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Daniel wasn’t domineering, jealous, nor possessive. None of the unhealthy things I occasionally craved but didn’t need. He was ambitious, funny, smart, and generous with me. I should’ve loved him. I did love him.
There, standing beneath the Peloponnesian Battle depicted on the vaulted ceiling, standing right in the heart of it, loomed my heaven and hell. Cole Kincaid.
Privacy was the last thing we needed. Cole and I needed to be supervised at all times.
The truth was, if it wasn’t Daniel getting the scraps of me, it would’ve been someone else, because my heart wasn’t whole. I’d left the other half of it back in Seattle, and now it was here, right in front of me, staring into me as if nothing could keep us apart. Not even my vows.
“No one’s called me that before,” I’d said. “It’s mine. If anyone calls you that, you tell them it belongs to me. That you belong to me.”
He was a slut, a virgin, the devil, and an angel rolled into one. A case study in contradictions, leaving my cock hard and my heart soft as putty.
“You’ve never been touched the way you—the way you touch me. You’d never understand.” “And you’ve never been loved the way you loved me, not even by me. No one is capable of the kind of love you give. So you wouldn’t understand how impossible it would be for me to move on. Or to give anyone even a fraction of what I gave you,”
