Two is a Lie

by Pam Godwin

  Slowly flipping back to my feet, I grip the pole for balance and look between Trace and Cole. “How long have you been here?”

  Trace stands ramrod straight, hands behind his back and head angled down, taking in my half-naked body with a scowl in his brow.

  “A couple minutes.” Cole rubs the back of his neck, his voice low and thick as he peruses me from head to toe. “How are you feeling?”

  “Fantastic.” Rags of air heave from my exerted lungs. “Thank you, both of you, for taking care of me.”

  It’s strange that they’re both here, when they weren’t a few minutes ago.

  “Did you guys just happen to arrive at the same time?” I rub my sweaty hands on my thighs. “Or were you together somewhere this morning?”

  “We had a meeting,” Trace says at the same time Cole blurts, “We grabbed breakfast.”

  “A breakfast meeting.” Trace glares at Cole and returns to me. “Why?”

  “You had breakfast together?” I cross my arms. “For what reason?”

  Did Cole tell Trace we had sex? A spike of fear chills my skin. I don’t want to keep secrets, but it’s…delicate. I need to be the one to tell him.

  “We’re trying to figure this out.” Cole gestures from me to Trace to himself, drawing an invisible triangle.

  “Really?” My tone is dry as I fidget with the beaded bra to ensure my chest is covered. “What did you figure out?”

  “That you should pole dance,” Cole says. “Every day. Just for me.”

  I wing up my brows and pinch my lips together.

  “I think…” Trace breathes in slowly. “We think this situation is making you sick. Your health is a concern. If we push you for a decision, it’ll likely make you sicker.”

  “But I’m dragging this out.” I clutch my throat. “I can’t—”

  “It’s only been a couple weeks, Danni.” Cole rests his hands on his hips. “You’ve been sick half that time. Give yourself a break.”

  “I’m trying.” I lift my fingers to the pole and walk a circle around it while working up the nerve to ask them about the holidays. “Thanksgiving is next week.”

  Neither of them have families. No one to spend Thanksgiving and Christmas with.

  They watch me steadily, their expressions giving nothing away.

  “Bree’s having turkey dinner at her house.” I release the pole and hug my waist. “Would it be weird if I invited you both?”

  “I’d love to go.” Cole, impulsive as always, offers me an eager smile. Then he pushes off the wall and disappears beyond the doorway of the spare bedroom.

  I share a look with Trace, taking in the sculpted lines of his face.

  He rolls his lips, reading my eyes, and nods. “I’ll be there for dinner.”

  “Thank you.” I smile. “Our first Thanksgiving together.”

  A second later, Cole returns with my seven-inch platform stilettos dangling from a finger by the ankle straps.

  Oh shit. He wasn’t joking about wanting me to dance for him.

  I shoot another look at Trace. “I don’t think this is a good—”

  “I’m not asking.” Cole squats at my feet and holds out his palm, waiting.

  Trace rests his fingers in his pockets and holds up the wall with his back. He would never complain about me dancing. Hell, he put me on a stage in his casino in a glowing beam of light.

  I blow out a breath, ruffling the hair away from my face. Then I give in and place a foot in Cole’s hand.

  He slides on the stiletto, buckling the strap around my ankle. As he moves to the other foot, his fingers trail softly up the back of my calf.

  An exquisite shiver races up my leg, and my eyes flutter closed. He does it again, and I have to gulp down a moan. I can’t let him do this. Not with Trace watching.

  “That’s enough.” Trace’s voice cuts through the air, cold and sharp.

  I wobble in the heels, and my hand flies to Cole’s head for balance. His hair slips through my fingers, soft and silky. I linger there for a heartbeat before forcing myself to pull back.

  “I’ll finish this one.” I crouch beside him and buckle the second shoe.

  He leaves me to it and prowls toward the stereo. I rise to my full height, seven-awesome-inches taller, just as Physical by Nine Inch Nails starts playing.

  It’s the song Cole chose the first time I pole danced for him over five years ago. Unbidden, memories of that night heat my face and shorten my breaths. He fucked me half-way through that dance, right up against the pole. Then he spanked me for making him so horny and fucked me again.

