Page 195 of Indiscretion

The most important reason being that I love the guy. I’minlove with him. And I promised that I’d never leave him.

He needs me because I’m the only person he trusts to tend his deepest secrets.

Still, after today’s events, a dark, simmering rage burns inside me. One that I need to quash, and quickly.

Rage not at Jordan, and not even at Elliot.

Mostly at the circumstances in general. A rage I need to rid myself of before it burns out of control and I do something stupid, like jettison Elliot.

Yeah, I’m greedy. I want both of them. So?

Seeing what today did to Shae reminds me once again that life is too short. In an ideal world, Elliot, Jordan, and I would openly live our happily ever after, the three of us together.

This is far from an ideal world.

There are too many people ready with quick condemnations and extra fingers to point at anyone who dares not comply with their idea of a “righteous” world. Most of those assholes have plenty of skeletons in their closets, too.

I’m halfway up the first flight of stairs in my building when Elliot texts me that he’s home. I text him good-night and head upstairs.

When I get the door unlocked, Jordan meets me in the hall, naked except for his leather collar and bracelet. Relief fills me to finally be reunited with him.

My sweet boy.

After I close and lock the door and set everything down, I plant a hand in the middle of his chest and pin him to the wall so I can kiss him. I’ve got a heap of stress and anger to purge.

Hooking a finger in the ring on the front of his collar, I lead him to our bedroom. I wasn’t sure what I’d planned to do. Maybe a marathon spanking session, or tying him up and edging and tormenting him.

Instead, I strip and make love to him, taking my time and slowly fucking him, staring into his eyes.

“Who do you belong to?”

His eyes are beautiful, with long fluttering lashes. In this light they look more dark green than hazel. “You, Sir.”

I nuzzle my way along his neck, to his shoulder, down to his bicep where I bite, hard. I nearly always bear at least one mark from my sweet boy.

His fingers dig into the backs of my shoulders, where he’s holding on.

Scooping a hand under his head, I press his mouth against the top of my shoulder. He takes the hint, biting down hard enough to bring tears to my eyes.

That’s my excuse, anyway.

I relish the pain and we stay locked like that for a too-short forever until I finally release him and lick the spot I left on his pale flesh.

I slant my lips over his in a deep, crushing kiss as I start thrusting. His erection’s pinned between us, sliding against me with every stroke, and I want to get him over like this. I want to feel connected to my boy.

I want to bridge that gap between me and Elliot and every day feels like I’m losing him.

Closing my eyes, I think about his blue gaze, his pained moans, his darkest, desperate needs, and, thankfully, Jordan makes it over just before I do. Not moving, I keep kissing him, hoping he can’t feel my tears, praying he doesn’t read my mind.

My sweet, angelic innocent.

He can’t be the love of my life, because Elliot is planted there, and it breaks my heart.

I’m an infatuated idiot, right?

The psychologist has long since given up trying to talk me out of this folly. Of giving myself fully to Jordan and letting my relationship with Elliot die on the vie.

I don’t know when I started sobbing but the next thing I know, Jordan’s holding me, and we’re on our sides, and my boy’s trying to comfort me.