by Pam Godwin
Pressure ignites a dull ache in my back opening, stretching and filling. Cole sinks deeper, his fingers biting against my hips. It doesn’t take long before the sting ripples into languid pleasure.
Cole bears down with gentle, shallow strokes, shooting supernova tingles through my sensitive tissues. It feels so damn good it’s almost too much. Too many sensations. Too much fullness.
Trace’s eyes tell me he feels it, too. He brushes the hair from my face and feathers his fingers down my neck, rocking against me in a hypnotic rhythm.
They’re inside me. Both of them. Physically. Emotionally. The mattress beneath me disintegrates and time ceases to exist. I only feel. Them, us, joined in a way I never thought would happen and may never happen again.
“How are you doing?” Cole brushes his lips against my back.
“I might die if you don’t move faster.”
I don’t have to ask twice. He rolls into a swift grind, sliding his cock in and out and matching the rhythm of Trace’s thrusts.
Trembling and boneless, I lean forward and rub my hands over the muscled physique beneath me. My hair falls around my face as I lick the grooved valley at the center of Trace’s chest, kissing and nuzzling, awash in bliss.
Cole’s scruffy whiskers and warm breaths caress my back as he fucks me slowly, teasingly, like he doesn’t want to rush it.
Focusing my attention on Trace, I memorize the sharp angles of his clean-shaved face. Golden hair, straight nose, kissable scowl—he’s irrationally beautiful with his soulful blue eyes studying me the way I study him.
“Are you good?” I pant breathlessly, gripping his shoulder against an onslaught of pleasure.
“Trying not to come.” A muscle flexes in his cheek.
“You need to hurry, baby.” Cole hooks an arm around my waist and yanks me to a sitting position.
With my back against Cole’s chest and my legs spread around Trace’s hips, my clit is exposed and throbbing. Trace presses a thumb against it, rubbing circles and applying precise, consistent pressure.
My head falls back on Cole’s shoulder, his mouth at my ear, letting me feel every hot moaning gasp as he strokes his cock in and out of me. Then he grips my jaw and yanks my mouth to his. The kiss is hard, wild, and all-consuming. It’s more than I can bear.
I plunge fast, breaking the kiss and screaming out. Powerful, violent, the orgasm cleaves through me, splitting me open and moving me in a profound state of oblivion. Stars blot my vision as they grind their hips, speed up the pace, and join me.
Panting breaths, groaning shouts, and fingers bruising my flesh, they come together, apart, whatever they may be. It’s glorious. Unforgettable. A dream in the flesh.
I collapse on Trace’s chest, light-headed and spent. Cole falls on his back beside me and drops a forearm across his eyes, breathing heavily past parted lips.
Trace cradles my cheek with a warm palm and strokes his thumb across my mouth. I kiss it, grasp his wrist, and hold on. I don’t want this to end. I’m afraid of what comes next.
“I hope you didn’t do this for me…for my birthday.” I glance at Cole and return to Trace. “Did you plan this?”
“No.” Trace untangles his hand from mine and rolls us to our sides. “It wasn’t planned.”
My head jerks back. Trace Savoy just engaged in an impulsive, unintentional threesome? How very free-spirited of him.
Cole shifts to the edge of the bed and grabs his shirt from the floor. With a hand on my shoulder, he pushes me to my back and uses the shirt to clean between my legs. He does the same with himself and tosses it. Not once does he glance at Trace. Maybe I’m imagining it, but the awkwardness is already creeping in.
“When we got home tonight, you both seemed to be on the same page.” I rest my head on Cole’s chest and a hook a leg around Trace’s thigh, desperate to keep us joined. “But you didn’t talk about it beforehand?”
“Not exactly.” Cole pets my hair, his breathing returning to normal.
“I made the decision in the car,” Trace says in an icy tone, at odds with the soothing way he caresses my thigh.
“Same.” Cole’s hand tightens in my hair.