  The speakers crackle with the staticky screech of a guitar, pulling me back to the present.

  “Dance, Danni.” Cole grabs a folding chair and flips it around to straddle the seat with his arms resting on the back.

  Trace doesn’t move from his stance across the room. Tall, dark, and arrogant, he watches. And he waits.

  I begin the pole walk, crossing one stiletto before the other and pushing out my hip. When the grungy vocals kick in, I swing my hair and climb the pole.

  My dance outfit is exactly that. A two-piece ensemble designed to not interfere with my movements. But as I writhe before them in the beaded bra and panties, I feel like I’m wearing lingerie. I might as well not be wearing anything at all.

  They’re so attuned to my movements, they seem to have forgotten each other. I try to keep it sexy and alluring without being a tease, exaggerating hip circles and leg kicks sparingly, like an exclamation point.

  I slowly, sensually, slide to the floor, let my head and hair fall back, and close my eyes. This is what defines me. The emotion in movement. The anatomy of art and music. I might be performing for them, but I dance like I’m alone. This is my space, my outlet, my meditation. My time to think.

  And I have a decision to make.

  I need to dig deeper, beneath the footwork and the melody, and really figure out who I am and where I want to go.

  Maybe then I’ll know who I’m meant to be with.

  Inviting two men to a family dinner might’ve been my worst idea ever.

  On the surface, the atmosphere in my sister’s dining room is cozy and warm. We’ve eaten our fill of Thanksgiving turkey and settled into easy conversation around the table. Bree sits on one side with her husband, David, and my four-year-old niece, Angel. I’m across from her, hemmed in by Cole and Trace.

  She and David fill Cole in on everything he missed over the years—their lives pretty much revolve around soccer—while Trace engages in a silent, oddly sweet stare-down with Angel.

  Beneath all the smiles and content expressions, however, simmers a sense of discomfort. Bree chitchats and laughs as she talks with Cole, but her eyes keep flitting to me, then to the men on either side of me, and back again.

  Yeah, it’s awkward. I’m here with two dates who haven’t said a word to each other since we arrived. Every adult in the room feels the tension lurking underneath the conversations yet no one’s willing to give it a voice.

  Not even me.

  I spent the last six nights hopping between beds. My time with Trace is filled with cuddling, kissing, stroking embraces without sex. Then I go home and let Cole ravage and plunder every hole in my body.

  And Trace doesn’t know.

  Because I’m a cowardly dickhead with a backbone made of jelly and shame.

  I’m sick with guilt over it, and this godawful feeling isn’t going away until I tell him.

  I rode here on the back of Cole’s bike, but I intend to leave with Trace. I’m going to confess everything tonight, and I’m scared shitless.

  I broke my no-sex rule with one of them, but not with the other. That’s what scares me the most, because it feels like I made a choice without consciously doing so, and the choice doesn’t sit well with me. Not that I think Cole isn’t the one. It’s just… It’d been years since we had sex, and dammit, he seduced me. That’s not a reason to choose him over Trace.

  It’s just Cole’s mode of
operation. He charms and tempts, ensnares and claims, and I’ll never get enough of it. If Trace pushed half as hard as Cole does, I’d cave with him, too.

  Christ, I’m so fucking weak I annoy myself. The worst part is I’m not the one who will pay the price. When I tell Trace, it’s going to hurt him terribly.

  Dread coils in my stomach, and I wrap my arms around myself.

  Bree breaks away from the conversation with Cole and David and sets her perceptive gray eyes on me.

  “I’m glad you’re feeling better.” She sips her wine, regarding me. “I would’ve come over to take care of you, but you seemed to be in good hands.”

  One of those hands touches my knee under the table. I glance at the man attached to it, but Trace keeps his gaze trained on Bree.

  “They’re lucky they didn’t come down with the flu.” My breath catches as his fingers slide beneath the skirt of my dress. “They fed and cleaned up after me better than Mom would’ve done.”

  Bree laughs. “Mom isn’t very good at the nurturing stuff.”

