1
Brielle
Six Years Later
“Please, harder!”
Theo nods, and his arms come down on either side of my head.
For a moment, I think, This is it—he’s finally going to give me what I need.
Until he gently glides inside me. His mouth curves against mine, and his tongue slides in. And I can’t help thinking that he kisses the same way he fucks—like I have a handle with care sticker attached to my forehead.
I try to shift my hips, hoping to somehow find the sweet spot that will send me over the edge, but it’s nowhere to be found.
“Harder,” I beg, craving the release that I already know I’m not going to get—at least not until he’s done and I’m alone in the bathroom so I can do it myself.
“I’m trying,” he says, his face scrunching up, as if it physically pains him just to think about doing what I’m asking of him. “But I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You’re not going to hurt me,” I tell him, pushing him off me and clambering back, wishing I had never confided in him.
“Brielle,” he sighs as he edges off the bed and runs his fingers through his dirty-blond hair. He’s still partly dressed, his shirt unbuttoned and his pants undone. He stuffs his still-hard cock back inside. “I’m trying, but you’re asking me to do things I’m not comfortable with. I love you. I’m never going to hurt you. You’ve been through a lot and …”
I stumble off the bed, taking the sheet with me to cover myself up.
“I was there,” I hiss. “I was the one who was thrown onto the bed and held down while a man I despised raped me. So, don’t tell me what I’ve been through and what I need.”
I turn my back on Theo and stomp into the bathroom, slamming the door behind me.
“Brielle, please,” he says through the door as I grab my clothes and get dressed. “Come back out here so we can talk about this.”
“I don’t want to talk!” I bark. “I wanted to fuck … hard, but you ruined the mood.”
The same way he always ruins the mood.
Not that there was ever really a mood to begin with.
Especially after I made the mistake of telling him about my past.
I’d woken up from a nightmare after falling asleep at his place one night—until then, since I’d never spent the night with anyone, I hadn’t realized that when I had a nightmare, I spoke and screamed out loud. When he asked me what was wrong, I was shaken up and vulnerable, and I told him what had happened to me six years ago.
Before my admission, our sex life hadn’t been all that good, but after he found out I had been raped and forced to have an abortion, it only got worse.
Missionary.
Slowly.
Gently.
And God forbid I attempt to suck his dick.
I once tried to get him to push my head down, and he told me I was broken.
“Brielle, I think you should see a therapist,” Theo murmurs.
And I think you should learn how to fuck a woman properly … but here we are.
Grabbing the towel closest to me, I bring it up to my face and scream into it. Even with the material muffling the sound, I’m sure he can hear my frustration out there.
“Brielle!” Theo bangs on the door. “Are you okay?”
“No!” I yell, sliding my heels onto my feet and then unlocking the door. “I’m not okay. I’m horny and unsatisfied, and I’ve had enough of you treating me like I’m a broken, fragile little thing!”
I stare at him, wishing I could feel something, anything.
He’s not wrong.
I am broken.
But I thought maybe Theo could help fix me. He’s sweet and loyal and so damn considerate. He’s everything I’m supposed to want, yet I still feel this void inside me.
“I can’t do this anymore,” I choke out. “I think you’re a great guy, but you’re not the guy for me.”
“Because I won’t hit you in bed?” he asks, a mixture of confusion and concern written all over his features.
“No.” I shake my head. “Because … because …”
“Brielle …” He steps toward me, but I take a step back. “Are you really going to sabotage everything we have when you can’t even tell me what’s wrong?”
I stare at him for several seconds, trying to put into words what’s going through my head, but nothing comes out.
Because Theodore DeSantis, the owner of DeSantis Investing—a thirty-six-year-old man who owns his own condo, has a great relationship with his parents and siblings, buys me flowers and chocolates, and takes me out on romantic dinners—is perfect.
But I’m not.
“You’re a whore …”
“… you’re now damaged goods.”
I shake myself from my thoughts, refusing to let Andrey get into my head.
He’s been dead for six years—and haunting me for just as long.
“It’s not you,” I tell Theo. “It’s me.”
I walk past him and scoop my purse off the counter.
“So, this is it?” he asks, walking me to the door.
“Yeah,” I choke out. “This is it. I just …” I groan, wishing I could find the damn words. “I’m sorry,” is what I settle on because I don’t know what else to say.
“Are you sure?” he asks, his patient hazel eyes meeting mine. “Because we’ve done this a few times …”
What he means is, I’ve ended our relationship a few times.
Because it’s always the same thing.
I get bored.
And then I start fights.
I ask for things in the bedroom I know he’s not comfortable giving me.
And when he refuses, I push him away.
