I knew we’d have to talk about it at some point, but I had hoped he wouldn’t bring it up until later. Like after I had coffee. And breakfast. And a nap.
“Not much actually,” I reply. “I’m meeting him after lunch.”
I don’t like how Fallon tenses underneath me or how his heartbeat grows more pronounced.
“I don’t want you going alone. If not me, then ask Jules to go with you.”
My hopes of spending a lazy morning in bed with him are ruined by his veiled assumption that Jayson would physically harm me.
“Thank you for your concern, but it’s unwarranted.”
“It’s completely warranted, Elizabeth, or have you forgotten what he did?”
That’s a ridiculous question because I will never forget how Jayson’s beautiful silver-gray eyes that used to look at me with so much love had glared at me with hurt, betrayal, and hatred. I lost my best friend that night.
Rolling off him, I get out of bed and head into the bathroom to clean the stickiness dripping down my thighs. “He was drunk.”
I catch my reflection in the mirror. Dear God, I look a sight. Sexed-up hair, finger bruises around my hips, a few new hickeys, and love bites that look worse than they are against my pale skin. Fallon and I were not gentle in our lovemaking.
He appears in the doorway, a harsh frown etched on his mouth. “That doesn’t give him a right to put his hands on you.”
I yank the hand towel from the holder and wet it. “He was hurting.” Because of me. Because I broke his heart. I wasn’t the only one who lost everythingthat night. Jayson did, too. He lost himself to alcohol to cope with the trauma of what happened to me. He didn’t know where I was or if I was alive. And when I came back, I wasn’t his Liz. I was a different person with no memories of us. I fell in love with his best friend. And then we found out in the most horrific way that we lost our daughter.
“So that makes it okay for him to try and choke you out?” Fallon angrily retorts.
“Of course not! But it’s a tad hypocritical of you to go after him for doing something you also did.”
Just like I knew that night in Norðurljósavegur that Fallon wouldn’t hurt me, I knew the same thing about Jayson when helashed out after he saw Ryder propose to me. Both times I came close to kneeing them in the groin. No man should put his hands on a woman in anger.Ever.And I think I just reiterated Fallon’s point and lost the argument we’re having.
“Stop making excuses for him. He’s a grown-ass man. He doesn’t need you to protect him.”
It’s difficult to keep a clear head and contend my point when Fallon is standing there naked.
“And may I also remind you that I’m a grown-ass woman, who doesn’t need anyone’s protection?”
Fallon moves from the doorway. Grabbing the hand towel from my grasp, he takes over, and I hiss at the rough scrape of the terry cloth as he tenderly cleans between my legs.
“Sore?” he asks.
“A little.”
We watch one another in the mirror. Standing behind me, he towers over me by several inches. When he finishes, he places the hand towel on the vanity and cups my pussy.
“Let’s get one thing straight. I protect what I love,” he says, grinding my clit with his palm.
I didn’t think I had another orgasm in me to give, so I’m not prepared for how quickly he wrenches one out of me.
“Look at how beautiful you are when you come.”
The sight of us in the mirror—of him, of what he’s doing, of the ecstasy glazed over my face—is so erotic. I had asked Fallon to ruin me, but I never knew it would be so completely.
I pull his arms tighter around me, and he kisses my neck. When his eyes lift to our reflection, I ask, “Is this how every argument between us is going to go? I disagree with you, and you give me an orgasm to shut me up?”
He grins. “I don’t see a problem with that, but if you want to argue about it…”
I collapse into giggles when he digs his fingers into my sides and tickles me. “What I want is a stack of pancakes and a gallon of coffee.” I should take a shower first and wash off the smell of sex that clings to my skin, but I’m starving.
With a not-so-quick kiss, Fallon lets me go, and I rummage through the chest of drawers for anything to put on. Finding one of Ryder’s old Randy’s Custom Auto sweatshirts, I slip it over my head. It’s so big that the hem drops to my knees.
