She whimpers, eyelashes fluttering.
The look she’s pinning me with is open at first, then hopeful…
Then dark.
“See, I never stopped thinking about you.” I put the brush over the strip covering her cunt. “Not for a second.”
Her lips part when I stroke her pussy through the bandage, rubbing her the way she likes.
I tighten my hand around her throat just in time to catch the vibration of her moan with my palm.
“But?” She grabs my T-shirt, using it to pull herself closer as she rocks her hips, trying to fuck the brush. “What did I do?”
“You wounded me.” I hate this. Sounding weak. As if I have a choice. I can’t control my voice any more than I can control my dick that’s straining in my jeans. “You might do it again. Probably will.”
A dimple appears on her chin. Her body stills. “What do you mean?”
“Elowyn Faye Montgomery.”
This isn’t kind, what I’m about to say. But she has to hear it for herself, learn what’s been crushing me for years, so we can move forward.
“You’ve only ever chosen one person.”
She’s waiting for me to elaborate while I run the brush up and down over her pussy. Slow, then fast and slow again before stopping at her opening.
The fabric and my brush push into that tight space, making her knees buckle. I have to choke her a little tighter to hold her upright.
Neither Elowyn nor I seem to have a problem with that.
She lets out tiny exhales, little sounds that my dick responds to.
“That person,” I say, throwing the brush to the side. “It isn’t me. Never was, never will be.”
“Duncan.” Her face crumples, eyes shining. “That’s not true. I didn’t just feel rejected and miserable. I told you the guilt has been eating at me for years. I always wanted what was best for you, and instead I was the reason you lost everything you worked so hard for. It broke me. If I’d even suspected Barclay was lying, I would’ve looked for you. I swear I would’ve.”
“Was it convenient? Staying home? Keeping your life intact?” Venom slithers through my body, seeping into every word. “Did you ever push Barclay for the truth? Or was it easier not to?” My mouth twists. “I bet it was a relief. Not having to look for the poor boy who had nothing to offer you.”
I regret the words as soon as they come out, despite how anger still burns through me.
“How dare you.” Her jaw tics. “I never cared about money. Never wanted a rich boyfriend or husband. I wanted you.”
“Doesn’t look like it. I left, and you didn’t care.” I lower my face to hers, our noses brushing. “You could’ve called. Texted. Something.”
Normally, these memories drag me back to a cold, lonely place.
Today’s different.
I’m furious but it doesn’t stop me from wanting her.
Her cunt, I’m throbbing to be inside her. I grab the strip covering her pussy and place it over her shoulder. Exposing her.
“That’s”—when I dip two fingers inside her, she’s wet, her arousal soaking me to my wrist—“on”—I slip them out, rubbing her clit with her wetness—“you.”
“I’m sorry.” A big, heart-wrenching sob breaks out of her. “I’m sorry.”
“What for?” I pinch her clit. I’m cruel on the outside, when deep inside, I’m seconds from breaking down. From saying I’m really fucking sorry too. “What is it that you’re apologizing for, exactly?”
“For believing Barclay. More than anything.” The way her body locks, I know she’s about to come. “For being so heartbroken that I couldn’t see the truth. I would’ve chased you. Would’ve fought for you. I didn’t, and I’m sorry. I’m.Sorry.”
