I spent the morning fuming about something that I shouldn’t have cared about. Pacing and bitching at myself, getting more and more agitated as I crossed off each excuse as complete bullshit. Or at least not the reason I was so fucking angry.

First reason: Lane and I were friends, and she seemed to be backsliding into a person she didn’t want to be anymore. So it was only natural for me to worry about her getting back together with that fucking asshole frog.

“What the fuck did she ever see in that guy anyway?” I asked the empty room. “He looked like more of a toad than a frog.”

I moved on to the next reason: Lane and I were great together. Sexually, I’d never had a better partner. “I know her favorite position. Why? Because I’ve done it with her a bunch of times, including her first time.” I smacked the door. “Right there.” Her idiot ex never even tried it with her. What kind of man sticks to one position when he’s got someone who’s incredible and hot and generous and adventurous and fun and—? Okay, that wasn’t helping.

So I went on to another reason: Because that dickwad didn’t deserve her. It was a crime against humanity that he even be allowed to touch her.

I stopped pacing, breathing, blinking, all of it.

“Holy shit, that bastard touched her.” And he was going to touch her again. And again. He could touch her whenever he wanted to because she’d gone back to him.

She’d taken him back, knowing what an asshole he was and that he’d probably hurt her again. Why would she do that? She wasn’t the same person she’d been—how many times had she told me that. But if she was stronger now, why go back to that dickhead?

The thought triggered something in me, a huge section of my life that I wished I could forget. People couldn’t change no matter how much they wanted to or said they wanted to. Lane went back to her frog because that’s what she thought she deserved—someone who would lie and cheat.

All the things I would never do to her. Ever.

My heart rate kicked up a few notches and my crazy mumbling started again, cursing Lane for backsliding. She was fucking tough. So much stronger than Renee ever was. I watched my mother take punch after punch, slap after slap, suck in a breath and then go right back in before the bruises were even gone. And I couldn’t stop her.

When I’d finally understood how a man should behave, how he should treat the people he loved, I hated my mom. For being weak, for putting us into fucked-up situation after fucked-up situation. It was her fault as much as it was my father’s or the other bastards she brought into our lives, including Anna’s dad. It was her fault because it was her choice to go back and to take me with her.

My vision blurred, because it was my fault, too. I could have done something to protect her. From the men and from herself. I should’ve fought harder, tried to hit back, dragged my mother out of the house if I had to.

I hadn’t done shit back then. I hadn’t done shit when I saw Lane do the same fucking thing. Nothing ever changes. I walked away from her without saying anything, even though I knew what she was in for with that prick, how badly she’d get hurt again. And I’d done nothing to stop it from happening.

Someone knocked on my door. I froze for a second, trying to gain control over the uncontrollable. I shouldn’t open it, not when my emotions were so raw. Even if I opened it to a deliveryman, I’d probably go fucking insane on his ass. If it was—

“Carson, it’s me,” Lane called.

Ignoring all the danger signs, I bolted for the door, yanked it open, and dragged her inside. I slammed her against the door as soon as it shut and kissed her. Hard. Possessively.

If she remembered how good everything felt a week ago, how right, then she wouldn’t go back to the frog. She wouldn’t be able to. I had to stop her from making the wrong decision. Protect her. I couldn’t let her turn from the person I respected most in the entire world back into a woman she had no respect for. She was worth so much more than that.

I couldn’t think right. My lips were on hers and I could taste her, but everything was moving too fast. Focus. I had one goal. One thing to accomplish in my sorry excuse for a life—stop Lane from going back to him. How?

If I reminded her how we were together, how good we were together, she’d forget about Kevin. I made her feel good. How many times had she told me that? Kevin never made her scream or fall apart when she came. None of her frogs did.

I did. I could make her understand she didn’t need him by doing the only thing I was good at. The only thing I could offer her.

As my teeth and lips moved to her neck, her nails dug into my chest and it drove me fucking insane. Lust and fear took over all my anger and guilt until I didn’t think anymore. I didn’t hurt anymore. I could only do.

I lifted her skirt and slid my hand into her panties, tugging them to the side. Fuck, her body was always ready, on fire and slick. The echo of her calling my name stopped when I took her mouth again and yanked open my jeans so I could get to my cock. She loved this position—up against the door, hard and dirty.

It wasn’t the sex itself that was going to help. It was a reminder of the moments when she completely let go, stopped thinking and judging and caring about anything or anybody else.

“…can’t do this!” When she shouted it, I stopped, dragging air into my lungs. I was almost inside her, my cock already lined up to take her.

Was I already too late? She was so fucking good. If she was with him, she’d only be with him. And she’d never be with me again. Never.

“Just once, Lane,” I begged her quietly. “He cheated a lot, right? So you can do it just this once.” With me. Please, let me be with her one more time. “Just once.” I was so full of shit. I didn’t want just once—I wanted just always.

“Stop!” Her eyes were huge and welling with tears while her entire body pressed into the door even after I stopped pushing her into it. “Please, Carson. Just stop.”

Fuck. How long had she been saying that without me hearing her?

I jerked away, shoving my cock back in my pants, my hands shaking. Countless apologies pouring out of my mouth, none of them clear because they were coming out so quickly and because my mind was too confused, bouncing from understanding her fear to knowing I’d failed again. I failed really fucking well.

“I wasn’t—” I stepped back, giving her room to move. To leave.

“Stop,” she mumbled, not looking at me. She straightened her skirt while I stood frozen, awaiting the verdict. “You can’t do that. You can’t… I came here because we needed to talk, not… Jesus, Carson.” She looked at me with moist, wounded eyes, eyes that reflected the part of myself I most feared. The part I most hated.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought—” It didn’t matter what I thought. It mattered what I did and, if she hadn’t said stop, I would have picked her up and slid inside her without even realizing I was forcing her. “I’m so sorry, Lane.”

“Yeah well… I don’t care.” She yanked the door open and left, slamming it behind her.