler being told it's time to leave their beach playdate. With a sigh, I plunk down onto the blanket, trying not to think of the one Max covered in rose petals.

"Hey, Mia," Elijah says as he settles next to me. "You doing okay? You look upset."

"You shouldn't be so nice to me," I mutter.

"I wasn't planning on it, but I forgot my boxing gloves in the villa."

A tiny giggle escapes. "You don't need boxing gloves to yell at me," I point out.

"My megaphone's inside, too."

A slightly louder giggle escapes.

Elijah grins. "Listen, Mia, I get it. We've known each other, what, three weeks? Not even? If we weren't on TV, we'd be in that awkward early dating phase where you're trying to figure out if the person is worth not seeing other people for. We never agreed to be exclusive. I thought about it a lot last night. I was hurt, but I have no reason to be upset with you. There are multiple spots on the lists for a reason."

I can't do anything except stare. How on earth is he so forgiving?

"I'm willing to give this another try if you are," he adds softly.

I nod. "I'd like that."

"But Mia?"

"Yes?" I brace myself for the warning.

It doesn't come. Elijah just says, "For me, there's no one else. I'm going to convince you the same thing."

I want to kiss him so, so, so badly. "You already did," I murmur.

Elijah turns to the camera crew. "You guys, uh, want to head out?"

As expected, they don't move.

"Ready for plan B?" he asks me, a sly grin spreading across his cheeks.

I have no idea what plan B is. "Born ready." I wink.

"Are you sure you're ready? It's very complicated."

"I'll do my best," I laugh.

"Okay. That's all I can ask. I'm going to count down from three; then, I'll share the plan. Three, two, one. Run!"

Elijah pulls me to my feet, and we take off down the beach, hightailing it towards the villas. By the time we reach the yellow villa, we're panting and cracking up.

"Are you..." I try to catch my breath. "Are you really not upset with me?"

"I'm really not. Cameras or no cameras, I'd never lie to you, Mia."

I fling myself at him. I don't care that a dozen of our fellow contestants are lounging a couple yards away or that the slightly angered camera crew is catching up. I just wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him full on the mouth. Elijah returns the kiss enthusiastically. The next thing I know, I'm jumping, and he's catching me, and I'm clinging onto him like a koala to a tree, never breaking our kiss.

Then, I'm soaked, and I don't mean the fun way. I spit saltwater from my mouth and shake my hair like a post-bath golden retriever. When I'm finally certain I won't blind myself with salt, I open my eyes to see Elijah chasing Levi, who's holding a bright red bucket, down the sand.

"Men," Maddie grumbles, hanging me a towel.

"Honestly, I think we kind of needed that," I giggle.

"Uh, yeah. You guys just went at it. Damn." She shakes her head. "I take it that means things are better?"

"Yeah. Elijah is so understanding... He wasn't even upset with me. He just said we didn't talk about being exclusive, and he's going to convince me that he's the guy for me."

Maddie fans herself. "Oh, my God. I would have climbed that, too."

"Good to know, Maddie," comes Elijah's amused voice.

She smacks his arm. "Hit the showers, guys," she laughs.

Elijah raises his eyebrows. I raise mine.

"Plan B?" he asks.

"Three, two, one..." I start.

"Run!"

And we book it up the stairs.

"Your shower is way better than mine," I grumble.

Elijah's bathroom is straight out of one of those luxury magazines that come in the seatbacks on planes. He has a walk-in shower with one of those massive showerheads that makes you feel like you're in the rainforest (anyone else? Just me?). Everything is gold and white, except the soap, which is blue and manly.

"What's wrong with yours?"

"It's just...normal."

"Very descriptive. I can picture it now."

I stifle a laugh. "It's a nor—damnit, it's a tub with a shower curtain, and the sink is plain. No gold accents."

"What were you going to say about the tub, Mia?"

I try to think of relevant words that start with 'nor' but come up empty. "Norwegian. It's a Norwegian tub."

"In California? That sounds abnormal to me."

"You're the fancy shower expert, not me."

"Well—" He pretends to straighten a tie he's very much not wearing, considering we're stark naked "—this fancy shower expert deems it necessary that Mia Benson enter Elijah Miller's shower this instant."

I'm not here to argue with the professional. I step inside, letting the hot water wash the salt from my face. "And why," I start, stepping aside so Elijah can rinse himself off, "does the shower expert deem that necessary?"

"I paid him to say that." Elijah winks.

I pretend to gasp.

"I know. Huge scandal." Another wink. "May I?"

"Please," I breathe, looking down at Elijah's soapy hands and feeling a familiar tug in my core.