They didn’t even look at each other in the car. Did they have a telepathic conversation? I have so many questions, but if I start interrogating them, this delicate peace between us will evaporate.
I lie still, absorbing the touch of fingers on my skin, the rasps of sated breaths, and thrum of love beating between us, knowing I’ll never find this with anyone but them.
Too soon, Trace lifts my leg off his, sits up, and captures my gaze.
“This was a one-time thing, Danni.” His eyes turn to frozen glass. “It will never happen again.”
My breath hitches, and my hackles bristle. “I didn’t ask for it. In fact, when I opened my mouth, you told me to shut the fuck up.”
“You didn’t have to ask for it.” He rises and strides toward the bathroom. “You wanted it.”
“Don’t do that to her,” Cole shouts, launching off the bed. “This isn’t her fault.”
Trace closes the door behind him and locks it, freezing us out.
Fault. There can only be fault if a mistake was made.
The shower sounds behind the door, and my chest turns to ice. I cover a hand over my mouth to stifle the quiver in my chin. Don’t you fucking cry, Danni. All the tears in the world won’t fix this.
“How did this happen?” I ask, more to myself than to Cole.
“That?” He points at the bathroom door and returns to the bed. “I don’t have time to list all his problems, but the one he suffers from the most begins with ass and ends with hole.”
“I’m serious, Cole.” It feels like my heart is sinking into my stomach.
Lying on his back, he pulls me into his arms and wraps the sheet around us. “Let it go.”
“No.” I snap my head up, glaring at him. “I can’t just…just chuck this in the fuck it bucket. What we’re doing to one another is heartbreaking.”
He returns my stare for a long moment before releasing a sigh. “I’m pretty sure he thought I was going to break the rules tonight.”
“Were you?”
“Yes.” He looks at me with unflinching eyes. “He knew he wouldn’t be able to stop me.”
“If you can’t beat them, join them,” I mumble sadly.
“Or control them. He participated because he couldn’t fathom me making love to you without his almighty hand involved.”
I love Trace’s almighty hand and his control, but not at the risk of hurting him. “Did he tell you this?”
“I know him, baby. Better than you do.”
As I turn that over in my head, I kick myself for not being as perceptive as Cole. If I’d known Trace wasn’t acting purely on passion, I would’ve stopped it from happening. Or at least tried to stop it. I have a hard time saying no to them when it comes to sex. It’s just not in my DNA. I bend, yield, surrender, and they shine in the power it gives them. That’s why we’re so good together.
Braced on an elbow, I trace a finger along the ridges of his abs. “Did you want the threesome?”
“No.” His muscles tense beneath my touch. “I had to block him out of my mind the entire time.” He runs a hand down the length of my spine. “I agree with him on that point. I’ll never do it again.”
He doesn’t say that he regrets it, but it’s there in the creases around his mouth. It feels a slap in the face.
Maybe I’m just emotionally and physically drained, but I can’t hold the dam on my tears. They rise fast, spilling down my cheeks, but I keep the sounds trapped beneath rapid swallows.
“Why did you do it?” I whisper.
“Because I love you. I want you.”
“I don’t understand why you want anything to do with me. I’m a mess.”
“I’ll take you messy and crying and in love with another man.” He hugs me against his chest and rests his lips on my head. “I’ll take you anyway I can have you.”
“That’s just it. You shouldn’t have to.”
We fall quiet—a silence that brings everything into sharp focus. Seductive words, sexy dimples, arctic blue eyes, passion, and self-control… I fell in love with two men, went to war to keep them, and now it must end. Someone has to choose the break-up song and dance to the mournful melody, and that harrowing fate is meant for me.
I have to choose. Not in four months. I need to do it soon, within a week, and put us out of our misery. No more dragging my feet. No more waiting for some enlightening aha! moment. That’s never going to come. I just need to reach in and tear out part of my heart and be done with it.
After a while, Trace emerges from the bathroom and returns to bed in a pair of boxer briefs. He slides in behind me, aligning his body along the length of mine with my chest against Cole’s side and my head on his shoulder.