“I’m sure,” I tell him, leaning in and kissing his cheek. “I’m done.”
Some women might think I’m doing this for his attention. But I know Theo, and he’s not going to chase after or fight for me. He won’t beg me to reconsider because he’s a good guy and he just wants me to be happy.
And I really wish I could be happy with him.
But I’m not.
“Goodbye, Theo,” I say and then head down the hall.
I’m not even to the elevator before I’m texting my friend Nicole and telling her to get ready because I’m picking her up so we can grab a drink. After what went down with Theo, I need a strong shot … or two.
“I still say we should’ve gone to the country club.”
Nicole eyes the bar in disgust and then grabs a napkin in a feeble attempt to clean the area. Unfortunately, there aren’t enough napkins—or bleach—to save this place. But points to her for trying.
“We always go there.” I slide onto the barstool, praying STDs can’t be contracted by touch. “And it’s always the same asshats frequenting the bar.”
Their hats might be Gucci fedoras, but that’s beside the point.
When my heels attempt to leave the ground, they momentarily resist due to the stickiness on the wood floor. I cringe, and Nicole catches it.
“Nope, I can’t do it.” She stands. “There has to be a place that’s cleaner than here.”
“Yeah, and my brothers own them all.”
And while they don’t care what I do, the last thing I want is for word to get back to them that I’m at a bar, looking for a hookup.
Years ago, neither of them would’ve judged, but now that they’ve both found love, they can’t seem to understand why everyone else in the world hasn’t.
I’m happy for them—I am.
Dominick has Peyton and my three adorable nephews. And Matteo has Daniella and a baby girl on the way. And they’re all so damn happy that they want everyone around them to be happy.
But what they don’t understand is that I want to be happy.
I want what they have.
But I’m broken.
“Brielle, please,” Nicole pleads, her green eyes begging me to get her out of this place. “You know I adore you, and I’m your loyal wingwoman, but this place is …”
She shivers rather than finishing her sentence, and I glance around, taking the place in. It’s a tiki bar on the water in South Harbor Point. I’m sure, at some point, it was beautiful, but now, it’s run-down, and it needs a good cleaning—or to be torched—and even the salty air is tainted by the burned smell of fish.
“Fine,” I grumble.
She releases a breath of relief. “Thank you, thank you. First drink is on me.”
I roll my eyes.
While the gesture is sweet, we both come from money, so neither of us needs anyone to buy us a drink.
Nicole’s father is the mayor of Harbor Point and comes from old money. And my family pretty much runs the city—between all the hotels, restaurants, and clubs they own. Even the main port that handles almost all the import and export in South Florida is owned and run by my brothers.
“You’re finding somewhere to go,” I tell her, immediately regretting it because I already know where she’s going to insist we go.
“Gladly,” she says as we exit out of the side door. “Besides, if my father knew I was here, I’d never hear the end of it.”
I don’t know much about her father, aside from the fact that my brothers hate him. When they found out I had befriended Nicole—after chatting with her a few times when I frequented her coffee shop, Lattes and Words—they warned me to stay away from her. But we clicked, and since I refuse to let anyone ever tell me what to do again, I told them that while I appreciated their warning, I wouldn’t be heeding it.
And I’m glad I didn’t because Nicole has become a close friend and, as she pointed out, the perfect wingwoman.
Our families might not get along, but since neither of us has anything to do with our families’ businesses, we’ve decided their animosity isn’t our problem.
We slide into my cherry-red Porsche Boxster—she’s a few years old, and she doesn’t have all the latest technology, but she’s my baby, my late college graduation gift to myself—and Nicole hooks up her phone to my dash so I can see where we’re going as I pull out of the parking lot.
“North Harbor Point Country Club,” I read across the screen.
Of course …
“Look, unless we want to drive out of this city, the hot spots are limited. The country club is clean, safe, and has good drinks.”
“It’s also where every corporate bigwig with an even bigger ego frequents.”
“I take it, this means you broke up with Theodore … again.”
“I don’t want to talk about it. What I want is to find someone who won’t treat me like a porcelain doll, and the country club is going to be filled with a dozen Theodores.”
Nicole laughs. “It’s Saturday night, so it shouldn’t be too bad. And besides, like my stepmom always says, ‘It’s as easy to fall in love with a rich man as it is a poor one.’ ”
I snort out a laugh. “Spoken like a dedicated gold digger.”
“Eh, she’s not bad. At least she’s honest with her intentions. She was a struggling single mom and determined to get herself out of South Harbor Point. One night with my dad, and she had him wrapped around her perfectly manicured finger. She might’ve been broke, but she was young and beautiful, and … well, we both know my dad has bare minimum standards. Thankfully, she’s nice, and her daughter and I get along.”
