by Pam Godwin
“Sure, we can. But we won’t.” He frames my face in his hands. “We won’t do that to you.” His eyes flicker. “I’ll just pound the ever-loving hell out of him.”
“No, you will not.”
He laughs without smiling. “I can’t tell you how many times we’ve beaten each other to near death over the years.”
“When? Before you met me?”
“Yeah.” His lips twist with a sinister delight. “He’s a stubborn son of a bitch. Sometimes the only way to set him straight is to break his ugly face.”
“You did that when you were friends?”
He shrugs.
My stomach cramps. “That’s fucked up.”
“Ready to change the subject?”
“Definitely.”
If I never hear about his relationship with Cole again, it’ll be too soon. Except that whole exchange doesn’t sit right with me.
I squint at him. “You just manipulated that conversation, didn’t you? So we’d stop talking about him?”
Something flashes across his expression, an almost smile, before he drags me across his chest and holds my face inches from his. “So goddamned smart and beautiful. I’m fucking doomed.”
“Doomed?” I shake my head, grinning. “Now you’re just being dramatic.”
“Am I?” He brushes my hair from my cheek, watching the movement of his fingers as they slide around my ear.
“I need to ask you an important question.”
His eyes flit back to mine.
“If you and I go our separate ways—” I reposition myself on his suddenly rigid chest and hold his unwavering gaze. “Can you just try to imagine that scenario for a second? See yourself far into the future? You could find love again, right?”
“I’m not doing this.” He pushes me off his body and perches on the edge of the bed with his back to me.
“Why not?” I crawl toward him. “I’m just trying to get a feel for—”
“You’re trying to determine who will be less heartbroken.” He sneers at me over his shoulder. “Do you really want to base a decision on that?”
My breath catches at the scorn in his tone, and I lean back, putting several feet between us. “I’m trying to reduce the amount of devastation.”
“Alright, let’s play out that scenario.” He twists at the waist, glaring blue flames in my direction. “You decide who’s more likely to find happiness without you, and you let him go. That leaves you with a sensitive, temperamental douchebag who can’t find his dick without your hands leading the way. We both know who that is.”
“Don’t be an asshole.”
“It’s a fucking cop out.”
“You’re being an asshole.” I shove off the bed and pace through the room as helplessness quakes through my limbs.
“I am an asshole, Danni. I’m not going to alter my personality to sway your vote for first place.”
“This isn’t a competition.” I ball my hands at my sides and take a wide stance before him.
“You’re turning it into one.”
“That’s not fair,” I whisper and stumble back, my heart banging against my ribcage. How am I turning this into a competition? “I didn’t ask for this. I just want to do the right thing.”
My throat closes, and tears sneak up. I turn away and pace to the wall of windows, resting my palms against the cool glass.
“Cole and I agreed on one thing tonight.” His reflection in the window rises from the bed, approaching my back. “Neither of us will pressure you into making a decision.”
“What do you mean?” I watch his mirrored silhouette prowl closer.
“We’re not putting you on a timetable. You don’t need to do anything.” He pauses inches behind me. “Just let it happen on its own.”
“Let the decision happen?” I roll the words around in my mouth, tasting the idea. “Like fate?”
“Yes.” He touches his brow to the back of my head. “It’s the way you approach everything else in your life. All heart and no plan.”
“I don’t think either one of you wants to wait around for fate. I won’t string you along.”
“I can assure you that you’re not stringing me along.” He slides his hands over my shoulder, caressing one down my arm while the other curls around my throat and tightens. “I’m in control. Always.”
“But I’m making the rules.” I clutch the fingers around my neck as an avalanche of desire crashes through me.
His growing hardness against my backside hitches my breath and trembles my legs. He’s power and temptation concentrated in one strong hand, securing me in place and demanding my attention.
Oh, how I want him. I want his dominance, his hunger, and his stamina. I press back against him, sagging against his hard chest while warring with the need to pull away.
He shifts closer against my back, adding upward pressure against my neck—a silent command to lift on my tiptoes. When I do, he slides the swollen head of his erection down my buttcrack and nudges it against my pussy. He’s so damn hard I’m surprised he hasn’t torn a hole through his boxer briefs.
“I want inside your tight little body.” Squeezing my throat, he splays his other hand over my stomach and dips lower, lower, sinking between my legs to rub the crotch of my panties. “If I feel like forcing the issue, I can have you begging for it within seconds. Do I make myself clear?”
I nod in the shackle of his hand. He’s in charge, and I have no complaints. It’s the way we both like it. He takes the weight of worry and decision off my shoulders, and I trust him to honor my limits.
Except my stupid rules mean I have a lot of limits at the moment.
He releases my throat and straightens the collar of the borrowed shirt around my neck. Then he braces a hand on the window above my head and points behind him. “Get on the bed and tuck yourself in.”
The harshness in his tone makes me jump to follow his command. Not because I’m afraid of him, but because I hear his restraint unraveling in the strain of his words. He’s painfully aroused, and toying with him would be unnecessary and cruel.