  I love my mother, but I’m not close to her. She’s reserved and introverted, and since she and Dad moved to Florida eight years ago, the distance hasn’t helped. A deeper relationship with my parents would require me to reach out to them more, which I don’t do, because I have Bree.

  “It’s nice to see both of you here tonight.” Bree nods at Cole while speaking to Trace. “It must be uncomfortable for you.”

  Leave it to my sister to finally address the elephant in the room. But since she thinks Cole and Trace met for the first time a couple weeks ago, she doesn’t know the extent of the bad blood between them.

  “When I’m with your sister…” Trace caresses a path up my inner thigh and strokes a finger along the crotch of my panties. “It’s never uncomfortable.”

  My thighs clench together, trapping his hand. He seems perfectly at ease fingering me under the table while talking to Bree. Meanwhile, I’m so tense I probably look constipated as I try to keep my hips from rocking against his touch. My face burns, and I clench my fingers against the tablecloth.

  Thankfully, Cole’s still discussing soccer with David and doesn’t look in my direction. If I push Trace’s hand away, it’ll draw attention, so I try to relax and temper my breathing.

  “You know, this isn’t their first meal together.” I cough into my fist as Trace presses a firm finger against my clit. “They had breakfast together last week without me.”

  “Really?” Bree arches a brow.

  “Yeah. I have no idea what they talked about—”

  “I told you.” Trace wickedly circles that finger, making my toes curl. “We discussed your health and our impact on it.”

  “Hmm.” Bree leans in, studying me closely. “I will say, you never get sick. God, how long has it been? The last time you didn’t feel well enough to dance was…” Her eyes drift to Cole, and her complexion pales.

  When he died. That’s the last time I was sick. And it was an ugly sick—inside and out, front to back, and dead all over. I didn’t get out of bed for weeks.

  Trace watches Cole talk to David then shifts his intelligent gaze to me. “You might’ve had the flu, but you were already rundown. Physically and emotionally. Your health is more important than anything else going on in your life.”

  “I like you.” Angel, who’s been quiet all night, directs her big brown eyes at Trace.

  The hand between my legs retreats to my knee, and he scowls at the four-year-old. “That’s good, because I like your aunt.”

  “I don’t like him.” She points at Cole and narrows her eyes. “I’m going to rip his spine out.”

  Angel just met Cole for the first time tonight. Evidently, she’s quicker at making decisions than I am.

  “Angel!” Bree angles toward her daughter, glaring. “I don’t want to ever hear that again.

  “So put your fingers in your ears.” Angel blinks, expressionless.

  “Oh my God,” Bree mouths to me behind the concealment of her hand.

  As laughter bubbles up my throat, Bree shakes her head at me. I guess she doesn’t want me to encourage the little demon. So I arrange my face into a disapproving expression.

  Bree pushes Angel’s mostly empty plate toward her. “Finish your dinner.”

  My niece stares at her green beans and frowns. “Vegetables are ruining my life.”

  I can’t stop my laughter this time, and even Trace smiles.

  After dessert, we clear the table, and the men step out on the deck with beers in hand. It’s warm for November. Jacket weather. Maybe I’ll join them while Bree gives Angel a bath. But first, I need to pee.

  The three-bedroom house is average-sized, appropriate for Bree and David’s teacher salaries. I amble down the hall, bypassing the main bathroom, since it’s currently occupied by Bree and Angel.

  I slip into the master bedroom and use the facilities in the tiny en suite. Hands washed and hair finger-combed, I open the bathroom door to step out. And slam into a hot steel wall with a startled oomph.

  Cole pushes his way in, forcing me backward and locking the door behind him.

  “What are you doing?” My pulse races at the hungry expression on his face.

  Eyes hooded and roving up and down my body, he isn’t here to use the bathroom.

  “You let him play with your pussy at the table.” His gaze snaps to mine and narrows.

  “What?” Shit. Fuck. I don’t want to have this conversation right now. Or ever.

  “Don’t pull that innocent act with me.” He grips my hips and lifts me to sit on the edge of the vanity. “Did he put his fingers inside you?”

  I shove at his immobile chest. “I’m not answering that.”