“You have a stepsister?” I quickly glance her way before putting my eyes back on the road. “Why have I never met her?”
Nicole and I have been hanging out for months, but now that I think about it, she doesn’t talk much about her home life. I know her dad threw a fit about her opening her coffee shop and bookstore, but she used the money her mom had left her when she died when Nicole was little, so he couldn’t do much to stop her. Especially since she had moved out and gotten her own apartment so she’d no longer be dependent on him in any way.
“Vanessa is away at college,” Nicole says. “My dad might’ve been keen on having the hot young wife on his arm, but he isn’t a fan of raising another man’s child.”
My thoughts go to my brother Matteo. When he and my sister-in-law Dani found out she was pregnant and it wasn’t his baby—due to her ex-husband forcing himself on her while she was kidnapped—he could’ve walked away, but instead, he insisted the baby was his, DNA be damned.
So many people snub their noses at our family because of our less than stellar business dealings, but listening to Nicole talk about the way the mayor—who prides himself on being a religious family man—could shun the daughter of his wife only reiterates how hypocritical this world is. Mayor Eric Vanderbilt might have this town fooled, but my family has his number, and once my brothers can prove he’s as shady as we think he is, I have no doubt they’ll take him down.
When we walk into North Harbor Point Country Club, my gaze immediately goes to the bar, which, as I predicted, is filled with a bunch of pompous assholes. They’re rich, and they think they’re God’s gift to women. And they’re so wrapped up in themselves that they wouldn’t know how to please a woman if her clit smacked them in the face.
I groan, and Nicole laughs.
“Maybe tonight will be different,” she says as we walk toward the bar.
We find a spot with two empty seats, and I order my usual whiskey sour while Nicole orders a cosmo.
“Okay, now spill. What happened with Theo?” she asks.
I take a sip of my drink while I try to figure out how to answer her question. I know she won’t judge. Unlike Theo, when I told Nicole about my past, she sympathized, but she didn’t pity me, and she’s never once changed the way she acts around me.
“I think I’m broken,” I admit.
She quirks a brow.
“I mean, I know I am. I’m fucked up. But”—I lean in so no one else can hear—“I haven’t orgasmed during sex since I was with Owen.”
“Owen, as in your college boyfriend?”
I nod, and her eyes go wide.
“Holy shit, Bri, that was, like … years ago.”
“I’m well aware,” I say dryly. “Theo was the first guy I’ve been with since I came home.”
When I was in college, I met Owen, and we fell in love. We spent months planning our future together until Anthony caught us and then snuck into my apartment and raped me.
A couple of months later, Andrey found out I was pregnant, so Owen and I ran. We ended up in a shitty motel, where Andrey found us, killed Owen, and then forced me to abort my baby.
I moved to Russia to get away and never once even considered looking at a man. I was busy helping my grandfather run his company and trying to heal from the trauma.
But when my brother Dominick dragged me home after our grandparents passed away, I had a lot of time on my hands. So, I decided to put myself out there.
I went on too many first dates and barely any second ones. So, when I met Theo and he seemed to tick all the boxes of what I was looking for, I grabbed ahold of him.
“Girl,” Nicole drawls, “you need to get back on the horse. You might as well be a virgin at this point. The man didn’t even give you an orgasm, so he doesn’t count.”
I snort out a laugh. “I want to, but it’s hard …”
Nicole snickers at my unintentional pun, and I roll my eyes.
“A couple of times, I came close …”
“To coming?” she questions.
“No.” I laugh. “To sleeping with a man. But it never felt right.”
“And it felt right with Theo?”
I think about that for a second and then shake my head. “No, it felt … comfortable and safe.”
“Maybe that’s the problem,” she says. “You need to be taken out of your comfort zone.”
“Maybe,” I agree. Then, because deep conversations like this stress me out, I add, “At least he wasn’t allergic to pussy.”
“What?” Nicole barks out a laugh.
“When I first came home, I tried to pick up a man. I brought him back to a room at the country club, but his face was only between my legs for about twenty seconds when he told me he was allergic to pussy.”
“Oh my God, stop!” Nicole wheezes because she’s laughing so hard.
“I mean, I’m not an expert on the opposite sex, but is that really a thing?”
“Excuse me,” a gentleman says, sliding in next to me and leaning against the bar. “Can I buy you a drink?”
I glance down at my whiskey sour—which is still more than half full—and wonder how men manage to function, let alone pick up women.
Then another gentleman, who I didn’t notice had sat down next to me at some point—or maybe he was here before me?—says, “She already has a drink, and if you haven’t noticed from the Saint Laurent purse and matching heels, she’s capable of buying her own drink.” He raises a finger to the bartender, and when he approaches, he says, “Whiskey, neat.”
