Page 22 of The Truth of Loving You

“Fuck!” Cole yelled as the door shut behind me.

Last night, I’d noted the stairwell in case of an emergency. A handy idiosyncrasy I had when entering new buildings. By using the stairs, I would most likely avoid any further confrontation with Cole. I was not in the business of being a target.

When I reached the ground floor, I heard Cole’s raised voice. He apparently didn’t believe I hadn’t passed through the main entrance. I exited the building via the stairwell and found myself on a side street.

I ducked into a building alcove when I heard Cole bellow my name. His fury drove him out of the apartment building in his boxers. He seemed to take hold of himself, and I assumed he went back inside.

At least it was a mild summer day and not scorching hot. I found Sixth Avenue, followed it into Washington Square Park, and sat on a bench.

The problem with being so well acquainted with loss and grief was understanding the irrationality of it all. Life would be so much easier if feelings were logical. More than one therapist had told me that I don’t feel my feelings; I logic my way through them.

Fuck-you-very-much. Not one of them explained how to feel those feelings, since it was different for everyone. I had to figure it out for myself. Well, today was not that day.

I couldn’t bring myself to regret last night. Even sitting on a bench looking as if I was half a paycheck away from being homeless, now I knew myself better. I knew that being with a guy felt amazing. That sucking and swallowing turned me on to the point of orgasm. That calloused fingers on my dick felt better than anything had before.

Spanking had been a revelation.

I shouldn’t rule out a sex club for experimenting. Research stated that a Dominant/submissive relationship had the potential to be deeply nurturing, and I definitely got off on serving Cole’s needs and receiving his spankings. I didn’t have time to meet and vet strangers. I did not have a good track record with relationships, so Cole had been right. Finding someone to trust would be difficult. One reason I’d trusted him was that I knew where I stood. A one night only teaching experiment.

With Cole, I wasn’t trying to be something other than myself. He was off-limits, so I didn’t have to worry about what he thought about me or the impact my tendency to word vomit would have on our future. It was refreshing, liberating even.

I wondered if Cole realized things about himself from last night. His eyes had turned molten with lust when I’d called him “daddy.” He’d made it so comfortable for me to give myself over to him. Relinquishing control to shut my mind off was the ultimate high. But being a Dominant might be difficult for him. Of all the things I’d learned about myself, the most shocking was that I absolutely had submissive tendencies. At least in bed.

I had enough to work through without adding Cole’s issues to my unrequited feelings. I’d stupidly hoped Cole and I could be friends. There was no way I could be near that man and not want him inside me. That was a truth I couldn’t ignore. Finding another way to satisfy myself was going to be excruciating. My sex drive had been almost nonexistent, but since meeting Cole, I’d had to masturbate daily.

I’d willingly explored this, and now I had to figure it out on my own. Cutting all contact with Cole would be for the best. I’d tell Sara eventually but not today. I wanted to have a handle on everything before she started trying to fix my life. She’d been doing that for fifteen years, and I needed to stop letting her do it.

I stood; I had a two hour walk to Brooklyn to logic through my feelings and pretend I still wanted to murder Sara.

Chapter eleven

Cole

“Fucking,fuck.Fuck!”

I’d lost my mother fucking mind. I’d betrayed Paxton in our home. With a random guy who’d meant nothing.

I don’t know which thought made me sicker, betraying Paxton or trying to convince myself that Shane meant nothing. Hating Shane was so much easier than hating myself. I spewed my anger at him, but he hadn’t given me the satisfaction of a fight. Not one word.

He’d expected it. Somehow, he’d known I’d fuck it up and wasn’t surprised or shocked. He’d looked disappointed. Welcome to the club. Disappointment and anger were the main menu.

It was fine. Better this way. A clean break. No expectations and no commitments. I’d never see him again. I wasn’t capable of giving Shane more—now it was over.

This way I wouldn’t be tempted to put Shane on his knees and make him beg. And I wouldn’t give into the need to feel in control or want the satisfaction of bringing him peace. I’d put it all behind me.

My heart leapt at the knock on my door. I didn’t know I was hoping it was him until I yanked the door open and experienced a gut punch when Paxton’s mom, Lisa, stood in front of me.

“How’d you know I was here?”

“A mother always knows,” she said, and I pulled her in for a quick hug.

I loved how she treated me like her son. The road to get here had been bumpy, but I didn’t think I would’ve survived the last five years without her.

“Did you...are you making...breakfast?” She pushed past me and rushed to the stove. Probably to ensure I wouldn’t burn the place down. From the other side of the counter, I saw what she saw. Three bagels on a plate, four cooked sausage patties, and ruined eggs on the griddle. Her eyes widened with shock. “Is someone here? Do you have a,” she paused and sounded almost excited, “guest?”

I shook my head. Last night I’d pulled up my notes in my phone and texted our standard breakfast order to Saul. I didn’t know I’d fucking done that until right fucking now. We always ordered extra because Lisa miraculously appeared on mornings we’d made breakfast.

Saul must have tipped Lisa off.

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