Chapter 35 #2
“Thomas and Troy? Different story, Dove. Troy lost his mum when he was really young. But Thomas? His mum didn’t die–she left. Abandoning him with a father who drank himself into oblivion. And that? That fucked him up in ways he’ll never admit.”
My chest tightens. Losing someone is agony, but being left behind by choice? That’s a wound that never scabs over. I know how it feels. That kind of hollow, the questions that gnaw at you in the dark.
Maybe that’s why Thomas hides behind his conviction—admitting the truth would mean facing his past. “So, what? Marrying Lucilla was his way of proving he’s better than his mother?”
Cyan’s beard grazes against my shoulder. “Something like that, and Troy respects his brother’s vow. They were raised to believe a man keeps his word. Doesn’t matter if it costs him.”
I swallow. It’s noble and tragic as hell, because staying for the sake of duty isn’t the same as staying for love.
“I admire his resolve... But if you’re miserable, you have to know when to walk away.
” Cyan shifts again behind me, adjusting his cock, so that his chest now presses flush against my back. He’s warm and solid.
“Good thing we’re compatible, yeah?” He’s pushing me again.
This time, I don’t immediately push back.
The thought has been gnawing at me all night.
Lucilla’s words, the way she clung to her wine like it was the only thing keeping her upright.What if that’s me someday?
What if I fall for him, and ten years from now I’m just another woman in this world?
Trapped, pretending not to notice his absence, his betrayals?
The realization drops into my chest like a stone, cold and immovable.
For once, I don’t shove the thought away.
I let it settle. Cyan doesn’t say another word. Neither do I.
Because it isn’t just him I should fear. It’s me. Part of me wants him desperately.The part of me that isn’t running anymore. That part terrifies me most of all.
* * *
Monday morning, the shower is scorching hot, steam curling around me like a phantom embrace. I press one palm to the cool tile and bow my head.
I shouldn’t be doing this. I already know that.
But the ache is unbearable. A constant, pulsing reminder of everything I refuse to give in to.
My hand drifts lower, brushing the sensitive skin between my thighs.
The first touch rips a shudder through me.
My body is desperate–needy in a way I dislike admitting.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying and failing to think of anyone else.
But all I imagine is Cyan, even hearing that delicious accent.
“Dove, you’re playing with fire.” My breath breaks as I press my fingers to my clit, teasing the swollen bundle of nerves beneath my touch.
My knees nearly buckle. A whimper escapes before I bite it back.
I know exactly how Cyan would touch me if I let him; I can feel it—his calloused fingers parting me, his thumb circling torturously slow, his breath hot at my ear as he whispers every filthy thing he wants to do to my body.
The thought snaps something inside me. Pleasure crashes over me, sharp, humiliatingly easy.
I’m trembling against the shower wall, panting his name into the steam.
Yet…it’s not enough. The tiny release leaves me hungrier, my body betraying me at every turn.
I want more. I need more. But I am not willing to pay Cyan’s price.
These past nights, I’ve tried. Mercy me I’ve tried.
To ignore the way, he touches me when we lie together.
With his arm around my waist, resting low on my stomach.
His fingers idly trace my belly button. The bastard is patient, confident, and smug.
The worst part? I know that the longer this continues, every single night, the closer I am to caving and giving him what he wants.
Squeezing my lids shut, the images from last night flood my thoughts.
My pretending I don’t feel him. But I do, every inch of him.
The solid press of his chest and the heat rolling off his body. The thick, heavy length of his cock settling against my ass like a brand burned into me.
If I shifted back—just a little–and grind…
luckily for me, my pride wins. I didn’t follow through with that train of thought.But the dreams don’t care.
Every night my mind betrays me, conjuring every filthy, unspeakable thing I refuse to allow myself.
Cyan’s mouth on my skin, his hands pinning me down, his cock stretching me open, claiming me until there’s nothing left in my world but him.
I wake up aching, my whole-body pulsing with need, grateful he isn’t in bed beside me.
If he were… I don’t trust myself not to beg.
It’s Friday afternoon, and work is hell.The numbers blur across the screen.
I blink hard, trying to focus. Normally, spreadsheets calm me, the logic, the predictability. Numbers always make sense to me.
Cyan MacBrady does not. Yet here I am, staring blankly at an income statement while my mind drifts exactly where it shouldn’t.
I shift in my chair, squeezing my thighs together.
It’s been a week since he came back. A week of sleeping beside him, pretending I’m unaffected while my body betrays me every damn night.
I’m restless, stretched thin, like there’s an itch under my skin I’m unable to reach.
I don’t know how much longer I can fight it.
What harm could there be in giving in just once?
A dark voice whispers. I press my fingertips to my temples. What the hell is wrong with me?
But I already know the answer. It isn’t just the sex.
It’s him and that truth terrifies me. Cyan isn’t meant for someone like me.
I’m not Rosa, I don’t belong in this world.
But right now? It doesn’t feel like a choice.
It feels like fate. I stare at the screen again, but all I see is him.
Cyan’s hand on my hips, his breath hot against my throat, the way he’d bend me over this desk and make me stop pretending.
I shake my head and force my control back. If this continues, I’ll be one heartbeat away from letting him ruin me.