“Happy Birthday, Danni.” Trace kisses my neck, telling me with his lips that he loves me.
And I silently cry.
I wake to the sound of rain pelting the windows. A dreary morning. Cold mattress. No Cole. No Trace. Only the sick weight of dread pressing down on my chest.
Shower, clothes, coffee—I move through the motions, wretchedly numb.
Trace is locked away in the office, working. Cole left a note, letting me know he’s fishing.
With a mug of creamy coffee in hand, I stand at the kitchen window and stare out at the freezing rain. Who goes fishing in this weather?
Someone who wants distance from an awkward situation.
It rains for the next three days.
Three.
It’s an impossible number.
A cruel number.
Three is an emotional war.
Cole and Trace go out of their way to avoid each other. They live under the same roof, share the same bed, but they don’t exchange a word or a glance. We don’t talk about what happened. Every time I try, I’m shut down. So much for open communication.
When they’re alone with me, however, they arrest me with their eyes and undress me with their words. Each man makes me feel loved in his own way. A tender touch, sultry suggestion, brush of lips… But the intimacy ends there.
I understand. The rules are wrecked, and the future is unclear. They want space to process or do whatever it is they need to do.
I’m giving them space, but they’re crazy if they think we can go another four months like this.
While they spend the rainy days in separate parts of the house, I’ve been holed up in the dance studio. Well, not exactly holed up. I leave the door open and blare the music. I’m here, ready to listen when they’re ready to talk.
I have some things of my own to say.
Gripping the ballet bar, I face the rain beyond the windows and sync my hips to the somber melody of You Don’t Know by Katelyn Tarver.
Cole and Trace make me insanely happy. A lifetime with either of them is a fairy tale come true. No matter how much I compare and separate and weigh their differences, there’s no wrong choice.
But Cole’s the one I found first.
He set my soul on fire with a look and kissed me with lips infused with forever. There’s a dance soldered to my bones choreographed for him and him alone.
Our chemistry is magnetic, undying, our history so deeply sown it can’t be uprooted. We’re soul mates, finding our way back together, over and over.
He has to be the choice, and the only way I’ll know for sure is if I make it.
When the song ends, I walk to the stereo and play it again, swaying and humming to the painful lyrics while thinking about Trace.
I dance in mourning for the hurt I inflicted on him. I dance in longing for the love I share with him. I dance in fear for the words that will rip him away.
With my back to the door and my emotions running amok, I don’t sense him approach. Not until his hand curls around my hip and his forehead rests against the back of my head.
Everything inside me starts to melt.
Don’t give in, Danni. You must do this.
Against all instinct, I force myself to go cold, emotionally, mentally, pushing him away.
His hand slides down my thigh, tracing the hem of my spandex shorts. I tense up, and he notices, removing his touch.
My stomach shrivels, but I keep my voice even. “Do you want to talk…about the other night?”
“No.” He prowls around me, hands behind his back, and ensnares me in his analyzing gaze.
Fitted black trousers and a crisp white button-up, his attire is as sophisticated as his composure. The way he scrutinizes me, the subtle sharpening of those incisive eyes, it’s as if he already knows.
My resolve weakens, and I consider waiting until tomorrow. Or the next day. But the longer I delay, the harder it will become. It’s now. Right now. Open your mouth, idiot.
Shifting to the stereo, I power off the music. Then I turn back, standing taller, and fix my expression into one of bravery. “I want to talk—”
“I want you to remove your clothes and whatever is putting that fake look on your face.”
Cold bones, hunched shoulders, hemorrhaging heart, I wither beneath his command. My brave mask gives way to rising tears, and I step back, clasping my throat and fighting down the anguish.
He glares at my trembling hand, my leaky eyes, and his entire demeanor changes. His arms fall slack at his sides. His scowl loses its intensity, and he shakes his head slowly, imperceptibly, as if in shock. Denial.
I wipe the wet misery from my cheeks and hug my waist. “Trace…”
He snaps straight, and his eyes bore into mine as his words echo in my mind.
