“I need you, Danika. I’ve never needed anything like I need this.” Each word was drawn out and punctuated with a rough stroke. “I’ll never get enough of you. Never.”

It wasn’t his usual dirty talk, and his words fed so much more than my desire. I needed to hear these things, craved every little sign that he might be anywhere near as obsessed with me as I was with him.

His hands moved over the curves of my breasts, kneading softly at that aching flesh while pounding hard into the core of me. My nipples were puckered hard, and he pinched and then pulled them taut. It ached in a way that made me whimper in pleasure.

He rammed his huge, engorged length into me, hard and fast, keeping up an unrelenting pace that made me grip the door handle for dear life.

“Is it too much?” he rasped into my ear.

It was. It was so much, too much, his fast, brutal invasion stuffing me so full that I felt like I couldn’t take it for another second, but I’d never tell him that, never let him stop with the wonderful filling of me.

The sensations were so intense that I wasn’t sure if I was about to come or scream my head off.

Turns out, I did both.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Three days later, we found ourselves at a house party for some friend of Jared and Frankie’s. It was a big house, and pure chaos, and the second we stepped in the door I wondered why I’d let myself be talked into it. I was tired. I hadn’t had a decent night of sleep in I didn’t even know how long, and house parties had never been my favorite. It always just tended to be the stoner way to party, since you had to hide that stuff in clubs and bars.

I could smell the pot smoke in the air the second we got in the door, and someone was actually snorting coke off a table in a room just right of the entrance, fully visible from the front door.

I was so over it.

All of that was bad enough, but about ten minutes in, as we made our way through the crowd, looking for Jared or Frankie or Cory or Kenny, I spotted my ex. Not Daryl the Dickhead. The other one. Patrick. The one that hadn’t been a complete dickhead, though I’d dumped him anyway. He’d gotten too heavy into drugs for me to deal. And I’d fallen out of love with him. Though now that I’d found what I’d found with Tristan, and felt this crazy, out of control thing in my chest every second of the day, I had to admit that I hadn’t fallen out of love, I’d just never fallen in.

I had a strange epiphany as I stared at Patrick’s profile. I’d called it love, and looked for love, because that’s what I’d wanted, but love was not a thing you could force yourself to feel, or, more importantly, it was not a thing you could keep yourself from feeling. Both realizations were demoralizing for me, a girl with control issues.

I was jolted out of my thoughts as Tristan threw an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close.

“What’s up, sweetheart? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

I grimaced. I very much wanted to avoid Tristan seeing Patrick and finding out that he was an ex, if at all possible. I just had a feeling that Tristan wouldn’t take the meeting well. And that feeling was backed up by experience…For a former man-whore, he tended to be surprisingly jealous.

“Nothing like that,” I finally answered. “I’m just not feeling this party. The chick snorting coke on the way in was a bit too hardcore for me.”

He gave me his wry smile, rubbing my shoulder. “Yeah. This was not what I was expecting. Jared knows some crazy people, and Frankie knows everybody in town.”

I started to make my way out of the room, heading to the backyard, when I saw Patrick spot me out of the corner of my eye. I knew it because he froze, and a second later, began to move toward us.

I grabbed Tristan’s hand, trying my best to paint a very clear picture for Patrick. I didn’t look his way again, and only hoped he’d gotten the hint.

We found Frankie and Jared out by the pool.

“Where are the rest of the guys?” Tristan asked them by way of a greeting.

“Hell if I know,” Jared said, sounding put out about it. “They were supposed to be here hours ago. So were you, for that matter.”

Tristan whipped out his phone. “Let me call ‘em.”

I was feeling antsy, and glancing around constantly, afraid that Patrick would follow us out. He didn’t, not right away, but within five minutes I saw him coming out the back door, scanning the crowd. I knew, just knew, that he was looking for me.

It had been a strange ending with Patrick. It was almost like I’d just woken up one day and seen the situation for what it was; a relationship between teenagers who should have only ever been friends. What hadn’t been sudden was my revulsion every time he’d wanted to have sex. And realizing that you didn’t have to keep having sex with someone if you didn’t want to had been an important lesson for me, though of course I’d had to relearn it with Daryl. The fact that Patrick had started doing some hardcore drugs had helped me to end it, as well, though I knew better than anyone that with my co-dependent streak, especially back then, I would never have left him for that alone, if I’d felt for him even a tenth of what I felt for Tristan now. I liked to think I’d gotten past some of those co-dependent leanings, but if push came to shove, I couldn’t say with any certainty that I’d ever leave Tristan willingly.

Tristan still had his phone to his ear, and I squeezed his arm to get his attention.

When he looked at me, I pointed at the house.

