L.O.V.E.

by Krissy Daniels

  “She left you?”

  Cole tore the cap off his head, roughed a hand through his hair. Chin down, he whispered, “I’d been emotionally unfaithful.”

  Painful knocks invaded my chest.

  His tortured gaze ripped my chest wide open.

  “And because I struggled with that sin, I would’ve forgiven her. But she didn’t give me the chance.” With a flick of his wrist, his hat landed at the end of my counter. “And when that door slammed behind her, my first thought was…I’m free.”

  He stepped between my thighs, lifted my glasses off my face and set them down next to my fruit bowl. My eyes burned with unshed tears.

  “I’m free to be with the woman who’s invaded my thoughts.” He licked his lips, stared at my mouth. “The woman whose kiss haunts my dreams.” Warm, trembling hands cupped my face. “I’m free to explore this extraordinary woman who makes me laugh, makes me want, makes me fucking crazy.”

  Cole went for the kill. Lips, tongue, teeth, moans—God, the noises he made. Auditory porn.

  He sucked any fight clean out of me.

  Skin to skin, breath to breath, his soul for mine in a frantic exchange. I was lost to the euphoria, the silent confessions.

  My doubts withered, turned to dust, floated away on the soft waves of his hums.

  My legs opened, inviting him closer. Heat and denim filled the empty, aching space. My shirt disappeared. His lips traveled lower. Mine remained parted, drawing precious oxygen while he tasted and ravished my neck, my collarbone, then moved lower still to my breasts in a manic exploration.

  Cole sucked and nibbled and licked, giving my breasts equal attention, driving me mad. And his touch? Sunshine to a morning glory. A desert rain. A baby’s first breath. I was reborn under the heat of those fingers.

  He pinched a tight bud between his thumb and forefinger, giving a gentle rub and twist, causing a flood of heat between my legs. He let go, then pulled the skin between his teeth, and sucked in slow, languid pulls, a rhythmic pulse that carried down my spine, pooled in my belly, and swelled.

  He sucked. Relentless. Determined. My hips moved, commanded by that pull, seeking more. Desperate for the friction, I cinched my legs around his thighs, writhing against the hard bulge behind his denim, silently cursing the barrier between us.

  Cole slid one arm around my back, never breaking the seal of his lips on my breast, continuing his slow, deliberate pulls, then rolled his hips, helping me bump and grind against his steel-hard heat. Mindless and molten and delirious with need, I begged for more, my head falling back. He held my weight, sucking, my breast a thousand pounds of lust, and the room became unbearably hot. I lost sense of everything but our bodies and the power of that pull, his mouth commanding me to… “Oh, God, Cole. Oh, God. I’m coming. Fuck. Fuck.”

  My eyes slammed shut, my toes curled, and I came, a full body tremor, gasping for breath, strange noises coming from my lips. I hugged his head, holding the man hostage to my chest.

  And when the ecstasy melted to utter devastating exhaustion, Cole rested his head between my boobs but held me steady, the broad expanse of his back rising and falling, and when I gathered my faculties, I raked my fingers through his hair and forced him to look up.

  “What the hell was that?” Death by nipple-gasm, I suspected. Because, I swear, I had caught a glimpse of the pearly gates before crashing back to earth.

  Eyes wild with lust, he begged, “I need you.”

  Three simple words.

  I held all the power, but God, I was powerless because there was nothing I could deny the man. “Take me to my room, Cole.”

  He carried me with impossible grace and breathtaking strength. My back hit the mattress. I shimmied out of my pajama bottoms, my skin tight and tingly, my insides liquid heat.

  With sure hands, Cole worked the button of his jeans, those muscles in his arms bulging and flexing. Before dropping his denim to the floor, he pulled a stack of condoms from the pocket and tossed them on the bed. A stack. Not one, but two, three…oh shit, five.

  Face flushed, lips parted, gaze weighted, Cole stripped naked, revealing years of conditioning, his body thick and defined. Dark hair covered his chest and blazed a trail over ripped abs down to his heavy erection. Oh, my Lord. Perfection.

  Cole prowled over me, admiring every inch of flesh as he passed, eyes alight with appreciation, and I’d never felt more cherished. I grabbed a foil packet, ripped that baby open, and did the honors, my fingers trembling, not from nerves but anticipation.