I slip under the covers and watch as he reaches toward his groin, head down, breathing heavily. His back is to me, but I can guess what he’s doing. I’ve seen him hold off his release by squeezing the base of his cock. He’s doing that now, not that he’s on the brink of coming, but maybe it helps him stifle his impulses.
He remains in that position for several minutes before his breaths taper off and his shoulders relax. When he turns toward the bed, his cock is still engorged, but soft enough to bend downward in his briefs.
He crosses the room, flicks off the light, and slides in beside me. I roll into him as his arms come around me and his leg rests over mine, effectively caging me in. I love being swaddled in his embrace and burrow closer, taking shelter in his strength.
Dark silence crawls in around us, grasping at my breaths and pillaging the air for answers. His quiet stillness suggests he said everything he wanted to say. But the discussion feels incomplete.
He wants me to let the decision happen on its own and claims there’s no hurry. That sounds ideal—all things considered—but I don’t know how to sit back and rest on this. I need a resolution.
This thing between the three of us is a delicate balancing act. Even now, I’m sleeping with one man after I refused the other from my bed last night. I have my reasons, but it still niggles, begging to be examined.
“Trace?”
“Hmm?” His deep voice penetrates my chest.
“I want to tell you something, but I don’t want you to use it against Cole.”
He stiffens against me. “I hate that you’re thinking about him while lying in my arms.”
“I’m thinking about the situation and everything that comes with dating both of you.”
“I told you to let it go.”
“You told me to let the choice happen on its own.” I flatten a palm on his chest, chasing the tempo of his heart with my fingertips. “But there are o
ther decisions I have to make every time I’m with one of you.”
“Go on.”
“I’m sleeping in your bed. With you. I’m not doing that with Cole.”
“I’m afraid to ask why.” He runs his fingers through my hair, petting me.
“You already know why.”
“Because he has no control over his dick.” His hand pauses. “Do you know how many women he’s fucked?”
My molars crash together. “You don’t need to be hateful. I know all about his women. I also know it’s been years since he’s had sex. So cut him some slack.”
“Is that what you’re going to do the next time you see him? Give him some leeway because he traded the love of his life for a job?”
“You know what? Forget it.” I push against his chest. “You really are an asshole.”
His arms tighten, refusing to let go. After a moment of struggling, I slump, too tired to wage a physical fight against a man twice my size.
He tucks me against him and releases a heavy breath. “I’m sorry. I was out of line.”
I pin my lips together, still sore over his rude reaction.
“Tell me what you wanted to tell me.” He nuzzles my neck. “I promise not to show my ass.”
“No.” I wriggle away from him.
“Danni,” he says, all surly and grumbly.
“Instead of growling at me, maybe you should try to convince me nicely?”
“Roll over.”
That’s barely an octave away from a growl. I shouldn’t give into it, but curiosity wins. When I shift to lie on my chest, he climbs over me in the dark and straddles my hips.
I lift my head to see what he’s up to then immediately face-plant, because sweet mother of God, his fingers…along my spine…working my muscles…heaven.
Moaning into the pillow, I liquefy into butter beneath his strong, magical, amazing-as-fuck hands. “Don’t stop.”
“I’ve heard you say that before, while eating a pillow for a different reason.”
“This might be better than sex.”
He yanks the shirt up, exposing my back, and his fingers dig in around my shoulder blade.
“Oh God.” My eyes roll back in my head. “Right there.”
“I’ve heard that—”
“Shut it.”
“You’re really tight.”
I half-snort, half-grunt. “Hilarious.”
“No, your muscles here…” He rubs a knot in my shoulder while shoving the shirt out of the way. “I’ll put you on a regular schedule with the hotel’s in-house masseuse. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before with the constant beating you put on your body.”
“Don’t do that. It’ll take away from our time together. Besides, I prefer your hands.” I sigh at the pleasure. “Jesus, that’s good.”
He continues to work my back, breathing through the movements like a pro. I drift into a blissful coma, sinking peacefully into almost-sleep when I remember what prompted him to do this.
“What I was going to tell you earlier,” I say, “is that I don’t have any misgivings about sharing a bed with you. Because I trust you.”
His hands fall still, his voice cautious. “You trust me and not Cole?”
“I trust your self-control.” I squirm beneath him, forcing him to slide off me as I flip to my back.
We settle into our favorite position, lying on our sides, limbs entangled, face to face.
“I don’t want to take advantage of your restraint.” I trail my fingers along his jaw and down the strong column of his neck. “I’m afraid I’m going to touch you, tease you, and push too hard because I know you won’t cross the line and break my rules. You’ll keep your needs bottled up, and I’ll keep pushing and push—”
“Danni.” He grips my wrist and holds my hand against his chest, his eyes pitch-black in the darkness. “Do those things with me. Touch me. Use me. Push me all you want. Take whatever makes you happy.”
“No, I can’t.” My heart stammers. “It’s wrong.”
“You can’t take advantage of what I’m freely offering, and I’m offering everything—time, support, respect, love, protection… The list goes on. Just know that you have me. I’ll be what you need for as long as you let me.”
