Page 72 of When Hearts Surrender

The girls guffaw and Grace laughs so hard she wheezes likea banshee.

“Har. Har. Har. You two are stand-up comedians now, aren’t you?” I mutter.

Cole sidles up next to me and helps me move a table so I can reach the far back of the space.

“But seriously, how are things going with you and Maxwell? With all your gala planning and work, we haven’t hung out recently. Is he treating you well?”

“You’re going to let me stuff you with my cock and fill you with cum, aren’t you?”

My heart palpitates at the memory of his words in the shower three weeks ago. How he used my body for his pleasure. How he manhandled me to succumb to his will.

How much it hurt after the lust faded when I realized he didn’t kiss me or caress me and how impersonal it all felt—like he was holding a big part of himself back.

Since then, he’d come to my room once a week, usually late at night, sometimes after I’d drifted off to sleep. He’d be coiled with energy and tethered power, the intensity radiating off from his imposing frame in spades.

He’d rouse me from my sleep with his hands on my ass or back me against the wall if I was awake. Then his talented fingers would find their way between my legs as he pinned me in place and surrounded me with his strength. He’d play my clit like it was an instrument he had mastered, getting me off in a matter of minutes.

Then he’d turn me face down, slide his thick cock inside me, and rut against me until he came, all the while whispering dirty and degrading words about breeding and getting me pregnant that felt like a love language.

He’d never look me in the eye.

We’d still have our clothes on the entire time.

And he still wouldn’t kiss me.

It hurt more than I cared to admit as I laid in bed afterward, reminding myself to lie on my back, as if that’d help my DOR situation and getting pregnant.

Despite how impersonal the sex feels, I can’t stop my body from coming alive near him, from wanting him, from craving him and the pleasure he gives.

I can feel the connection between us, even if he tries his best to deny it.

“God, look at that blush on her face. Revolting,” Taylor mutters, but her lips are twisted in a small smile. Cole stiffens next to me and throws me a glare.

Guilt pinches me from the hurt and unsettling anger on his face. But what can I do? I’m not in charge of what comes out of my girlfriends’ mouths.

Fanning my face, I let out a half-hearted chuckle. “You girls, it’s not like that.”

“You just got redder!” Millie squeals.

Cole whips his towel on the cage, the loud sound startling me, and abruptly stands up.

I furrow my brows and he returns my gaze with a glower, his nostrils flaring.

“Excuse me, ladies.” He strides out of the space.

“What’s going on with him?” Millie asks, her brows pinched.

Groaning, I bury my face into my palms. I’ve never told them I suspect Cole has a thing for me, so they’ve always assumed he’s just a friend from the shelter.

What a mess.

“So, are things really going okay between you and Maxwell?” she asks softly, sincerity brimming in her voice.

“It’s complicated.”

He has a wall around his heart that’s more fortified than Fort Knox. Intimidating. Impenetrable. But I know there’s a heart of gold behind those stormy moods and fiery gazes.

“You know, Ryland was complicated too. I think as Andersons, they had a lot of pressure growing up. The world was watching their every move, waiting for them to make a mistake.”

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