Two amazing, sexy, considerate men occupied this house with her. And she was spending the night alone in her bed. There was something elementally wrong about that.
ELEVEN
PAX SLID THE EGGS A ROUND THE PAN, WATCHING THEM FORM INTO perfect discs. Almost done. As they cooked, he grabbed his mug and gulped down the remains of his coffee, then poured another cup. The bacon was already done, the toast had just popped up and the hash browns were a nice golden brown.
“Morning.”
He half turned and smiled at Teresa, and grabbed a mug for her. “Morning. Coffee?”
“I can get it.”
“So can I. Sit down.”
He poured her a cup and set it in front of her.
“Smells good. I just don’t see you as the kind of person who cooks.”
“Yeah? Why not?”
“Because you’re this masculine powerhouse of a man. I’d expect to see you outside splitting logs with an axe.”
He laughed. “Yeah, I heard that a lot from my dad when I was a kid.”
“You always liked cooking?”
“When I was a kid, I dreamed about being a chef. I liked to play in the kitchen, liked to cook alongside my mom. My dad hated that. He called me a g*y pu**y and said no boy was supposed to be in the kitchen cooking unless he had no balls. But hey, it gave him another excuse to beat the shit out of me.”
He slid the eggs from the pan to the plate. “How do you like your eggs, Teresa?”
She didn’t answer, so he looked at her over his shoulder. He’d seen that horrified look before and wanted to kick himself for saying anything about his childhood.
Dumbass.
“Your dad beat you?”
“Yeah. How do you like your eggs?”
“Uhhh . . . scrambled.”
He cracked three eggs into the pan, using his fork to stir the whites and yolks together.
“Why did your dad hit you?”
“No clue. Because he was angry a lot, I guess. My old man didn’t need an excuse to grind on me or my mom. He seemed to take a lot of joy in the task. By the time I was thirteen, the beatings were daily and I was pretty much immune to them. By fifteen I was big enough that he wasn’t messing with me much anymore unless I really pissed him off, but he was still hitting my mom on a regular basis. I tried to talk her into leaving him, but she said she loved him and he took good care of her.” Pax laughed. “Yeah, he took care of her all right. He pounded on her so hard one night he almost killed her. I got in the middle of it and got my arm and some ribs broken. That’s when the cops came. That’s when they took me away from them. Because after all the beating he gave her and a week in the intensive care unit, she still wouldn’t leave him.”
“Oh my God. Oh, Pax.” She was behind him in an instant, her arms wrapped around him, her body pressed against his back.
He didn’t want this. Not this sympathy from her. He should have kept his mouth shut. He slid the eggs onto the plate and stood rigid. “Your breakfast is going to get cold.”
“I don’t care. Turn around and let me hold you.”
He sucked in a breath, turned, and she moved into him. He had no choice but to wrap his arms around her while she did the same. She rubbed his back and damn if it didn’t feel good to have her hold him.
“I’m so sorry, Pax. No one should have to go through what you did as a child. No one should have to carry those memories around. What your father did was unforgivable. And your mother failed to protect you. I’m sorry you didn’t have people to care for you.”
Pax sucked in a deep breath. He loved women, had vowed after watching his father beat the living hell out of his mother damn near every day of his young life that he would never do harm to one . . . ever. But he was also never going to love one, because love and relationships were just too scary, and while Pax wasn’t afraid of anything, that was a place he wasn’t strong enough to go.
Sex was fun as long as it was light and easy, and that’s why it was always fun with AJ. A three-way was never a serious commitment. And that worked out just fine for him.
But having Teresa hold him, the press of her body against his, and knowing what she’d been through . . . this was different. Watching her with AJ last night had been a lesson in self-denial. His dick had been so damn hard he’d had to go into his room last night and jack off just imagining what he’d walked into—the way she’d looked with her legs parted, her sweet pu**y pink and wet and open as AJ f**ked her with his fingers, the scent of sex in the room, the way she’d whimpered and cried out as she surged against AJ’s hand when she came.
Teresa was beautiful and desirable, and damn he wanted her. But she wasn’t the typical woman he and AJ played with. And holding her like this felt way more than physical.
He pulled away and gave her a smile. “Let’s eat.”
But she didn’t let go of him; instead she reached up with her hand and caressed his cheek and jaw, then wrapped her fingers around the nape of his neck, pulling his face down to hers.
Don’t do this, man. Big mistake.
But it was already too late. His mouth was on hers, and the memories he’d brought up talking to her were too raw, too painful, and he needed to sink into something sweet. And Teresa was store window candy he knew he shouldn’t have but damn if he didn’t want it anyway. Her lips were warm and she tasted like cinnamon. He wanted to be easy with her, but he just couldn’t. It wasn’t in his nature to be slow and gentle like AJ. He tightened his hold on her and crushed his mouth to hers, inhaling her gasp and the following moan like they were the breath of life.
He waited for her to push him away, but she drew further into him, sliding her tongue against his, making his c**k leap to life. He slid his hand up into her hair, the other snaking down to the small of her back, slipping into the waistband of her sweats so he could touch her bare skin. After watching her with AJ last night, he’d wanted to touch her, to taste her, and now that he was, the sensations were damn near overwhelming. That she wasn’t pushing him away and running like hell shocked him. He knew he was all over her, pushing her against the kitchen table, trapping her.
Control it. Don’t rush this.
But she made it difficult with her body soft and pliant against his, her mouth hungry and attacking, her hands sliding under his shirt to roam his chest and back. How was he supposed to read this? Teresa was AJ’s girl. She was different than the other women they shared. Plus she’d been hurt by two men. He shouldn’t be kissing her. He wanted to kiss her—and do so much more with her. She just felt sorry for him. This was sympathy, nothing more.