  Wet lips met mine, and his cock nudged my opening.

  I’d waited my entire life for that one singular connection. Slow and steady would not do. I curled my legs around his waist, dug my heels into his ass, and pushed him inside me, and oh, shit…the stretch. The burn. The delicious fullness.

  Something akin to a moan escaped my lips. Cole growled in my ear. Then, he started to move, and oh, sweet mother of mercy, the man was fluid and precise. As if we’d danced that dance a thousand times before, my body rolled into his thrusts, our hips finding a frantic rhythm.

  He slid one hand behind my head, gripping my hair, tilting my head to accept his mouth. But before he plunged, he whispered, “I knew you’d be perfect.”

  Cole fucked my mouth with his tongue before pulling back and mumbling, “I knew you were meant to be mine.”

  My heart soared to the moon. My body melted under Cole’s attention, his command, his thrusts, grunts, and kisses. God, the man kissed me into oblivion. He staked his claim, smothering me in orgasms and promises.

  We used the last condom on Saturday morning before breakfast. We ate. We laughed. We planned dates. We walked to the corner store and bought more Trojans.

  I couldn’t get enough of those dimples. That smile could inspire a thousand paintings, a million love songs.

  My heart, my body, my soul was so full of Cole Adams. By Saturday evening, we crashed on my couch, bodies tangled, and fell asleep watching Ray Donavan.

  Somewhere around midnight, Cole carried me back to bed. We lay in the dark, face to face, his hand on my hip, his erection tickling my thigh.

  “I’m a goner,” he whispered, our breaths mingling. “I’m not letting you go.” He rolled me to my back, kissed me dizzy, and as he slid into me, whispered. “You’re my one.”

  My heart soared so high I lost my breath. I’d known from the beginning he was my one. To hear him say the words changed me on a molecular level.

  Cole made love to me one last time, kissing the tears from my cheeks, and when we fell, tangled, into slumber, I knew my life would never be the same.

  I woke, a heavy weight in my gut, an angry warning in my chest.

  “I don’t understand. How could this happen?” Cole’s gruff voice came from my kitchen.

  I stretched my sore limbs, headed naked to the bathroom and, unable to tame my rattling nerves, hurried through my morning routine.

  Ten minutes later, I found Cole on my couch, elbows to knees, head resting in his hands.

  Dear Lord, he was beautiful, wearing nothing but boxers, his muscles taught, hair a rumpled mess.

  “Good morning,” came out raspy and breathy. I stepped close and roughed my fingers through his gorgeous mane.

  He didn’t look up but gripped my hips and nuzzled my belly, releasing a long sigh.

  My heart dropped to my toes. “Hey. What is it?”

  Cole’s chest heaved. He snaked his trembling arms around my waist and pulled me tighter against his frame.

  “You’re scaring me. What happened?”

  “She’s pregnant,” he said to my feet.

  “Who?” I asked, although the answer was obvious.

  “Victoria. She’s been calling all weekend. I called her back this morning. She’s pregnant.”

  “But.” I shoved away, stumbling backward. “How? I mean”—my stomach churned—“you said you hadn’t been with her in months.”

  Face pale, gaze vacant, he whispered, “Vegas. She said we fucked in
Vegas. When I was drunk. I don’t fucking remember doing it, but I remember the next morning, and she was pissed, had bruises on her arms. Said I got rough with her.” Worried eyes lifted to mine. “I’ve never been rough with any woman, Natalie. I’ve never been too drunk to remember fucking either.”

  My body deflated, a slow, pathetic leak, my future, my happy, my Cole, slipping away with every thump of my groggy heart.

  “So that’s it.” I didn’t recognize my voice. “I got you for a weekend. One perfect, beautiful weekend.” I fell into the chair behind me.

  “Natalie.” Cole shook his head, his voice weak, strained, lacking fight. “Natalie, I don’t…” He dropped his head. Tugged on his hair. “I don’t fucking know what to do.”

  “You go to her. She’s having your baby. You go to her. Marry her. Be a family.” Impressive, the calm in my voice. “There’s no other way to do this, Cole. You were in love with her. You don’t just shut that off. You still love her, or you wouldn’t be struggling right now.”