The asshat standing between us huffs and walks away, giving me a perfect view of the gentleman who just saved me. I suck at guessing ages, but with his messy brown hair, stubbled jaw, and the slight crinkles around his eyes, he looks to be around my age—late twenties. But the way he carries himself in his Tom Ford suit—with his shoulders tense and his back straight, his eyes alert and darting around the bar—it’s as if life has aged him several years.
“I’m Brielle,” I find myself saying. “And this is my friend Nicole.”
I never make the first move, but this guy has me intrigued. And I am here in hope of meeting a man and having sex with him so I can find out if I am in fact the problem.
“Kane,” he says, lifting his drink from the bar top and taking a sip.
My gaze goes to his throat and the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows while I wait for him to elaborate. When he doesn’t, I glance at Nicole, and she quirks a brow, obviously equally intrigued by him.
“Do you live in Harbor Point?” I ask, making conversation.
The city is small, and since it’s split between North Harbor Point, where the upper class reside, and South Harbor Point, where the middle and lower class live, I’m surprised I haven’t seen him around before.
“I do now,” he says cryptically.
Another sip.
No elaboration.
I’m about to give up—because I don’t beg for any man’s attention—when he turns toward me and says, “Because I think you’re the kind of woman who’ll appreciate it, I’m going to get straight to the point. I have a room upstairs. Nothing fancy. Just a place to sleep while I wait for my stuff to arrive. Bed is comfortable, and I promise to make you come at least twice before you sneak out … three times if you spend the night.”
I’m so taken aback by his comment that I snort out a laugh, and the drink I was nursing splashes over my glass and all over my hand.
“Excuse me?” I scoff, unsure if I should be turned on or offended. I’m slightly mortified that I’m leaning toward the former more than the latter.
“Don’t play games.” His eyes, the same color as the whiskey he’s drinking, meet mine. “I heard you tell your friend that asshole you were dating was incapable of making you come …”
“And don’t forget about the guy who was allergic to pussy,” Nicole adds with a smile at the same time I hiss, “Are you stalking me?”
“Did you not just hear where I’m staying?” Kane says dryly. “I came to the bar to grab a drink, and it wasn’t difficult to hear you telling her about your lacking sex life.”
Oh, right. He’s staying at the country club.
I glance at him just in time to see his tongue slide across his pouty lips, wetting them. I consider playing hard to get, but this guy is offering to make me come twice—yes, I heard the part about three times, but I’m not spending the night. If he can make me come once, it will be more than what Theo could do during the months that we were together.
“And I can assure you that I’m not allergic to pussy.” He stands and extends his hand for me to take. “You coming?”
“I sure as hell hope so.”
“Are you sure about this?” Nicole asks.
After Kane propositioned me, she dragged me to the restroom to make sure this was really what I wanted to do.
“Yeah, I need to do this. To know if it’s me … if I’m the problem.”
She grins. “Look at you, quoting T. Swift.”
She starts to sing the song, and I roll my eyes. The woman is a professional Swiftie.
“Okay, go,” she says once she’s done. “Go see if you’re the problem. But make sure you text me his room number in case I need the police to find you and call me afterward so I know you’re alive.”
“Will do.” I pull my keys out of my purse, but she shakes her head.
“I’m good. I’m going to have another drink and then take an Uber home.”
After we freshen up, I give her a hug, and then Kane and I head up to his room.
Once we’re inside, he goes about taking off his suit jacket, laying it over the dining room chair. The country club only has a couple dozen rooms, but the one he’s staying in is on the nicer side with a full kitchen and living room.
“Have you been here for long?” I ask, noticing that the place is bare of any personal belongings.
“A couple of weeks,” he says, stalking toward me.
“Why are you—”
“Enough talking.”
He takes my face in his hands and crashes his mouth down on mine. His tongue slides between my parted lips, and he tastes like whiskey and determination.
His hands glide down my ass cheeks, and he hoists me into his arms, carrying me into the room, where he drops me onto the center of the bed.
“Take off your clothes,” he demands.
And every hope I had about this man is shattered. He wants to dominate in the bedroom, which is what most women would want. A man who is determined to make her come. And it’s what I should want, but it’s not what I need.
I do as he said because we’re already here, so I might as well try. But I already know I won’t be coming once, let alone twice, tonight.
Once my clothes are off, he spreads my legs and dives right in with gusto. He has no problem finding my clit, but I’ve already lost the desire for an orgasm.
