Love Triangle Six Books of Torn Desire - Willow Winters Page 0,74

intoxicating pleasure.

“That’s it.” He circles and rubs my bundle of nerves, spiraling me toward the crest. “You’re going to come now.”

His other hand wraps around my throat, and that does it. The heart-pounding pressure against my airway ignites fireworks across my vision and shoves me into a climax so explosive I feel like I’m shattering into a million pieces.

“There’s my girl.” His thrusts lose rhythm, jerking and deepening. “Sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

My head falls back as I catch my breath, panting and moaning beneath the erratic stab of his hips. His hand slides from my throat to my face and pulls my mouth to his. Then he kisses me.

This kiss is different, lacking the usual hostility. It’s affectionate and tender, full of soul-stirring languish. I melt against his lips, feeding, sipping, falling into the gentle slide, the roaming strokes, and the ecstasy of love.

I love him, but I don’t forgive him. And as he comes, I see it all in his eyes—his pain and pleasure, remorse and devotion, heartache and passion. He said he loves me, too, but he ruined it.

“Danni.” He chokes, groaning deeply, gutturally, his entire body shaking as he grinds against me and pants through his release.

As he comes down, his forehead drops to mine, and he holds me, nuzzles my neck, his hands caressing my face.

The urge to curl in on myself shakes my shoulders. What have I done? What am I going to do now? I can’t be with him. I can’t love him.

When he lifts his head, his expression’s dazed, shocked, like he can’t believe he’s here, that he did this, with me.

He looks spooked.

My chest clenches as he pulls out and tucks himself away. I never saw his cock. He didn’t even take off his slacks, and now he’s avoiding my eyes.

“Trace?” I pull the ruined dress around my nudity, reaching for something, anything to say. “I don’t know what to do. I can’t…” Can’t be alone right now. “We should talk.”

With his back to me, he collects his clothes from the floor. Then he stands there, facing away. No chin raised in victory. No whispered apologies. Just a distant man, sullied with the come of two women. And, in the dissonance of my breaking heart, his silence.

His hand clenches at his side and releases. A jagged breath, and he strides out the door.

My insides cave in, beaten and bruised. As much as I want to call out to him and beg him to stay, I won’t. I’m not his girl.

The door shuts behind him, and the hollow sound of desertion ricochets through me. I roll toward the mirrored wall, tucking my knees to my chest. Pressure builds in my head, and the stupid tears spring up with a vengeance.

I’ve never felt so used, so…thrown away. But I’m just as much to blame. I could’ve said no.

I wanted sex tonight, and now that I’ve broken that crippling dry spell, I feel worse. Because intimacy is what I desperately crave—intimacy with a man who loves me.

For a poignant moment, Trace gave me a glimpse of that. Then he took it away.

I don’t even want to think about our lack of protection. I have an IUD, but what about disease? Did he use a condom with Marlo?

Nausea roils in my stomach. He fucked her…an hour before he had sex with me. Maybe he’s on his way back to her now. To hold her in his bed. To love her the way I ache to be loved.

Cole would’ve never done this to me. He was nothing if not faithful and one-hundred-percent devoted.

Waves of pain smash into my chest, and I slam a fist against the floor, pounding it as I cry ugly, self-loathing sobs. “I miss you, Cole. I miss you so much.”

Before he died, he ripped out my heart and held it between us, dripping with the blood of dreams. Old anger surges to the surface, cracking my ribs and burning up my skin. He shouldn’t have left me. He put his job first and destroyed everything we had.

I need a drink. A lot of drinks. It’s the only way to numb the pain and forget.

Blinking through blurred vision, I find my reflection in the busted hole in the mirror. My splintered, pitiful, broken face stares back, judging me.

Are you giving up, you pathetic bitch?

I’m comfortable here, lying on the floor in a pool of regret. I’ve grown addicted to sadness. It’s familiar, reliable, effortless.

I know that’s resignation talking. Giving up is a whole