  “But the things she did to you. How can…?” His voice broke.

  Oh, God. The pain in my chest. I was seconds from crumbling under the hurt and anger. The vile rage. If he came close, I would hurt him with fists, teeth, and razor blades if I had them.

  He was torn. I was one solid piece of fleshy resolve. Even if Cole chose me, I refused to live a life—share a life or a child—with Victoria. She’d ruined me for the last time.

  I couldn’t hurt Cole with my fists, so I used words. “This weekend was great, Cole, but let’s be honest. That’s all it was. Great sex. You sowed your wild oats, and now you can go settle down with the love of your life.”

  The broken man opened his mouth to speak. Looked over my shoulder. Scratched the stubble on his jaw. Steely eyes met mine. He nodded. Pushed to stand. “You don’t mean that.”

  “Get out.” I couldn’t look at him. I’d break. I’d beg him to choose me. I stared out the window, teeth grinding. Letting him go was the right thing to do, no matter how painful.

  “I need to talk to her. I’ll be back.”

  “No, you won’t.” She’ll win. She always wins, I left unsaid. “I’m not the right decision, and you know that.”

  Cole stormed to my bedroom. Came out minutes later, fully dressed, though still disheveled. I hadn’t moved.

  He stood in front of me. I stared at his stomach.

  Cole dropped to his knees and cupped my wet cheeks. When I was brave enough to meet his eyes, they were liquid, too.

  “Before I go, you need to hear this one thing, and know that I mean it from the depths of my soul.”

  I couldn’t speak, or nod, or breathe.

  “You are, and always will be, the love of my life.” He dropped a kiss to my forehead. Stepped away. “I’m going to talk to Victoria. Then I’m coming back.”

  He wouldn’t return. He would do the right thing for his family. For their future. He was that kind of man. Who was I to stand in the way?

  “Go home,” I mumbled to the floor, setting him free. “Don’t come back.”

  A heavy sigh. “Natalie.”

  I was seconds from shattering. “Get out!” I yelled, my outburst cowardly, my intentions self-preserving.

  I sat paralyzed while Cole let himself out. Prisoner to the devastating pain, my soul wept on that godforsaken chair while shadows moved across the room, time moving on as if my hopes hadn’t been crushed by wretched sorrow. Two boxes of tissues later, I made the biggest decision of my life.

  Cole

  Ten minutes into the reception, and Martin was drunk. No surprise. He’d been an ass since the moment Victoria and I announced our impromptu wedding. He’d arrived fucked out of his brains to the bachelor party and had refused to stand at my side during the ceremony.

  “Congratulations, brother.” A heavy hand clapped my back. A sloppy voice mumbled in my ear, “You landed a queen, didn’t you?”

  I watched Victoria sway across the dance floor in the arms of my father, a regal beauty in her white gown. She caught my eyes and flashed me a knee-buckling smile. Dad had never looked so proud.

  I wondered what Natalie was doing at that moment. I wondered if she regretted not taking my calls or answering her door.

  Then I envied Martin his ability to drown his bullshit with a bottle of bourbon.

  “Where’s the honeymoon?” he asked, using my shoulder to hold himself upright.

  “Why don’t you slow down on the Pappy’s.” I reached for his glass.

  He dodged, holding the glass out of reach. “Can’t.”

  “What’s with you?”

  He pounded his chest. Once. Twice. Gaze unfocused, he confessed, “Broken heart.”

  Martin hadn’t dated anyone since Natalie. Hell, he hadn’t bragged about banging anyone since Natalie had given him the boot. Obviously, her rejection had hurt more than he’d let on.

  I could relate and, damn, I couldn’t allow that pain any real estate on my wedding day. “Wanna talk about it?”

  “No. No. This is your moment, my friend. Glad you came to your senses and made an honest woman of Vic. You got your girl, man. You always get the girl, don’t you?”

  Jesus. Fuck. His breath reeked of stale alcohol, the dark skin under his eyes boasting a three-day bender.

  “Yeah. Yeah, sure.” I gestured to Ellis, who stood by the bar. He came our way. “Martin needs a coffee.”

