Love Triangle Six Books of Torn Desire - Willow Winters Page 0,166

over the blunt satin of him, feel the shake of his body—and the moment when he breaks.

Firm hands grasp my body and turn me over, facing down. I pushed him toward this, but it’s still a surprise to feel him arrange me, knees beneath my body, a pillow supporting me. He pushes inside me without preamble, and I’m glad I can hide my soft cry of pain in the mattress.

“Harper,” he says, his voice rough-edged with desire.

“I’m okay,” I manage to gasp, because I’m stretched and aching—but I’m telling the truth. I can survive anything to feel Sutton come apart. “Please, Sutton. I want you.”

He groans his surrender, covering my back with his body. “Christ.”

His cock pushes against the walls. He’s thicker than Christopher was, or maybe I’m just that sore now, but either way I wince with the effort to let him in. Until his large hand delves beneath my stomach and between my legs. He finds my clit with rough fingers, his touch knowing and merciless. He pinches me hard enough to distract me from the stretch. Hard enough that I’m pushing back so he’ll give me more.

“You’re incredible. Do you know that? You’re a goddamn miracle and you walked into my office. How could I not want you? How could I not have you?”

I’m glad I don’t have to answer those questions, because I don’t know. My lips can’t form words when he fucks me hard and fast, letting the desire from last night build, pull us into climax. His body uses mine in a way that feels primal. A sharp pain on my shoulder. He bites down hard, which sends me over the edge. Orgasm clenches my body as he rides toward his own release. In the last minute he pulls out and spills, hot and thick at the small of my back.

My body collapses, slick with sweat and arousal and come.

Sutton strokes a hand down the side of my thigh, a caress that says what words can’t. How I’ve pleased him. How he needed that and I gave it to him. There’s animal pride in me, even as I lie in a limp puddle on the lace bedspread.

There’s running water and then he’s back with a warm washcloth. He cleans my back and then turns me over, tucking me into bed. My eyes are closed when he joins me, curling his body around me as if he can protect me from morning. As if he can keep me when it comes.

His breathing evens out, and I know he’s asleep. But no matter how tired I am, I’m not going to fall asleep again. I’m wide awake in his arms, counting down the hours until I’ll slip away. It was everything I wanted it to be—sensual and mind blowing. I’m halfway in love with Sutton, lying here, but the sad part is, I’m still in love with Christopher Bardot.

Somehow I’ve only made it worse.

Chapter Nineteen

A COMPLICATED MAN

When I was little we had a series of condos in Beverly Hills, because Mom wouldn’t consider living anywhere else in LA. Maybe it’s because I grew up with her that I could never condemn the rich. It was taught to her the way other families tell their children to say please and thank you, the idea that you were defined by the zip code you lived in.

It wasn’t only pride. It was life or death.

I understand that survival instinct, because she taught it to me.

There would be some new husband, always. Our refrigerator would suddenly be full again. That’s how I knew it was happening. He would pay the bills that were overdue. He would pay out the lease so we could move in with him. All these things were so normal I didn’t know there was any other way to find food or shelter.

Maybe art saved me, because talent is the great equalizer. There’s no way to pay for more of it. No way to trade a roll of cash for the hours spent late into the night, working and tearing your hair out. It was the whisper in my ear that there’s something else that mattered.

In the end even art could not defy that survival instinct.

Those paintings supported us after Daddy died. They paid for the two-bedroom condo in Baldwin Hills. There are ceramic picnic tables in the courtyard with mosaics of palm trees etched into them. Our window overlooks the parking lot.

Absolutely no one from our old life would speak to Mom if they knew she