In the spirit of letting decisions happen on their own, I coast through the next couple days without forethought, itinerary, or course of action. The only schedule I’m committed to is working at Bissara three to midnight, five nights a week.
The morning after I stayed with Trace, we slept in, lazy and contented. Later that day, with his hand in mine, I called my parents and my closest friend, Nikolai, to tell them about Cole. They took the news about as well as Bree did, offering their condolences and support while I figured things out.
After I ended the calls, Trace and I didn’t discuss it, focusing instead on each other until I went to work.
There’s something to be said about spending time with an incredible man without sex in the equation. We talked and cuddled, kissed and flirted, whispered and laughed more that day than we have in the six months I’ve known him. I enjoyed it so much I stayed with him two nights in a row.
The third night is now upon me, and as I hop off the stage and end my shift, Trace meets me at the entrance of the restaurant.
Pressing a hand against my lower back, he turns to guide me toward the elevator that will take me to his penthouse.
I didn’t have a plan for tonight, but the need to see Cole digs my feet in.
“I’m going home.” I pivot to face him.
A black look shrouds his expression. “Bored with me already?”
He assured me he could handle the oscillation of this dating thing for as long as it takes. I also know he’s prepared himself for the inevitable nights I spend with Cole.
“I wasn’t sure how to tell you…” I peer up at him, feigning a grimace. “I’ve been bored with you for months.”
He chuckles, a gloriously dark and gravelly sound. Then he grabs my waist and lifts me to capture my mouth in a plundering kiss.
I fold my legs around his hips and feed him my moans, my desire, and my love. Our lips remain locked as he carries me down the empty corridor. We continue licking and nibbling as he blindly taps in the access code on the panel for my private dressing room.
The door opens, and I break the kiss, dropping my feet to the floor. Restless and dreading what comes next, I smooth my hands over the crisp lines of his suit.
“I had an amazing last couple of days with you. Because of you.” I straighten his yellow tie and step back. “Turns out, you were right. Assholes make my pulse race.”
“And your panties wet.” He pins me with a knowing look, the smug ass.
“I’ll see you here tomorrow.”
Two more days of work. Then I get a two-day break. I don’t know what I’ll do on my days off or who I’ll be doing it with, and I kind of like not knowing. There’s no expectations. Nothing to fret about.
I slip into the dressing room and close the door partway, leaving a foot-wide crack filled with stony blue eyes and a gorgeous scowl that I want to kiss right off his face.
Leaning in with his hands on the doorframe, he regards me for a weighted moment, licks his lips, and whispers, “I love you.”
“Love you more.”
“Impossible.” He straightens his spine then his suit jacket. His hands slip into his pockets, and he turns on his heel, vanishing around the corner.
I close the door and sag beneath the force of my feelings. The desperate urge to run after him and hug him with all my might is a powerful pull. But it would only make it harder to say goodbye.
It’s time to go home. I haven’t seen or spoken to Cole in two days. He started his new job tonight, and I want to hear about it.
And I miss him.
As much as I already miss Trace.
Fuck me, my life is a mess.
They gave me their hearts, willfully, recklessly. If I choose one, I break the other. What the f
uck am I supposed to do?
I want to keep them both. But even if we were the last three people on Earth, that wouldn’t happen. Not with two men as possessive as Cole and Trace.
I take a shower and pull on jeans and an oversized sweater and coat. It’s after one in the morning when I drive home and park the Midget in my empty driveway. No motorcycle. Cole’s still at work?
Bracing against the cold, I race inside, through the back door, the dance room, the kitchen, and pause. I didn’t lock up.
Since Cole has his own keys, I retrace my steps to the back of the house. As I pass through the dance studio, the mirror on the far wall catches my eye. I swivel toward it, squinting at the pristine new glass, and press a hand against my tightening chest.
I broke that mirror three years ago in a drunken rage of grief. Then I left it, splintered and sad, as a reminder of what I look like when I give up.
And Cole replaced it.
Anger lances through me, spiking my pulse. But I shake it off. He didn’t know. He was just trying to be helpful.
Do I even need the reminder anymore? The night I dragged myself out of that dark place, I hoped I would look back someday and appreciate the distance I covered.
I started dancing again. And smiling. And living. And I fell in love. That’s a pretty good distance. A happy distance.
The near future won’t be easy, but I like to think I’m past the hardest obstacle of my life. Cole’s alive and breathing and able to share those dimples with those lucky enough to know him.
As if on cue, the purr of his motorcycle vibrates along the side of the house. It shuts off, and I rush toward the door, yanking it open and shivering against the chilly air.
Cast in shadows, his dark silhouette swings off the bike and approaches in long, unhurried strides. I step back, making room as he enters.
“You just get home?” Glancing at my coat and gloves, he sets his helmet on the chair by the door.
“A few minutes ago.” I lock up and pull off my outerwear. “Thank you for fixing the mirror.”
“You’re welcome.” He shrugs out of his leather jacket, takes my coat, and hangs everything on the hooks behind the door. “How did the glass break?”
“It got in a fight with a bottle of whiskey.”