He starts on my shoulders, rubbing and massaging until they're covered in suds. He squeezes more soap into his palms. His hands are gentle, kneading my breasts softly. My nipples harden, and Elijah lets out a low groan. I step closer, unable to handle the heat burning between our bodies. His hands rub soap onto my back, trailing up and down my spine, massaging either side.

I fumble around behind me for the soap. Elijah lets out a chuckle and guide my hand towards the bottle. I'm not patient like Elijah. The second it's in my hand, I'm reaching down and wrapping my fingers around his erection.

"God, Mia," he groans as I begin pumping my hands (yes, plural—he's above average), sliding easily with the soap.

His hands trail down from my back. One kneads my ass, and the other slides between my folds. I gasp when he pushes one finger inside of me, then two.

"Is this okay?" he murmurs into my ear.

It's more than okay. "Yes," I moan.

I can barely focus on anything but the feeling of his fingers pumping into me, curling slightly to hit the spot that drives me crazy, and his thumb circling my clit. I whimper into his shoulder and try to keep up my rhythm, but I barely remember how to breathe.

"Let me make you come first," he says softly.

I just about melt. I said it before, and I'll say it again. Elijah is a foreplay god.

Then, he kisses my neck and sucks gently, all while working magic with his fingers, and I'm moaning and biting my hand to keep screams from escaping my mouth. He applies just the right amount of pressure inside me and pinches my clit just slightly.

And I come. Hard.

It's pure ecstasy. I tilt my head back and moan Elijah's name when the first wave rolls over me. My fingernails dig into his back as I ride out the incredible high, coming in pulses.

"Oh, my God," I murmur.

"You're so sexy, Mia," he whispers into my ear. The water is borderline-scalding hot, but I still shiver.

"Tell me what you want," I whisper back. "Do you want to fuck me, do you want me on my knees..."

He shudders. "I want what you want."

I shake my head. "Tell me what you want, unless you want me to guess."

"I want you to come again."

I think he might be the sweetest man in the entire world. "Then fuck me, Elijah."

I bend over slowly, resting against the shower wall. His hands grasp my shoulders, then his hot tip finds my entrance. Cautiously, inch by inch, he pushes inside me. With each thrust, his grip tightens.

The sounds of our bodies colliding echo across the shower walls. He fills me entirely, pushes my limits. I can't focus on anything but the feeling of fullness in my center. Each thrust threatens to send me into space. I don't have the wherewithal to contain the noises pouring out of my mouth. Loud moans and cries of pleasure mix with Elijah's grunts and groans. I scream when Elijah's fingers find my center. Every inch of him is pumping into me, and he's drawing circles around my clit, and the sensations are too much.

Once again, I fall over the edge. My climax is short but intense. I scream (again) and claw at the tiled wall. When I descend from the high, I'm shivering and gasping for air.

"Turn around," Elijah murmurs. "I want you to turn around."

He lifts me effortlessly—props to him—and presses my back against the shower wall. While he holds me still, I guide his tip to where I want him. He thrusts upwards, and I see stars. Again.

Our eyes lock together, and I have to fight the instinct to look away. I haven't had sex with eye contact since...I don't want to think about it. Focus, Mia.

"Oh, God," Elijah groans. "I'm... I'm going—"

"Come inside me," I breathe.

That does it, I guess. I feel him pulse inside me, coming in hot spurts. His eyes roll back, and he lets out this guttural growl that has me ready for round two.

Carefully, he sets me down. "Holy shit," he mutters. "That was..." He shudders, and then his eyes fly open and just about pop out of his skull. "Oh, fuck. Are you on birth control? And, uh, are you—"

"Yeah, IUD," I say quickly. "And clean. You?"

"Oh, thank God," he breathes. "Yes, clean. No IUD. Holy shit, Mia. I'm... That was..."

"Incredible? Mind-blowing?" I supply.

"Better."

"Well—" I kiss him on the cheek "—I'm going to clean up again, and since you tired me out, I might have to stay over."

I'm serious. Walking more than a couple yards is going to be difficult after getting fucked from behind against a shower wall. Lady problems, am I right?

"That can be arranged."

"I didn't bring any clothes, and my dress is all wet, so I might have to sleep naked." I run my fingers down his side. "Can that be arranged?"

I like dirty talk, okay? Let a girl live.

He swallows. "Yes."

"Good."

He's already starting to stiffen again, and I have one mission tonight. Show Elijah that he likes to be in control in the bedroom. Two—okay, yeah, I guess there's more than one mission—is getting him to fuck my brains out a second, and maybe a third, time.