If you know, we’ll all know. And that will be that.
“Say it.” Harsh and guttural, his voice cuts me to the quick.
My throat seals up, holding the confession captive.
I’m a heartless bitch if I choose Cole. I’m a heartless bitch if I choose Trace. I’m the queen of all bitches if I don’t choose at all.
I made a decision. It’s time to grow up. Declare it. Fight for it.
Pulling in a serrated breath, I release my lungs slowly. “I choose Cole.”
He goes chillingly still, doesn’t breathe, doesn’t blink, his stark eyes locked on mine. He wants to argue. It’s right there in the rigidness of his jaw. The impulse to demand a different answer is eating him up inside. But more than that, he wants what he cannot control.
I refuse to force your hand on this…I want your heart to beat for me and only me, not because I command it, but because we’re meant to be.
I know the moment he accepts my choice. His throat bobs. His chest heaves, and he stumbles back.
The look of total devastation on his face tears me apart. His pain is scarring, like the sharp edge of a knife leaving its marks inside me.
He glances around the room like he’s unsure where to go or what to do. Stunned, lost, he’s beautiful, fractured perfection.
“Trace…” I approach him, dying a thousand deaths. “Say something.”
He stabs a hand in his hair and spins toward the door. Then he walks out.
I run after him, chasing him down the hall and through the bedroom. I scan the rooms for Cole, but the house is quiet. He must still be down at the dock.
“Please, talk to me.” I follow Trace into his closet.
He shrugs on a suit jacket, buttoning away his emotions behind expensive threads. His hands shake as he yanks random clothes off the hangers and shoves them into a leather bag.
“You’re leaving?” My heart crashes into my shoes.
Of course, he’s leaving. What else is he supposed to do?
He doesn’t answer me, doesn’t look my way as he continues to pack. I gulp down a sob, refusing to give it life. I’m hurting him irreparably. I don’t deserve to cry.
“It can’t end like this.” I reach for his arm and think better of it. “We have to talk about it.”
“It must end this way. A clean cut.” He slides past me, bag in
hand, and strides out of the bedroom.
I follow him into the living room. He grabs his keys from the kitchen island and heads toward the front door. His car is parked in the driveway, a twenty-second walk away. Twenty seconds is all we have left.
“Trace, stop!” The shrill in my voice announces my desperation. “Please. Wait.”
The slowing of his gait lets me know he’s considering. The pause of his feet at the door tells me he’s analyzing the risks of hearing what I have to say.
He enters the code in the keypad, grips the door handle, and drops his arm. Then he turns and faces me.
My breath catches at the agony tightening his face. He stands twenty feet away, his eyes wet and drowning in heartache.
Tears lurk at the backs of my own eyes, but I hold them at bay.
Putting one foot in front of the other, I approach slowly and pause a few paces away. Then I let him read my expression, let him delve deep into my eyes as I tell him without words everything I need to say.
I will always, always love you, and I will never forget. I won’t forget the taste of your scowl, the way it curved against my mouth when we kissed, our lips rough with passion. I won’t forget how you watched over me and saved my life, how you gave me your love when I didn’t believe in second chances. I won’t forget the stage you erected for me, the heat of your eyes on my body in the beam of light, and the adoration in your voice when you talked about my dancing. I won’t forget your bed in the penthouse, our bodies tumbled together, your hand, my throat, your jawline, my fingers, the caress of your brush through my hair, your orderliness, your control, your un-creamy coffee, the scent of scotch on your breath, the infinity pools of your eyes, and the depths of you, who showed me how to smile again.
A tear escapes, and I brush it off my cheek. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, Danni Angelo.” His timbre is quiet, shaky. “I gave you my heart. It was always yours to break.”
I shake my head rapidly, battling an impending meltdown. “I didn’t want to—”
“Shhh.” He looks down, squeezes his eyes shut. “It was always going to come down to a choice. I knew that, and I don’t regret a single second.”
