Page 90 of Dirty Little Mistake

"Can you come quietly for me, baby?" His words vibrated against my collarbone.

I pressed my lips together, managing a shaky nod as his fingers found their target with devastating precision. Every muscle in my body tensed in anticipation. I sucked in a harsh breath. "Actually, maybe we shouldn't." He pulled his hand away from my skin, and I groaned.

"Don't you," I forced his hand back, "dare stop."

The corners of his lips tugged up into a cocky smirk as he slid his fingers through my wetness, finding my clit again. He moved in tight little circles, and my lips parted on a soft moan.

"Shhh," he breathed through my parted lips as his speed increased, and so did my breathing, each breath carrying a tiny moan. His free hand wrapped around my mouth, silencing my moans. "Now come for me, baby."

The door crashed open like a gunshot, and I shot up, shifting Trystan to my side.

"Cam..." My name died in Owen's throat as his gaze tracked from my face to Trystan's hand, still intimate between my thighs. The silence stretched, thick enough to choke on. Each second felt like glass about to shatter.

Time crystallized in that moment—Trystan's hand frozen, my breath caught mid-gasp, the morning light suddenly harsh and exposing. Owen filled the doorway, his familiar silhouette transformed into something dangerous by the rigid set of his shoulders.

When Owen finally laughed, the sound was wrong—hollow and sharp-edged. "Un-fucking-believable." The words fell like ice between us. He shook his head, a gesture so familiar it made my chest ache, before spinning on his heel. His footsteps echoed down the hallway.

"Fuck." I scrambled out of bed, my bare feet hitting the cold hardwood floor. The oversized t-shirt fell to mid-thigh as I rushed into the hallway, painfully aware of how exposed I was in just my panties. "Owen!"

"Let him go," Trystan called from the bed.

I ignored him, my feet slapping against the floor as I chased Owen's retreating back. "Owen, stop!" My voice echoed off the hallway walls.

"What, Cam?" Owen whirled to face me, his voice cracking like a whip. "What?" I stumbled back. The narrow hallway suddenly felt suffocating, with Owen's six-foot frame towering over me. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides as he advanced one step. "You know it really didn't take you long to move on, did it?"

My head recoiled in confusion. "Owen, you cheated on me."

"Let's not pretend like you didn't fuck Trystan the night before we started dating."

My lips parted in shock, and my eyes went wide. How did he know that?

"Do not talk to her like that," Trystan growled. I flashed a warning look over my shoulder to see Trystan standing behind me in his boxer briefs.

"Trystan, just go back to bed," I ordered. My chest tightened, and I realized that he had told Owen about us.

A door creaked open down the hall. Syn emerged, her hair a wild, sleepy mess. Harlow appeared behind her, hanging back in the doorway as she took in the scene: Owen and I squared off in the narrow hallway, Trystan's muscled form bristling with the tension between us.

"What's going on?" Syn's gaze darted between the three of us, her bare feet shifting on the hardwood floor.

"Nothing." Trystan's voice cut through the tension like a blade. He angled his body, trying to put himself between Owen and me. "Go back to bed."

I stepped out from behind him, wrapping my arms around my middle. "Owen, why don't we talk about this?"

"You want to talk about it?" Owen's lips twisted, and I saw it then—the pain I'd caused him, raw and festering. The same pain I'd been running from. "Okay. Let's talk. Maybe I wouldn't have cheated on you if you hadn't—" His eyes cut to Trystan, and I saw the moment his hurt hardened into something uglier. Something meant to wound.

"If you finish that fucking sentence—" Trystan's voice dropped to a tone I'd never heard before, something dangerous. He moved past me with lethal grace, his shoulder brushing mine. That brief contact told me everything—the tremor running through his muscles, the barely leashed violence in every line of his body.

The hallway's air grew thick with testosterone and threat. The muscle in Trystan's jaw jumped once, twice—a countdown to explosion. "You're going to eat your teeth for breakfast." Thethreat landed soft, almost gentle. Those were always the most dangerous promises.

"You cheated on her?" Syn asked. "What the fuck, Owen?"

"Can everyone just shut up," I shouted. "Please."

"Fuck this." Owen's face twisted with fury. "And fuck you, Cam. I'm not really into whores anywa?—"

The words died in his throat as Trystan's fist connected with his jaw. The impact cracked through the air like a gunshot. Owen staggered back, but Trystan was already moving, both men colliding and toppling sideways. They hit the floor hard enough to rattle the pictures on the walls, a tangle of flying fists and cursing. Each impact of knuckles against flesh echoed through the house like thunder.

My scream caught in my throat as flesh met flesh, each punch punctuated by grunts of pain and rage.

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