The next morning, I wake with the sunlight from the window warming my face. My muscles feel rejuvenated, and my mind is clear. By some miracle, I conked out quickly last night and slept straight through.
I climb out of bed and head to the bathroom, cringing at the raucous noise thumping from the basement. Cole’s already hard at work, lifting weights and blaring his punk rock music. A grin lifts my cheeks as I picture him lip syncing and banging his head with belligerent intensity.
After emptying my bladder and brushing my teeth, I find freshly-brewed coffee waiting for me in the kitchen. I prepare a cup, sipping and sighing and feeling sweetly spoiled.
To return the favor, I blend up a protein shake for him and carry the chocolaty, foamy concoction to the basement. The loud, insistent music leads the way, contaminating my ears with violent lyrics.
My blood heats in anticipation of watching his ripped physique flex through his workout. With the music drowning out my footsteps, maybe I can spy on him for a while, observe him in all his unguarded, sweat-dripping, muscle-shredding glory.
I step off the last step, round the corner, and stumble to a gasping stop.
On the far side of the basement, he grips the edge of his workbench, an arm braced on the edge to support the weight of his upper body. His other hand isn’t pumping iron. The dumbbells lie at his feet, forgotten, as he pumps the hard, swollen jut of his erection instead.
My hand flies to my mouth, muffling my squeak, and the protein shake starts to slip from my fingers. I tighten my grip, saving it from crashing to the floor.
I should go. Turn around and sneak upstairs before he sees me. But the erotic sight paralyzes me in place, tingling my skin and accelerating my breaths.
The thrashing music swallows his noises, but I know he’s grunting. His mouth is open, and the ridges in his glistening torso contract and bunch with the rapid pace of his stroking hand. The upper curve of his ass flexes above the workout shorts, which hang precariously around his thighs.
And his cock… Holy hell, it looks longer, thicker than I remember, jerking in the fist of his hand. My mouth waters with the need to wrap my lips around him, to lap at the salty glans, and devour him whole.
He hasn’t noticed me, his head turned slightly away, as he focuses on the framed photo on the workbench.
I unlock my legs and take a few steps closer, squinting at the object of his attention.
It’s a picture of me in the dance studio, stretching during one of my warm-ups. He’s jacking off to that?
My chest clamps and swells as conflicting emotions barrel through me. Guilt pinches the hardest. He’s thinking only of me while my heart is torn in two. But I also feel relief and gratefulness and…arousal.
There isn’t a warm-blooded woman on the planet who wouldn’t be turned on by this. He’s so damn virile and beautifully built, from the right-angled outline of his mitered shoulders to the V-cut contour of his abs and hips. His physique is a chiseled masterpiece of sexuality and manhood.
Desire throbs between my legs, dampening my flesh. I wet my lips and inch forward another step.
“Danni.” The profile of his mouth forms the word, his voice inaudible beneath the roaring music.
I freeze, suddenly nervous and a little ashamed for spying on him. He doesn’t look at me, but he knows I’m here, ogling him like a pervert.
The hand on his cock slows, stopping to cup the tight sac beneath. Then he slowly moves his head and meets my eyes.
He doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t have to. It’s all there in the taut muscles of his face—longing, frustration, and a hunger so potent it turns his jawline to stone.
I should head out and leave him to it, but everything inside me rages against that idea. I want to give him a hand, maybe two, and bring him over the edge, panting, shaking, and blissfully replete.
His eyes harden, and he lifts his chin toward the stereo that sits against the wall. I move toward it and power it off, blanketing the basement in silence.
When I pivot back to him, his shorts are pulled into place, his palms flat against the surface of the workbench as he leans into his arms.
“I didn’t mean to…” I shift my weight, tongue-tied and flushed. “I brought you a protein shake.” I set it beside the stereo.
He nods and closes his eyes, breathing heavily through his nose.
The damp basement air thrashes with awkwardness. This isn’t us. We fight, yell, bitch, and call each other out on our fuck-ups. But we’re never awkward together.
My attention falls to the bottle of lube on the workbench beside his hand. My no sex rule exists for a reason, but that doesn’t mean I can’t give a little. Without over-analyzing it, I stride toward him, snatch the lube, and climb onto the futon, kneeling at the center.
“Come here,” I say to his back.
“Not a good idea, baby.”
“I trust you.”