“Bathroom,” I told him, and took off. I assumed Patrick just wanted to say hi. I wanted to just get that over with, and avert any drama with Tristan.

I made it maybe three steps into the living room when a hand grabbed my elbow from behind. I knew instantly that it wasn’t Tristan. The hand wasn’t big enough.

I turned and looked into Patrick’s steady gaze. “Hey,” I said, giving him a weak smile. “How’s it going?”

He studied me for a long time. “I’m okay. It’s really nice to see you. You look…amazing.”

“Thank you,” I said, feeling flattered by the admiration in his tone, and unwillingly, enjoying it.

He was tall. Not Tristan tall, but he was close to six foot, with dark hair, a medium build, and some awesome tats. He was very handsome, in a boy next door kind of way. I’d forgotten just how nice his smile was, how sincere. And he still had enough dirty rocker in him to make my heart beat a little faster.

Even if it was only remorse, I was surprised to feel something, after all this time.

I hadn’t been cruel about the breakup, which in the end, had been the most brutal thing of all. I’d drawn it out, to spare his feelings, and ended up hurting him worse.

“You’re dating Tristan Vega,” Patrick said, as though he was still processing it, and what he had learned didn’t please him one bit.

“You know him?”

“I know of him. He’s the lead singer of that band that James Cavendish is backing. He has a reputation…”

That was news to me. Not the reputation part, but the James Cavendish backing. I’d known he was introducing them to some record people, but I hadn’t heard anything about him actually putting money up for them himself.

“A lot of local bands are really bitter about that. Their band hasn’t paid their dues, and here they are, getting cash backing from one of the biggest names in town.”

That had my hackles rising a bit. “And who gets to decide what dues you have to pay to make it? They’re really good. Best I’ve ever heard live.”

This was a bit of a dig. Okay, it was a huge, mean dig, because Patrick was the drummer in a local band that had been going hard in the live scene for years.

“Ouch, Danika.”

I grimaced. “Sorry. That wasn’t nice, but they’re good, and I think it’s bullshit to put your baggage on another band, just because they haven’t been performing as long.”

He nodded, chewing on his lip. “Fair enough. I might be a touch bitter, so let’s just forget I said anything. Let’s talk about you. What have you been up to?”

I shrugged. “School, work, nothing special.”

“Anything going on with the dancing?”

“Not unless you count mad clubbing.”

He laughed, and as I watched him, I saw a sharpness in his eyes that I didn’t remember from before. I liked it. He seemed more present than he’d ever been when he’d been with me.

“You look great, too. How is everything with you?”

“It’s good. I’m going on one year sober now, so that’s a pretty big deal for me. The band isn’t getting huge attention, but we still make the rounds, and we still love what we’re doing.”

I nodded. “That’s great. I’m so happy for you, especially the sobriety part.”

“Thank you. Hey, we should go for coffee sometime. Do some catching up. It’s been so long…I’d love to reconnect again.”

Of course, wouldn’t you just know it, Tristan walked up just in time to hear that last part. He went full on caveman right off the bat, throwing an arm over my shoulder, and giving Patrick the look of death.

“You two know each other?” he bit out, and his tone, his very demeanor, just rubbed me the wrong way.

“We’re old friends,” I explained. Damage control.

“We dated for two years,” Patrick countered. Opposite of damage control.

Tristan stiffened, his face getting a little scary as he just stared at Patrick for long, awkward minutes. Finally, he broke the awful silence, but what came out of his mouth was no improvement. “So you’re one of the selfish pricks that fucked her, and never got her off.”

I walked away, furious and hurt, before he’d gotten the last word out. The asshole. The complete hypocritical nerve of him, saying a thing like that, embarrassing me without a qualm.

I made it out the front door, and to the sidewalk in front of the house before Tristan caught me.

“Hey!” he called, grabbing my elbow. “I’m sorry. That was a dick move. It was a gut reaction to meeting that prick.”

I had my own gut reaction right then, and it was to defend my ex, which said a lot about how angry I was at Tristan. “He’s not a prick. Not getting me off doesn’t make him a prick. You know, just because he didn’t know how to get me off, doesn’t mean he didn’t try. He at least would tell me that he loved me.”

That hit a nerve, and boy was I not ready for his gut reaction to that nerve getting hit.

“You really want to do this now?” he asked, his voice low and mean. My heart turned over in my chest at the question. This was going to be bad. I could tell with that one sentence that his claws were out, and I wouldn’t make it through this unscathed. Still, I wanted to know. Whatever he felt, or didn’t feel for me, I needed to know.

“You think because he said that to you, that what you had with him was better than this? Did him saying that somehow keep you two together forever? Love is just a word.”

“Semantics,” I said, my voice trembling. “If it doesn’t mean anything, why won’t you say it to me?”