  Jesus. He was involved in a conversation with my brother-in-law at the time. How does he know where Trace put his hand?

  “I’m always watching you.” He cups my face and leans in, his eyes sooty and heavy with desire. “You look so damn beautiful in this dress.”

  Since my tight black sheath dress and strappy stilettos couldn’t be worn on the motorcycle, I didn’t put them on until we got here.

  “Thank you.” I slide my hands over the front of his white Henley shirt. “We should go back—”

  “You’re coming home with me tonight.” He runs his nose alongside mine, heating my lips with his breath.

  “No, I’m not,” I say gently. “I was with you last night.” And I rode his cock for hours.

  I don’t know what his reaction would be if he knew I was going home with Trace to confess what I’ve been doing. I’m afraid he’ll talk me out of it.

  He rubs his hands up my thighs and nudges me wider to spread around his hips. There’s no bossy demands or heated I-need-you whispers. He just grasps the back of my head and stares at me, his bottom lip pouting slightly and begging to be licked.

  It’s a look that precedes a kiss, and as our mouths touch, we sigh together. Easing closer, reaching deeper, he brushes his tongue against mine. Each caress urges me to pull him tighter. Every rasping breath paves the way for more. More tasting. More touching. More Cole.

  The wet smacking sounds of our lips echo in the tiny bathroom. Then his hands are moving, down my body, circling and caressing my breasts, and lower, pulling on the hem of my dress and yanking it to my hips.

  I groan a sound of protest against his mouth and hunch back. “We can’t.”

  “We can.” He cradles my face in his hands, his lips wet and swollen. “We can do anything you want to do. What do you want, baby?”

  I want him and me in this stolen moment.

  Collecting heartbeats.

  Falling in love for the millionth time.

  Moving slow.

  Breathing fast.

  Clinging and kissing and connecting in every way.

  Because it feels so damn good to be with him.

  He reads my eyes and knows what I’m thinking. His exhales fall sharp and swift, and he kisses me, touches my face, his fingers shaking and fle
xing against my jaw.

  “Danni.” A pained whisper. He shoves the crotch of my panties to the side and slides a finger through my wet heat. “So damn sexy.”

  Each caress trembles through me, awakening an achy throb between my legs. I grip his shoulders and bite back a moan.

  His breaths shorten as he unzips his jeans and frees his long, thick erection, holding my gaze.

  I brace for a ruthless thrust. But instead of ramming inside me, he glides the underside of his cock along the slit of my soaked flesh. Over and over, he strokes his length against my pussy, teasing me, staring into my eyes, and running his tongue across my lips.

  My feelings for this man are so absolute it’s impossible to not get lost in him. But he’s not the only one who dominates my mind.

  I cut my gaze to the locked door and stiffen.

  “He’s outside with David.” Cole grips the hair on the back of my head and forces my eyes to his. “Watch us, baby.”

  He tips my chin down and grasps my hand, positioning my fingers around the base of him.

  His skin burns to the touch, stretched tight and silky over rigid steel. He continues to work the underside of his length against my folds, slipping through the wetness and rubbing against my piercing. With each pass over my clit, he presses his fingers down on the flared tip to create a delicious grinding sensation against my sensitive nerves.

  Pleasure sweeps through me, trembling my legs as we watch the movement of his beautiful cock. I don’t think I’ve ever been so captivated, so insanely turned on.

  “I’m utterly consumed.” His labored breaths churn the air between us, and he rubs himself harder against me. Then he slips lower, presses against my opening. “I’ve been waiting my entire life for you.”

  He seals his words with the push of his hips, sinking inside me with aching slowness. His fingers dig against my hipbone, and his mouth devours mine, kissing me until we’re both breathless.

  He swallows my gasps, rocking into me at a hypnotically slow pace. “Every time you let me into your body, it feels like redemption. You’re my faith, Danni. My religion.”

  There goes my heart, swooping and thumping and gobbling up every word. He makes me greedy and thirsty. I suck on his lips, sipping and drinking, unable to quench this craving. “I’m crazy in love with you, Cole Hartman.”