Broken Compass

They have the pieces of my heart, and if I lose them, I’ll have no heart left at all.

After a long day at work, I can’t wait to get home. I’m torn between hoping the boys are awake, so I can talk to them, maybe watch a movie with them—and hoping they’re asleep so I can settle in my bed and read more of the story Gigi sent me.

Because, oh man, Gigi was right. That story… whew. Somehow the heroine ends up with her two guys. I just haven’t figured out yet how. It feels a bit like magic. Like she goes, hey guys, I want you both, are you game? And they go like, woo let’s get naked.

So easy.

Why can’t real life be as easy? I ask you. I want to read more, see if there’s an answer, a clue as to how she did it.

When I reach home, at first I think it will be me and the story tonight. West is snoring softly on the sofa, TV playing in the background.

But then I glance into Nate’s room through the half-open door and find him playing games on his phone.

He lifts his head and dimples at me, his smile bright. He puts his phone down and beckons me closer.

I step inside and make my slow approach to his bed. I’ve slept beside him quite a few nights since that first time I woke him up from a nightmare, but I’m always careful not to startle him, or touch him when he isn’t ready.

He’s like a live grenade. If only he wasn’t so beautiful. Hot, strong, unpredictable and dangerous. Shirtless, his muscular chest bare, all hard planes and ridges, he’s such eye-candy it makes my heart ache.

I sit down on the mattress and he strokes my cheek. “Hey.”

“Syd.” His rough palm is warm and I lean into it. His bright eyes drop to my mouth. “Missed you.”

He says things like that sometimes and makes me melt. “Missed you, too.”

Since that time he freaked out when he kissed me, he hasn’t tried again, and he’s been distant sometimes—though I’m not sure if it’s because of that, or because he doesn’t know what to make of this situation. I told him I need them all. He knows.

Maybe I managed to confuse him as much as I’m confusing myself.

But tonight his mouth crashes on mine without hesitation. His other hand circles my neck, cups the back of my head, and he licks at my lips, drawing a moan from my throat.

God, I’ve wanted this. Him. So much. I open my mouth to his tongue and clutch at him when he fucks me with it, short, hard thrusts that I can somehow feel between my legs.

My nipples are hard, my breasts achy, and I throb between my legs and deeper. Deep in my core, I need to feel him, I need him to thrust inside me.

He drags me closer, almost in his lap, until I fold my legs on either side of him and feel his hard-on, hot and hard and thick pressed between my thighs.

After all the doubts and soul-searching, the heartache and desire, having him melded to me like this is so good it makes me want to cry. Being allowed to touch him, touch his face, feel his stubble under my hand, wind my arms around his neck and feel those powerful muscles of his chest and shoulders pressed to me.

I kiss him back, my eyes prickling.

And then, just like last time, he breaks the kiss and pushes me away, so hard I actually fall back on the bed.

I’m staring up at the ceiling, my mouth still burning from his kiss, my eyes leaking, my heart pounding.

“Syd…” He scoots back, kneels on the bed, teeth bared in a grimace. “Shit. Fuck, this isn’t working. Are you okay?”

“I just can’t…” I wipe at my eyes, annoyed that I get so emotional. “It hurts.”

He curses, slams his hand into the wall. “Fuck. The fuck.” And again, his fist thumping so hard it leaves an imprint of blood.

That has me sitting up in a hurry. “Stop. Nate, stop.”

“I hurt you.” Every word comes out like broken glass. “I’m hurting you.”

“It just hurts that I don’t know how to help. That I can’t stop myself from touching you when it stresses you.”

“It’s not you. I’m sorry.” He reaches for me, strokes his bloody knuckles softly down my neck, making me shiver. His golden eyes are sorrowful. “So fucking sorry, Syd. I thought I’d figured it out, that I was over this fucking shit.”