Page 72 of Fault Lines
I recognized his swagger even before he reached for me, pulling me close for a kiss that tasted of mint toothpaste and promise. I melted into it, letting last night’s frustration slip away, just for a moment. I wouldn’t see him all weekend. No point in dragging old arguments with us.
I was still mad—but loving him was a muscle memory, something automatic, something that hurt more when I tried to resist. Easier just to give in and let the moment take over.
So when he pressed himself against me and I felt the unmistakable hardness beneath his pants, I didn’t protest. I moaned softly as his hand found its way under my dress, his fingers teasing and insistent.
It wasn’t long before I was breathless, gripping his bulge through thin fabric with eager hands.
“Give me something to get me through this weekend without you, Livi.”
He yanked my panties down, spun me around, and bent me over the breakfast bar. The sound of his zipper was the only warning before he slid inside me, rough and hungry.
I was ready for him, needing him even as each thrust drove my hips into the unforgiving edge of the counter. His fist twisted in my hair, pulling my head back so my spine arched for him. I barely registered pain—all of it drowned under the rush of pleasure as he filled me again and again.
He palmed my breast through my dress and squeezed, his chest pressing against my back.
“Nothing is better than this,” he growled, breath hot against my ear. “Nothing is better than knowing you’re mine and mine alone.”
I almost laughed at the irony, but it was lost in the heat of the moment, in the rhythm of his movements and the flood roaring in my veins.
He spun me around and lifted me onto the bar. I gasped, the cool marble hard against my skin, but he didn’t give me time to adjust before peeling my neckline down and biting my nipple, sharp and possessive.
Legs wrapped around his waist, I clung to him. He bore down until my back hit the countertop. Both hands pinned my wrists as he plunged into me, over and over, filling every part of me.
He knew exactly how to touch me; the second his thumb pressed against my clit, I shattered around him, my back bowing, voice breaking in a cry I barely recognized.
He roared my name as he came, holding himself deep, his body shuddering against mine. I felt every throb, every twitch, all of him pouring into me.
We clung together, breath coming hot and uneven, neither of us willing to be the first to move. I couldn’t imagine feeling this with anyone else. Ever.
How could anyone else ever make me forget this connection? Two hearts, locked in a battle, refusing to let go.
Finally, he pulled out, gentle now, and lifted me off the counter, wrapping me in a soft kiss before whispering, “I love you.” He said it like it was an oath. He knew I was powerless to resist.
∞∞∞
“Was everything okay last night?” Nate asked that morning as I frothed milk for the first latte order.
“Yes. No emergency. He just came home early and was surprised I wasn’t there waiting for him.”
Nate snorted. “So not only does he cheat on you, but he expects you to sit by the door every night, just in case he’s bored and wants your company?”
I went still. That was the first time I’d ever heard Nate sound bitter. He’d always skirted around direct criticism of Cam, even though I knew he didn’t like our arrangement.
He shook his head. “Sorry. That was rude. I just hate that you have to go through all this. Or that you think you have to.”
I focused on the swirl of milk and coffee, watching them dance together in the cup. “I don’t think I have to. I just—I can’t stand the thought of living without him.” I watched the colors blend. “I know you don’t get it. Most people wouldn’t. But I think we’re soulmates. We operate on a higher frequency.”
The look Nate gave me said it all. I barked out a laugh. “Told you. You don’t buy it.”
He popped a lid on the cup and pushed it back across the counter. “I just think if you were really soulmates—if he loved you the way you love him—it wouldn’t be possible for him to hurt you this much. I know I wouldn’t if you were mine.”
I rolled my eyes and walked the cup over to the waiting customer. “Thanks for coming in,” I called with a bright, practiced smile.
Nate leaned over the counter as soon as I returned. “You hate me now, don’t you?” he asked, voice low. “Especially after last night.”
“No,” I said.
“Do you regret what almost happened?”