His shoulders heave with an unwieldy breath before he straightens, turns to face me, and narrows his eyes at the lube in my hand. “What are you—?”
“Take off your shorts.” I lean to the side and glance at his feet. “And your shoes and socks. Then lie down on your back.” I pat the mattress.
With a hand on his hip, he grips the back of his neck and stares at his tented shorts, at his sneakers, at the floor, all while hissing through his clenched teeth.
“Please?” I blink doe eyes at him.
“Fucking killing me here.” He drags both hands down his face, groaning. Then he toes off the shoes and kicks them out of the way as he prowls toward me. “You’re playing with fire, you crazy woman.”
“I can handle you.”
“I don’t know about that.” His posture is so stiff he looks uncomfortable as he lowers onto the edge of the mattress.
He removes his socks, grips the waistband of his shorts, and stares at his lap. Hesitating. I pop the cap on the lube, and the noise seems to pull him out of his head. In one fluid motion, he shoves off the shorts and rolls to stretch over six feet of golden naked brawn beside me on his back.
My attention instantly falls on the black snake inked in terrifyingly beautiful detail around his powerful thigh. The rest of his tattoos were removed in a single surgery. I don’t know how or where or anything else about it, since he refuses to disclose the specifics.
“The things I want to do to you…” He clasps his hands behind his head and stares up at me with hooded eyes. “I want to violate every tight little hole in your body until you forget he ever—”
“Enough of that.” I cover his mouth with my hand until his face slackens. Then I run my fingers through his hair. “Relax. Can you do that for me?”
“Maybe.” His eyes lower to my chest, zeroing in on the taut nipples threatening to poke through the cotton. “If you take off your shirt, I’ll do whatever you want.”
“Liar.” I crawl between his legs, lifting and adjusting his heavy muscles around me.
When I have us in the position I want, he’s lying on his back in the spread of my thighs, with his ass snug against my crotch. His legs drape over mine and stretch out behind me while my legs rest along either side of his torso.
He grips my calves and rocks his hips, clenching his abs with the bob of his cock. His gaze burns into mine, and I can practically feel the testosterone thundering through his veins.
I squirt a dollop of lube on my palm and rub my hands together. “This might hurt a little.”
His eyes widen.
“I’m kidding.” I grin and look down at the swollen hardness pointing up at me.
He’s enticingly thick and well-endowed, with a plump head, lickable veins along the shaft, and a heavy sac that he keeps smoothly shaved. The dusting of hair above his cock is dark brown like his whiskers and leads to an inviting happy trail on that flat brick of muscle low on his abs.
With a deep breath, I grip the base of his erection and slide my oiled hands, one on top of the other, up the length, teasing inch by inch. Sweet mercy, he’s hard as steel. When I reach the tip, I glide a palm over it in a firm massaging motion that bows his spine off the mattress.
“Goddamn.” His eyes squeeze shut, and his chin snaps up, elongating the cords in his neck. “Fuck, that’s incredible.”
Power hums through me, and I repeat the technique, going faster and gripping tighter with each pass. It doesn’t take long before he’s panting, shaking, and thrusting his hips in urgent need.
I float into languid caresses, sliding my lubed hands all over his balls, his cock, and back again to tease the skin behind his sac. I’m not stroking him as much as I’m simply feeling him, running the width of my hands over every inch of his well-hung package. But I maintain a rhythm, adding just the right amount of pressure while pacing him steadily, maddeningly toward orgasm.
Tremors skitter across his thighs, and I know he’s close. I hear it in the sporadic sound of his breaths, feel it in the pulsing swell of his cock, and see it in the dark lust dilating his eyes as he watches me.
“I’m gonna come,” he chokes, bucking vigorously into my fist. “Fuckfuckfuck. Ahhh, God. Danni…Danni…”
He grunts and jerks in my grip, his entire body contracting as jets of ejaculate spurt over my hands and splatter his thighs and abs. I continue to rub him, moving slower, softer, until the aftershocks of his pleasure ebb into silence.
His fingers uncurl from the bedding and lift to cup the back of my neck. He pulls, I give, and our breaths collide in a chaotic enchantment of love.
“Thank you.” He licks my lips.
“You’re welcome.” I nibble back, rolling his taste around on my tongue.
“You pulled one over on me.”
“How’s that?”
“I’m nude, and you’re fully clothed. That’s not how this works.” In a blink, he flips us, sending me to my back with his weight on top of me. “Your turn to come.”