He licks and sucks, and I get lost in my head, wondering if this is how it’s always going to be. I always blame the men, but the truth is, I’m the one with the issues.
After a few minutes—or maybe longer—I notice the licking has stopped, and when I glance down, I find Kane staring up at me.
Was I lost in my head so long that I was already supposed to fake my orgasm?
Well, shit!
“That was so good,” I lie, sitting up. “Your turn?”
“What the fuck did you just say?” He leans back and glares at me.
“I said it was good …”
“What was good? You didn’t make a fucking sound, and when I stopped touching you for over a minute, you didn’t even notice.”
Oops.
“Sorry, but, um, it was good.”
I reach for his belt buckle, but he moves out of my grasp and stands.
“What is this? Some kind of game you play? You were bitching about not orgasming, yet you checked out before even giving me a chance.”
I stare at him for several seconds. I faked my orgasms with Theo every single time, but he never once noticed.
“I’m not playing any games,” I tell him, sliding off the bed and grabbing my clothes from the floor. “It’s not my fault the male species is so busy banging their fists against their chest that they don’t take the time to listen to what a woman needs.”
Before I can get my dress on, he snatches it from my hands and grabs my chin between his fingers, forcing me to look at him.
“Tell me what you need.”
I take a step back, trying to figure out how to answer his question. I told Theo so many times what I wanted, but is that the same as what I need?
My thoughts go back to earlier tonight with Theo. Where everything once again started to go wrong. He was in control of our pleasure while I had none.
I tried to tell him what I wanted—please, harder!—but he wouldn’t listen.
“I need to be in control,” I blurt out.
“You need to be in control?” he parrots. “Okay. Then you’re in control.”
“Just like that?” I scoff, taken aback by his simple response.
“Just like that.”
I search his face for a hint of insincerity, but don’t find any.
And then we stand here for several seconds—maybe minutes—while he waits for me to do something, say something. I start to freak out because I don’t know what to do or say. I might crave the control, but I’ve never actually had it.
I would ask Theo to do things, and when he refused, I’d either fake an orgasm or throw a fit.
“I don’t know what to do,” I admit, my nose and eyes burning.
This guy must think I’m nuts.
“I’m sorry I wasted your time.”
I start to head for the bathroom so I can get dressed without him seeing me lose my shit, but he stops me once again.
“You said you wanted to be in control. What does that look like?”
“I don’t know. I’ve … I’ve never actually been in control. I just know I need it.”
It’s more than a need. I crave it, desire it. So much so that when Theo took charge in the bedroom, I’d instantly retreat, and I couldn’t get out of my head, to the point where I couldn’t find my release.
He stares at me for several seconds, then nods in understanding and retreats. “Get dressed.”
My heart sinks. A part of me was hoping maybe he would be different. But I can’t blame him. I’m a broken mess, and this guy doesn’t owe me anything. He was looking for an easy fuck, and instead, he got a complicated one.
I grab my clothes and disappear into the bathroom to quickly get redressed. Not caring what my face or hair looks like, I head back out to the bedroom so I can grab my heels and purse and get out of here. Only when I step out of the bathroom, I find Kane lying on the bed in nothing but boxer briefs.
“All right, Princess, you have me. Now, what are you going to do to me?”
“Princess?” I quirk a brow, unimpressed by his cliché nickname for me.
“Yeah, you’re like the princess in those storybooks,” he explains. “The blonde one who’s hidden in the castle with the drawbridge up and no way for anyone to get to her.”
If only he knew how accurate his statement was.
Usually, I have a guard, Daniil, who shadows me everywhere I go, thanks to the dangerous life my brothers live. But I’ve worked out a deal with Daniil, and when I go out, he follows behind in a separate car, and he never reports back to my brothers anything I do—not that I’ve been doing much since I returned to Harbor Point. My life literally consists of spending time with my family, hanging out with Nicole, and taking classes at the local Pilates studio.
“Now, are you going to take control or what?”
Kane spreads his arms wide, and my attention goes to his muscular biceps and forearms. Further down, his chest is chiseled, his skin tan and clean—not a tattoo in sight. I count six abs and notice a thick bulge in his boxer briefs.
“Hey, Princess, you going to stand there, eye-fucking me, or are you going to do something?” He smirks devilishly.
“If I’m in control, then you shouldn’t be asking questions.”
“Of course I should,” he volleys. “Communication is the key. If you had communicated that you needed to be in control, you would’ve saved us a lot of time that could’ve been spent with me making you scream my name.”
I don’t argue because he’s not wrong, but in my defense, until he asked what I needed, I hadn’t pinpointed what the problem was. And honestly, Theo never would’ve been okay with me taking control.
“Now, tell me, what do you want from me?”
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