She struggled against my hold, her arms twisting, hands writhing with her need to touch me back. But I didn’t let her. Instead, I ground my dick into her cunt, reveling in the low moan that escaped her at the pressure.
“Get yourself off,” I ground out against her throat, then, I nibbled on the tender skin there and bit down.
Hard.
Hard enough for my teeth to leave marks, for there to be a bruise in the morning. Hard enough for me to remember the claiming, for her to see it later on.
She whimpered in pain before she began to rock back against me. Her butt bouncing off the wall as she wiggled, this time not to escape me, but to facilitate her orgasm.
I felt and sensed the difference in the tenor of her breathing, in the way her tits bobbed against my chest.
That she used me filled me with delight. I loved it. Fuck, I loved her.
When she screamed in my ear, I let myself go.
For the first time in four years, I came.
My seed spilled into my pants, my shaft throbbing as it celebrated an orgasm, as it reveled in the close proximity of her pussy. I wanted more. I wanted in her. Just the thought was enough to make my cock twitch, but I contained it.
Barely.
My breathing was hard and rough as I came down from the high, and her own was sweet and soft, still a little ragged, but she was like molten gold in my arms. Sinking into every part of me, merging with me until I wasn’t sure where she began and I ended.
The Japanese believed in kintsugi. That a piece of pottery didn’t lose value once it was broken. If anything, it gained it. A broken pot, for example, was bound together with a special gold lacquer, highlighting the flaws, celebrating the imperfections, reforging it so that it was useful once more.
She did that to me.
Sank into every crack in my nature, bound herself to every broken shard, making me a better man than I was before. Not new, not perfect, but if anything, perfectly imperfect for her.
The thought resonated with me in a way that made me feel like I could breathe easier for the first time in years, and I released her flesh from between my teeth, enjoying her whimper as I pulled back. The move had my cock burrowing into her soft flesh, and I stared at her with heavy-lidded eyes.
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I rasped.
Her eyes widened, the dazed emerald orbs grew clearer as she worked through my words.
“How could you be afraid of that?” she whispered back. “It was beautiful.”
My jaw tensed. “You don’t understand.”
“No. I don’t. Explain it to me.”
Her irritated tone had my lips twitching, but I closed my eyes and shook my head.
“I’m not ready.”
She gritted her teeth. “Well, I am.” When I didn’t reply, she wriggled in my grasp then grated out, “Nicholas. Talk to me. Please. Help me understand.”
I thought about her words. Thought about whether it was possible for her to understand, and then I thought some more—about showing her my scars, revealing the mental ones as well as the physical, but I just couldn’t do it. No gold would make those better or make them less hideous.
I’d hidden them for so long. From the world, from myself even. When I showered, I refused to look at that part of my body, just scrubbed it with soap to make sure it was clean.
How could I share that with her, this beautifully perfect creature?
The answer was, I couldn’t.
Wouldn’t.
And so, I released my hold on her hands, and pulled back and away.
I used words to keep my distance from her, but this time, the words I needed to say, the truths I needed to reveal, were something I wasn’t ready to disclose.
❖
When I turned the key in the lock a few days later, the sound of voices came as a surprise to me.
I knew for a fact that the sitter shouldn’t be arriving until three hours from now in time for Phoebe’s shift at Crow, and though it should have been impossible because I could count the number of friends I had on one hand, Phoebe had even fewer.
Hell, I was pretty sure her only friend had been cremated a few weeks ago.
As sad as that made me feel, it also made me wonder who the fuck she’d brought to my apartment.
Was she with a guy?
Had she brought some random home to—what? Punish me?
Whenever I didn’t do what she wanted, she sulked.
It was an irritating habit I wanted to spank out of her, but if I spanked her, the desire to fuck her pinkened ass would be too overwhelming.
I couldn’t deal with the temptation, even if she did wear on my last nerve with the silent treatment she’d gifted me with since I hadn’t explained myself to her.
But if she thought she could bring someone here to get back at me? I’d spank her until next fucking Tuesday.
As I rushed inside, intent on beating the crap out of anyone who thought they could take a taste of what was mine, I heard the other voice.
And it was no stranger’s.
“Fuck,” I whispered under my breath, as I closed my eyes in anger.
Rage whirled around inside me like a twister, and I took a few moments to calm down because if I didn’t, I’d do something I’d regret.
Not because I minded hurting Gina, but because I didn’t want Phoebe to see that side of me.
It was a side only Gina could bring out of me. A side that was born from the mutual grief we had over our daughter, but also from the past experiences we’d shared—all of them bad.
Like it always did when she was around, the skin on my belly, hips, lower back, and butt began to itch. Tingle with reaction. It was unnerving and made me want to scratch the still delicate skin, but instead of doing what I wanted, I stormed down the hall.
Realizing Gina was in my fucking bedroom, I came to a halt in the door and saw she was in my bed.
Naked as the day she was born.
And Phoebe?
She was standing at the foot of that bed, gawking at my ex.
But as I saw the two of them together, for the first and most definitely for the last time, something hit me.
How unalike they were.
In my mind, they’d been like twins. Both with rich dark hair, bright green eyes, and a body made for sin.
But they were so dissimilar it was a joke.
Gina’s brown hair was from a bottle, and her skin was overly tanned to the point of being sallow.
Phoebe had warm, olive skin, and her hair was a lustrous brown that glinted red in certain lights and chestnut in others. Her eyes were like gems, not dull like Gina’s. The difference was like that of a beryl stone and chalcedony.
From the very start, I’d seen the two of them as so startlingly similar that I’d almost believed they were one and the same person. Except Phoebe was younger, fresher, born to remind me of everything I’d lost, a secret torment I had to exorcise from my life—not that it had worked.
She’d become my obsession when, at best, I’d been mildly curious where Gina was concerned.
Because both women were arguing, snapping at each other like feral cats, I had a chance to catch my bearings, to overcome my surprise in the pair’s appearances.
As such, my tone was cool when I interjected, “Is it that time of the month again, Gina?” I tilted my head to the side when both women startled at the sound of my voice. “You know, the one where you come and make a fool of yourself in front of me?”