He clutches the hem of my shirt and pulls it upward. With his naked body between my legs and his handsome face staring down at me, I quiver on the cusp of saying fuck it all. The pounding, clamping heartbeat between my legs demands to be stroked and stretched by his huge, hungry, still-hard cock.
But there’s another man across town, alone with his uncertainty and no doubt missing me at this very moment. Trace’s feelings are so deeply woven through my heart I tense at the thought of hurting him.
Guilt seeps in, twisting me up. Am I betraying him? I don’t know. I’m dating both of them.
“Danni?”
I hide my confusion behind a wide smile. “We’re all covered in come. I call dibs on the shower.” Pushing him off me, I race out of the basement, shouting, “You can wash up when I’m finished. I’ll be quick.”
I fly up the stairs and sprint into the bathroom, stripping off my clothes as the door slams behind me. My stomach hurts, and my heart curses me for running headlong into lust-induced spontaneity without thinking it through.
Fighting back my tears, I move mechanically beneath the spray of water. Shampoo, rinse, I don’t let myself dwell on what happened as I reach for the conditioner.
The bathroom door opens.
Footsteps pace back and forth in the small space, and I turn to face the wall, shoulders hunching. He must know I’m upset or he wouldn’t have barged in here. I hug my waist, waiting for him to either yank open the shower curtain or say something.
He does both, sending the metal hooks squealing along the tension rod. “Don’t you dare shut me out.”
“I’m naked.”
“I see that.” His feet squeak on the bottom of the tub as he steps in, and the heat of his body smothers my back.
“Cole—”
“Danni.” He touches the shampoo bottle, seemingly making an effort not to brush any part of himself against me in the small space. “Do you still need to wash your hair?”
I shake my head. “You shouldn’t be in here.”
He moves his hand to the conditioner and waits.
I nod.
For the next few minutes, he focuses on massaging the cream rinse through my waist-length strands. He doesn’t rub up against me or ask me why I’m all wooden and sullen. He’s giving me time to open up on my own before he starts growling and pushing. It’s like he knows I need a breath—or a hundred breaths—before speaking because I’m on the verge of crying.
When he shifts away to wash his own hair and soap his body, I drag in gulping drafts of air.
Am I’m putting too much thought and worry into this arrangement? Maybe all the helplessness and confusion I feel is just part of my path? Instead of running from my feelings, I should try to figure out what they’re telling me. The answer’s inside me. It has to be. I just need to breathe and remember I’m not alone. I can talk to them. They might not like what I’m thinking, but they’ll always listen.
“Am I being a pain in the ass?” I glance over my shoulder, just as he runs suds over his erection. My breath hitches, and I look away. “Am I making this more complicated than it is?”
“I can’t read your mind.” He sets the soap on the ledge and faces me with a hand on the wall. “But I can guess this has to do with him.”
“I feel like I’m cheating.” I pivot toward him and lean my back against the tiles with my arms at my sides. “Right now, being naked with you feels like betrayal. And when I’m with him, I feel the same. Like I’m cheating on you.”
His eyes taper, and his brows pull in and release. Instead of telling me to just choose him, he gives me the response I need the most. “I understand.”
He slides a knuckle under my chin, dipping lower to follow the line of my neck, then lower still, down my chest and pausing to graze my nipple. My breasts feel fuller, tighter, and my pulse picks up.
He hasn’t seen me naked in over four years, so I forgive his sudden detour from the conversation and hold still while he looks.
Opening his hand, he molds his fingers around my breast, testing the weight, kneading the flesh. His nostrils go wide, his voice barely a whisper. “You’re as perfect as I remember.”
“So are you.” I trace the outline of his bicep and touch his pouty lips, smiling softly.
As his gaze begins to descend below my waist, he sucks in a breath and snaps his head up, fastening his eyes on mine. “You’re not cheating.”
“So if I shower with Trace, you won’t consider it a betrayal?”
His chin lowers to his chest, but I glimpse the sudden tension in his face.
“It would be his betrayal, not yours.” He steps closer, placing his hands on the wall on either side of my head, hemming me in.
“He told me about your death threats.”
“Is that right?” He peers at me from beneath a furrowed brow.
“One specifically about his dead mother.”