  No explanation necessary. With one beefy arm, Ellis guided our inebriated friend toward the back deck.

  Lacey, looking lovelier and rounder by the day, hooked my elbow and stole me to the dance floor.

  Dad winked and twirled Victoria while Ed Sheeran sang about dancing barefoot in the grass.

  “You did the right thing, you know.” Lacey stared up at me, eyes hard and motherly.

  I moved her into the crowd with measured steps. “What do you mean?”

  She waited until we were clear of earshot. “Natalie told me. Everything. I can’t believe she kept her feelings for you a secret for all those months.”

  I swallowed, unsure how to proceed, unable to meet her piercing, probing glare. I searched for my wife and found her beaming and laughing at something my father must’ve said. She was undeniably beautiful. But even though she was legally mine, I couldn’t shake the feeling I didn’t fully belong to her.

  Lacey followed my stare. “If you had chosen Natalie, the two of you never would’ve lasted. Not with the past she shares with Victoria.”

  I met her exotic eyes, and there wasn’t a hint of malice or bitterness toward Victoria despite their history. Lacey was a pure soul, a light that warmed even the coldest hearts.

  I knew our conversation would stay between the two of us, and my confession spilled. “I know I made the right decision.” Not that Natalie had given me a choice. “I can’t fathom raising a child in a broken home. I’m not built that way. But there’s this heavy weight in my gut that won’t go away, like everything is unsteady. Like the rug is gonna be pulled out from under me any moment.”

  “That’s guilt. Nothing more. It’ll fade. Especially when you hold your child for the first time. You’ll know then, without a doubt, that you did the right thing.”

  “I need to talk to her. I left so much unsaid.”

  “Not a good idea.” Lacey picked at a fuzz on my shoulder. “Clean breaks are best. You talk to Natalie, that’ll only stir up feelings that don’t belong in your marriage.”

  The truth was a bitter pill. “I know. You’re right.”

  “Besides, she’s gone,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

  I swore something broke in my chest, too. “Gone?”

  “Took a job out of state.”

  “Where?” The question came out desperate, betraying my undue concern.

  “I promised not to tell a soul.” Eyes closed, she shook her head. “Not even Ellis.”

  “Because of me?”

  “Because leaving was the right thing for her to do. Just like you marrying Victoria
was the right thing to do.”

  Lacey’s round belly bumped against mine, and I looked down between us, my heart swelling. Soon Victoria would be round and swollen and, dear God, I couldn’t wait to feel my child move inside my wife.

  Natalie had been mine for a short time, and for that blessing, I’d be forever grateful.

  Choosing Vic, I’d done right by my child. I vowed then and there to be the best fucking husband and father despite the hole in my chest.

  I bent to kiss Lacey’s cheek. “You’re right, Lacey. You’re right. Thank you.”

  Dad and Victoria came our way again. He took Lacey’s hand, and I swept my bride into my arms. I’d never seen her so damn happy.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked, bending to taste her mouth.

  Morning sickness had stifled the “making up” part of our making up. We’d come close a couple of times, but then she’d make a mad dash to the bathroom, and the romance had fizzled.

  She turned her head and laughed. “Don’t smudge my lipstick.”

  I kissed her anyway. She let me. A chaste exchange.

  “I can’t wait to get you alone,” I whispered in her ear.

  She lifted her chin, bringing our mouths a breath apart. “Do you forgive me, Cole?”

  “For what?”

  “For walking out on you.” She lifted a delicate finger to wipe the color from my lip. “For the person I was back then. The things I did to Natalie.”

  Truth be told, I’d been disgusted when she’d admitted the depth and depravity of her past obsession with Natalie. The bullying. Especially the bullying. A gnawing ache settled in my gut. Like Natalie, I’d been on the shit end of that scenario. Coming to terms with Vic’s transgressions would pose a challenge. And still, when I looked at my wife, I couldn’t see that girl full of hate, hurt, and evil intent. I only saw the woman with the big heart who loved her family, fiercely protected her friendships, and gave her free time to children’s charities.

  Before I could answer her question, she looked around the room, then asked, “Where’s Martin? He was sloshed. Should we keep an eye on him? I don’t want him to ruin our night.”