when he drops his weight on my bed, he makes that tiny, too.
Propping his body up against my pillows, he tucks an arm behind his head and stares over at me. I’m still standing near the door, attempting to swallow down a lump in my throat.
Dread lines my spine as I close the door and walk over to sit on the side of the bed.
I should have known better than to get close to him. For as big as he is, Damon’s also fast.
He lunges forward and wraps an arm around my waist, giving me enough time to squeak before I’m laid flat over the bed and he’s on top of me.
Both his forearms are braced on either side of my head, those gorgeous eyes of his sparkling with humor. I’d be crushed if he wasn’t supporting his weight, but his lower body pins mine in place, his heat sinking through my clothes to caress my skin.
“How have you been?”
Something many people wouldn’t guess about Damon is that he’s insanely playful. Yes, he has a temper to rival even the worst hothead, but when he’s not angry about something, he’s laid back. Funny, even. Not as serious about things as his brother.
That’s what I learned in the time I spent with the twins, those weeks when they were my boys and nobody else’s.
There are many differences between them besides the freckle, you just have to know them well enough to see it.
Where Ezra is darker in personality, more serious about things, Damon is the lighter side, his outlook on life far more easygoing.
But this?
How we’re positioned right now?
This is more than playful.
It’s dangerous.
Planting my hands against his chest, I smile at the humor in his eyes, but also know just how loose his trigger is. I don’t want to hurt him. I care about him more than he’ll ever know.
He’s just not Ezra.
Unfortunately, my efforts to shove him off are useless. Damon is much stronger than me. Much larger.
“I’m good, but I’d be better sitting up,” I tease, hoping like hell he’ll catch the not-so-subtle hint.
Something I can’t interpret flashes behind his eyes, quickly there and gone again before he nods his head and rolls off me, allowing me to sit up.
When his hand catches mine, I glance down at him.
“Why are you here?”
Another flicker of something, and it’s enough to tug at my heart.
I did this.
I caused it.
Nobody can be blamed but me.
“Because I thought things were good between us.”
He gives me that damn crooked smile I love so much.
“After what happened at the party, I thought the three of us could try this again.”
The three of us.
That’s the kicker.
It was never supposed to be the three of us in the end.
Only two.
That’s the promise I made.
The mistake I made.
It was one or two slip-ups, if you can call them that. Moments when I should have thought better about what I was doing.
Moments like now.
There’s something else about the twins that’s so unlike each other.
While both are feral, wild in their own way, there’s a distinct temperature difference in the way they function.
Ezra is much colder than Damon. He’s power and control and domination, while Damon is hot, his actions always overtaking his thoughts, his instincts driving him without concern for the consequences.
Cold and hot.
Calculating and spontaneous.
Night and day.
Colorless and a broad spectrum of rainbow prisms.
Everybody thinks they’re the same.
But they’re not.
Not when you know them like I do.
And that’s how I got myself in trouble.
I was having fun. I was shrugging off obligation. And I was fooling myself to believe that we could protect our hearts.
We couldn’t.
“That shouldn’t have happened,” I finally answer him as I fight to bat away all the memories rushing me now.
“It was fun,” he laughs, his fingers tangling tighter with mine when I attempt to pull away. He pulls me down so that I’m practically on top of him, his hand reaching up to trap my chin.
Voice a soft purr, Damon searches my eyes when he asks, “Why not? Are we not good enough for you anymore? I heard you traveled the world. How many men did you find who could compete with us?”
None.
There’s the simple answer.
Not one of them had the same electric shock, the same spark that short-circuits me whenever our eyes dance together.
Not one.
But then, it wasn’t Damon I was comparing them to.
And that’s the problem.
Damon shifts and he’s above me again, our eyes locked, a question rolling through his expression that I’m silently begging him not to ask.
I love