Page 36 of Fierce Monarch

My skin felt too tight, too desperate for release. I needed this. I needed to let him go. Still damp, I threw myself on the bed, pulling out my most trusted toys.

None of them worked.

Not the dildo I slapped onto a chair and rode until my thighs burned. Not the vibrator that hit my G-spot just right. Not my clitoral stimulator that held the record for the fastest orgasm at ten seconds.

Nothing. Fucking. Worked.

Every time I crested that hill, so close to ecstasy I thought I’d scream, Nate ruined it.

You feel like home.

I’ll never stop loving you.

You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

All I could see were memories I’d almost cherished and a face I wanted to forget.

You’ll always be mine, even if I’m not yours.

“Goddammit!” I tossed the toy, watching it smash against the wall, shattering to pieces just like I needed to. I was desperate to come. Desperate to shatter and break so I could rebuild.

“I fucking need this.”

Slicking my fingers in my own moisture, I circled my clit with one hand, fucking myself with the other. There was no patience, no slow buildup. It was pure, single-focused fucking. The only sounds in the room were my agonized breaths, the occasional hiss as I hit a particularly good spot, and the wet noises of my pussy.

Calling the boys was an option, but I needed this. I had to take my body back.

Nate had been the last to touch it. The last to fuck me.

No, not fuck. Make love. It made me sick.

So, I’d do this because I was Marianna fucking Marcosa, and I could damn well bring myself to orgasm.

I fucked myself until my clit hurt, my wrists ached and burned at the stretch, while they and my thighs were sticky with sweat and my own arousal.

And I still couldn’t come.

I threw myself onto the bed, struggling through huge, gasping breaths as I finally, finally, let myself break down again. The sobs racked me, but I refused to curl up. Refused to cower. I let the tears trail down my cheeks and fall into my hair, the sheets, the pillows. I didn’t know, nor did I care.

All that energy had to go somewhere. Apparently, my body preferred crying.

So I lay in my bed, filthy and tired and so fucking sad, wondering if I would ever feel safe enough to come again or if that part of my life was over. Would I ever feel comfortable having sex, or was I doomed to scratch and claw my way to heaven, only to be denied access every time?

If I couldn’t have sex, would I lose Dominic and Greyson? Would they leave me if I couldn’t give them that part of myself ever again?

I had no fucking clue, and it drove me further into my spiral until I wasn’t sure I’d ever surface.

Trust them, my heart begged me. They won’t abandon you.

Too bad my heart had already fucked me over one too many times.

If the boys couldn’t handle a life without sex, I’d let them go. They deserved happiness and fulfilling lives, even if it fucking killed me to think of them moving on. But I’d do it. I loved them enough not to want to force them to stay where they weren’t happy.

But if they walked—if they left me because I couldn’t heal—I was taking it out on the man who’d gone from lover to enemy in the span of a heartbeat.

Nate.

Chapter Ten

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