His eyes close briefly. “The discussion escalated. I was pissed and said shit I shouldn’t have said. I would never—”
“I know.” I rest my hands on his waist, savoring the heat of his skin.
“You’re not being a pain in the ass or making this complicated. Neither of us will ever blame you for the situation we put you in. And we won’t resent you for the actions and decisions you make. Any anger that arises will never be directed at you. This is between him and me.”
“Did he say that?”
“Yes. We discussed it.”
“I don’t want that negativity between the two of you.” My face falls. “I’ve ruined your friendship.”
“You didn’t do anything, and I’m done talking about him.” He nuzzles my neck. “I owe you an orgasm.”
My thighs clench together, and I sink my nails into his hips. “I don’t think—”
“This is happening, baby. My ego won’t have it any other way.”
“Fuck that—”
“Oh, we’re going to fuck, but right now, I just want to concentrate on you.”
Those are words every girl wants to hear. Add to that the determined look in his eyes, and I’m defenseless, debilitated, and too damn weak in the knees to stop him.
His hands glide down my body, and I whimper. He kicks my feet apart, and my heart skips. Then he sinks his fingers between my legs and devours my moan in a kiss.
“You’re still wearing one of my rings.” He flicks the piercing and growls against my mouth. “I bet it pissed him off every time he saw it.”
I’m tempted to tell him Trace sucked on my pussy ring every chance he got, but I won’t stoop to that level. “I thought we weren’t talking about him.”
“You’re right.” He grips the hair on the back of my head and plunders my mouth.
His minty, masculine taste sweeps over my tongue, and his hand delves through my folds. The roots of my hair spark with delicious pain as he pulls, angling my head and deepening the kiss.
The hard lines of his body pin me against the wall, our skin wet and slipping together, creating a diabolical friction that heats me up and revs my pulse.
His fingers tease my thrumming center, but it’s his primal kiss that gets my juices flowing. His tongue moves with expert strokes, licking the seam of my lips and curling deeper, flicking and rubbing and claiming.
I can come from just his kiss. The spinning, whirling, all-consuming sensation he creates with the movement of his mouth should be illegal. It makes me mindless, starving, horny as fuck, and my inner muscles clench to the point of pain.
“Cole, I need…I need you inside.”
“So impatient.” He bites my lips. “That’s the girl I remember.”
He bends his knees and ducks his head to latch onto a nipple. Then he plunges his fingers into my pussy. Two, three…I don’t know how many fingers, but holy fuck, they spark greedy flames straight to my core.
My hips start to move, and my hands rake through his hair as I hold on and ride his fingers. Pleasure surges through me, and I know I won’t last long. Hell, I was ready to come the instant he took my mouth.
“This is going to be fast.” I drop my head back against the wall, my legs shaking against the onslaught of stimulation.
His teeth sink into my breast. His fingers curl inside me, and his thumb circles my clit. I’m a goner. The orgasm detonates, knocking the air from my lungs and the strength from my legs.
He holds me up, banging me hard and fast with those strong fingers as he laves my nipples and stares up at me with so much love and devotion.
I melt against him, boneless and satiated, hugging his neck and peppering breathy kisses across his face. “I needed that. Thank you.”
It’s a sappy whisper of honesty, but the possessive glint in his eyes suggests my words have a greater meaning to him. I just admitted that I haven’t come in a while, that I didn’t orgasm during the two nights I spent with Trace.
He finishes washing me, lavishing extra attention on the parts that’ll soon be covered up. Then he dries us off and leads me into my bedroom.
I enter the closet and change into a soft pair of blue velour pants and a matching hoodie. When I step out, I find him sitting on the corner of my bed, with his elbows on his thighs and a towel around his waist.
His jaw works, and he rubs it, lifting his gaze to mine. “His penthouse only has one bedroom.”
I don’t know how he knows that, but I can guess where he’s going with it, and my stomach caves in.
We won’t resent you for the actions and decisions you make.
His words sink in, giving me strength as I lower to the bed beside him.
“You slept in his bed.” His hand clenches between his knees. “With him.”
It isn’t a question, so I remain silent, waiting for him to continue.
“I’ll be sleeping in here from now on.” He stands and strides toward the door.
“Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t trust your self-restraint.”
“And I don’t trust his.”
We engage in a silent glaring stand-off before I sigh and lower my head. Arguing is futile. All I can do is give and love and listen, with the hope that I won’t lose my voice or be used in the process.