One Last Rainy Day: The Legacy of a Prince(80)

“What the fuck is right,” she snaps. “That’s the second time you’ve slammed a door in my face in a week, Dominic. I’ve been waiting for you half the night, missing you every day in between, and this is how you treat me?”

“Like I said,” I point toward Sean’s room.

“Don’t,” she warns, “because I’m not bluffing. Don’t finish that sentence. You don’t want this to be over. I know you feel for me . . . I just don’t know why you’re fighting it so much.” She blows out an exasperated breath. “I don’t know what the hell is going on with you two this week because you’re both acting like you’re on man periods. So, I’m just going to assume there must be something in the fucking water that needs to run its course.”

I remain mute as she inhales a deep breath of patience. “Just . . . take a shower, and I’ll . . . order us some food, okay?”

We stare off for several seconds, and I slowly nod.

Goddamnit, King!

She walks over to me and lifts, pressing her lips to mine as she slowly tugs my boxers down. My cock points directly to her as she searches my eyes, gripping my hand and rubbing off a grease stain from the meat of my palm. “Business, huh?”

Making it clear she’s onto me, she searches me for a reason for the distance, and I give her nothing.

“I’m fine with whatever you’re capable of giving me, Dom, but I don’t think capability is your issue. You won’t, or,” she rakes her lower lip with her teeth as I fucking rattle inside with the need to touch her.

“Or maybe you don’t want to, or can’t take me seriously because . . . because I’m with Sean too?” She sighs. “If that’s the case, then I guess that’s the way you feel, but when we’re together, I only see you.”

Pressing a kiss to my chest, she drags her nails along my dick, and it’s all I can do to keep from fucking her.

What the fuck are you doing, Dom? End it!

“Cecelia,” I rasp out, the cadence in my voice taking me aback as the lowlying burn in my chest ignites at the thought of what future rainy days would look like without her. Cutting words linger on the tip of my tongue, and sensing them coming, she gives me a firm shake of her head—refusing them from me for the first time.

“Pizza? I know what you like,” she releases me, and I grip her wrist and tug her back to me.

Her navy blues volley and glisten, her voice a plea. “Dom, if we could stop this, we would have already. You think I don’t feel guilty? You think I wanted to feel for you? You’re holding back with me,” she emits, “but I can tell you don’t want to no matter how hard you push back . . . I can tell. Lie all you want to me, to yourself, but I know better. I know you better.”

It’s the truth. The totality of it. I’m fucking fooling myself into thinking that there’s still a tipping point. I’m already past it. But my brother can’t suffer for it. My club can’t suffer for it. There’s too much at stake.

“What the hell do you really know?” I snap, stepping out of her reach. “Let me clue you in . . . what I allow you to know, which is nothing.”

I can see the second my venom hits her and ball my fists as the burn starts to singe the whole of my chest.

“I know you’re guarding yourself with me to the point it’s starting to bother you. You want to be with me, and you won’t let yourself. Just tell me why. And I know enough,” she says softly, eyes still pleading.

“Obviously, you don’t. Do we really need to have this conversation again? I’m not bitter, or jaded, or fucking broken.” I roll my eyes down her frame. “I’m just not interested. So, let me sum it up for you.” I point to my chest. “I’m just another busy criminal that fucks you, and you’re a convenient fuck. Get your head out of the clouds. There is no us.”

She closes her eyes and presses her lips together to absorb the sting before they open. It’s the smug uplift of her lips along with the clear ‘you stupid bastard’ in her expression that tells me she didn’t believe a word I just fucking said—and we both know it.

“Okay, Dom, okay,” she exhales resigned, chest pumping along with the slight shake of her head in a call of bullshit before she turns and leaves me there, annoyed, frustrated, naked, hard, breathless, and . . . fucking enamored.





Tossing my stress ball from where I lay on my bed, with every catch, I begin to tick off the reasons for letting her go as my limbs grow heavy, no doubt due to my long shift at the garage.

Toss.

Brother.

Catch.

Club.

Toss.

Hindrance to progress.

Catch.

Liability.

Toss.

Fucking her the first time was fucking up.

Catch.

Allowing her into my space, my bed . . . all of it was senseless, pointless, and unnecessary.

Thunder rumbles as the storm continues to rage outside, and concern spikes that she drove home in this weather. Resisting the urge to ask Sean if he’s heard from her or tune into the mics in her room, I slap off my bedroom light and resume my place on my mattress.

I gave up my right to know.

Facts.

Ended it.

Point blank.

Had to.

Watching my bedside clock, a low spike of adrenaline starts to zing through me as the minutes tick closer to midnight.