“So this is one of your fantasies?” he asked as he pressed a button on the remote.

She squirmed as pleasure raced through her. “Now, it is,” she said on a pant.

“Any time you want to reenact something, I’m your man.”

“You are,” she said. You are my man.

Those words echoed in her mind, and she shut her eyes, clamping her mouth closed or else she’d say more.

She’d say too much. She’d serve up all that she felt for him. That she was falling harder than she’d ever imagined. That she was crazy for him. That she couldn’t imagine how terrible she’d feel if she’d lost him.

But she hadn’t lost him. Here he was in her home. Fucking her. Taking her. Owning her. Giving her more pleasure than she’d ever experienced, more passion than she’d ever known. Exploring their potential between the sheets. In some ways, trusting him with her body was helping her trust him outside the bedroom, too.

He layered kisses on her neck as he drove into her with his cock and the toy, pleasure rippling through her from all directions. Soon, she had no notion of where or how or why she felt like this—like bliss. All she knew was that every single cell in her body was comprised of ecstasy, because he’d done it again. He’d fucked her to the edge of reason. He’d ushered her to the far reaches of erotic joy, and she was breaking apart like a rainstorm, a gorgeous, brilliant summer rainstorm, as she came with no signs of stopping. Her climax had no end in sight. It washed over her, it pulled her under, and it consumed her.

Her whole body was a fucking orgasm. There was nothing else but this endless rush of pleasure blasting through her and taking her captive.

She moaned and groaned and cried out, and she couldn’t stop because nothing had ever felt so good. “Oh God, oh my God, oh holy fucking…” And then her words became nonsense, just the echo of the intensity raging in her body.

Soon he tossed her on her back, wrapped her legs around his waist, and fucked her until his own oblivion smashed into him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Elle dangled her feet in the stream as the water gurgled between her toes. No socks on now. She was barefoot, and her Converse sneakers were next to her on the path.

The sun beat down hellishly, but tall trees with lush green branches shielded them from the bright rays, and a soft breeze circled. They’d hiked on one of Colin’s favorite trails, which wound its way along a small creek.

“Did that mega intense hike get you all ready for your triathlon?” she teased, nudging him with her elbow as they perched on a rock at the edge of the water.

“Absolutely. Did you know the Badass Triathlon now includes a mile-long nature stroll?”

She pumped a fist. “Excellent. Sounds like my kind of race.”

He draped an arm around her shoulders. “Kind of ironic, too, that you’re the one with the splint and yet you worry about me doing crazy shit.”

She turned to him, dropped her hand to his leg, and squeezed his strong thigh. “I do worry about you, Colin,” she said, meeting his gaze.

He flashed a small smile. “I like that you worry about me.”

“I worried about you yesterday, too. I was worried how you were going to take the news from Marcus,” she said softly. “How was it?”

A bird chirped in a nearby branch, and Colin gazed at the rocks on the other side of the creek as he told her about meeting his half-brother, from the utter shock, to the sparks of humor he said he saw in Marcus, to how Michael and Shan had reacted when he’d told them—which was in much the same way he had. “Honestly, I didn’t know how Michael would take it, since there’s no love lost with him and our mom. I was worried he would want to have nothing to do with Marcus.”

“But he didn’t react that way?”

Colin shook his head. “Oh, he was surprised as hell, and had a few choice words to say about Dora Prince. But he’s always looked out for the younger ones, and I guess Marcus is part of that now. But the whole thing is this big reminder of my mother, and how I barely even know who she is. She’s like this strange, evil magician presiding over all of us from behind bars. Or maybe a master puppeteer, and she pulls all these strings whenever she wants,” he said, holding up his hands to demonstrate an evil mastermind, adding in a cackle.

“She didn’t pull this one,” Elle pointed out. “Marcus came to you on his own.”

He huffed. “I know, but she played her part by never saying a word for years.” He shook his head in disgust. “How do you keep a kid a secret? Why? I don’t get her. I don’t know what language she speaks, if she’s even human. I seriously don’t understand how I’m connected to her. I hate that I’ve ever had anything in common with her.”

He turned to her, the sunlight streaming through the branches and illuminating the deep frustration etched on his handsome face. She ran a hand gently through his hair. “I don’t know her at all, but I hardly think it does you any good to beat yourself up over whether you’re similar to her. You’re such a good person, Colin. You’re one of the best people I’ve ever known.”

He cupped her cheek. “Thank you,” he said. But he didn’t seem to hold on to her words because his tone turned dark again as he let go of her face and clenched his fist. “Most of the time, I’ve dealt with the stupid decisions I made as a kid, but sometimes I hate that I had friends with brothers in the Royal Sinners. I can’t believe I even associated with them that way.”

“And you didn’t wind up in it. You didn’t venture down that path.”

“I was such a fuck-up as a teenager,” he said, gritting his teeth.

“Please. It’s not like I have some perfect record as a teen. I got knocked up.”

“Yeah. But something good came of that. Your kid.”

“True. But still, I was pregnant when I graduated high school. Of course I don’t regret it, but my point is, you shouldn’t let the past gnaw at you either. You are your present, and what I see in front of me is pretty great.” A light breeze swirled the water by their feet as he smiled—a soft, tender smile. “Hate is a hard thing to hold on to,” she added. “It can eat away at you.”

He nodded a few times, as if he was letting her remark soak in. “Do you think that’s happening to me?”

“Any time we harbor that sort of hate, it can’t do any good. And it’s all directed at her, but I think you’re mad at yourself too, Colin,” she said softly, placing her hand on his arm, tracing his tattoos that she loved. His skin was warm from the sun.

“Why?”

“Because you’ve struggled with some of the same things your mother struggled with,” she said, stopping to pause before she said the next thing, “I think that’s one of the reasons you have so much hate for her.”

He scoffed. “Not because she, you know, killed my dad?”

“Obviously that is the biggest part of it. And in no way am I advocating you forgive that,” she said firmly, holding her hands up in a gesture of surrender.

“Good. Because I won’t and I don’t.”

“Nor should you. But you hate that you have this one small thing in common with her. Perhaps, the person you need to forgive is yourself.” She softened her voice as she said the thing that she knew would be hardest for him to hear. “Maybe to do that, you need to see her.”

He sat ramrod straight, as if he’d been jolted with high-voltage electricity. “Are you kidding me?”

She shook her head. “No. I’m not. I’m just putting it out there. This is the social worker in me. But I think you beat yourself up because you used, and she used. And maybe seeing her once will help you to let go of the hate you feel toward her. Because it’s really a part of yourself that you’re mad at.”

He didn’t say anything at first, just ran his hand over his chin and exhaled hard as he stared at the stream. A small bead of worry wormed through her, and she hoped she hadn’t crossed a line with her suggestion, but she didn’t want to take it back, either. She truly wanted him to consider it. “I think seeing her would be less about her and more about you. Almost as a way of making that last amends to yourself,” she said, tapping his chest lightly. “To forgive yourself.”