“Cole,” I say, closing my eyes again. “Go harder.”

I spin around, facing the wall and pressing myself into it with my hand still buried between my legs. He’s behind me, demanding in. He wants to fuck.

I slip a finger inside and start moving on it. I lay my cheek against the wall, trying to go fast, so I can’t think. Maybe if it’s just fucking, I can come.

My finger is wet, and I slide it back out and rub my clit again. I want to come. It’s right there. But I can’t. The muscles in my arm strain, and my lungs ache for air.

Please.

But it doesn’t come. My fingers slow, and I exhale, tears stinging the backs of my eyes.

I bite my lip again, aching so badly. I’m so wet.

And then, my mind in a fog and my will gone, I crawl inside my head where no one else but me can see.

I hide and give in, because no one but me has to know. In that moment. In my dirty thoughts and torrid little fantasy, I want him. I want to be for him. Our little secret.

Hidden.

“Such a good girl,” a new voice whispers in my ear.

Pike’s voice.

His body is behind mine now, larger and taller, caging me to the wall. His hand fists the back of my hair, and he pulls my head back slowly, leaning in to flick my lip with his tongue. I whimper.

“Taking care of the house the way I like,” he taunts, and my hand becomes his hand in my head as he takes over fingering me. “Cooking my meals the way I like. Pretty little thing for me to look at. You’re doing so well, Jordan.”

I keep my eyes closed, feeling for his lips, my whole body pulsing with an electric current at the taste of his warm mouth and the water of the shower cascading over his hot skin. I can feel his cock, hard and ready behind me.

“I need you to do everything a woman does now,” he instructs. “Everything a good girl does for a man. Can you do that?”

I nod, panting. “Yes.”

My orgasm is cresting again, my nipples press painfully into the tiled wall, and it feels so good between my legs. I want him. I want him on me. I want to know what he feels like.

Reaching behind me, I don’t think. I grab a loofah and slide it between my legs. The netting chafes my clit in a way than sends me over the edge. I roll my hips into it, wanting to feel anything, because it’s him in my head and that’s enough. His smell surrounds me, his mouth sucks my neck, and he’s hefting me up, so he can slip inside me. It’s rough and hard, his hands on my tits one minute and his mouth stealing my breath the next. God, his tongue tastes good.

The orgasm tingles deep, building and building, and Cole’s father is fucking me so good.

I come, the wave washing over me, and I cry out in silence, breathing hard but making no sound. God. I collapse against the wall, nearly crumbling as I shudder, the orgasm drifting down my legs and making my knees week. I squeeze my eyes shut and shake through it until it ebbs away, leaving me light-headed.

When the shower stops spinning and my breathing has returned to normal, I open my eyes, a flood of emotions rushing me.

Oh, my God. I want to cry.

What the hell is wrong with me? Why would I do that? And with his father? I…

I’m confused and stressed out and seeking comfort in a guy, because he’s been nice to me a couple times. Jesus.

No matter what happens with Cole and me, Pike Lawson is off limits. Don’t forget that. There are hundreds of men out there just like him. He’s not special.

It can’t be him. Ever.

I straighten, taking a deep breath. Looking down, though, I see the loofah in my hand isn’t my pink one. It’s Pike’s silver one.

“Shit.”

A few suds are still in it from his shower this morning.

And I used it to orgasm. Awesome.

I groan inwardly.

Climbing out of the shower, I bury it under tissue paper in the trash can and make a mental note to get him a new one next time I’m out.

And some different body wash, I think, too.

Pike

“Jordan?”

I dart my gaze left and right as I pass each aisle, having lost her nearly ten minutes ago. Where the hell did she go?

The guys and I finished at the site early today, and with a little daylight left, I’d come home from work to find Jordan working in the garden. She wanted to check out some chicken wire or something for the tomato plants, and I thought I’d add a stone border around the tree in the backyard, so we hopped in the truck and headed to Home Depot.

After putting in the order for the stone, though, I lost her.

I finally spot her at the end of an aisle digging in a shallow box sitting on a shelf. Standing back upright, she pulls out a sheet of tiles and holds it up in front of her, studying it. Carrying the two new yard tools I’d picked out, I walk for her, steeling myself.

She looks beautiful today, and shit keeps happening to my body every time I look at her. Like there are live wires underneath my damn skin. Black T-shirt, white shorts, hair down and free, minimal make-up—she’s no frills, and it works. Farmer’s daughter and exactly my type once upon a time.

I shake my head, clearing it.

“What’s that?” I ask, approaching.

She glances at me, still holding up the square sheet of tiles. “It’s backsplash.”

I reach out my free hand, running my thumb over the tan stone strips glued to the paper. “Backsplash?”

“You’re in construction,” she snips, giving me a chastising look. “Don’t you ever watch HGTV? Backsplash is everything in home décor.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen it,” I assure her, dropping my hand. “I just…I don’t know. Seems like a frill.”

She rolls her eyes, her gaze resting on the stones again. “It’s the little things that add personality to a house,” she tells me. “An artsy chandelier, the right rug, and backsplash.” She turns the sheet around, facing me and showing me. “This is you. It would look great with what you’ve done in the kitchen.”

“Me, huh?” I let out a chuckle, meeting her eyes. “And what am I?”

Her smile falls and a look of surprise crosses her eyes.

I blink. “I didn’t mean it…like that,” I tell her.

It’s not what I said but how I said it. Way too insinuating.

She seems to brush it off, though, turning the sheet around and staring down at it again with appreciation. “It reminds me of a cave,” she finally says. “You’re like a cave. You don’t give up all your secrets at once. Who knows how deep you go, right?”

My eyebrows shoot up. What?

How deep do I go? Did she just…

Her eyes suddenly go round, and she jerks her gaze to me, looking mortified. “I mean,” she rushes out, “like…on the…on the inside. Your personality.” A blush rises to her cheeks. “I didn’t mean it like…ugh.” Her shoulders sink, and she stuffs the sheet back into the box, giving up. “I’m going to drool over bathroom fixtures now. Bye.”

And she walks away from me quickly, disappearing down an aisle.

My mouth quirks into a smile, and I break into a quiet laugh, staring after her.

“So, what do you think?” A young man in an orange apron steps up out of the corner of my eye.

I don’t look at him, though, still staring at the aisle she just disappeared down. “We’ll start off with three boxes of this.” I gesture to the tiles on the shelf. “See how it looks...”

He moves over and starts unloading the boxes. “Wise choice. Happy wife, happy life, right?”

Happy wife, happy…

I watch him pull out a box and carry it away, the pulse in my neck suddenly throbbing.

He thinks she’s my wife?

A smile pulls at the corner of my mouth, and I’m not exactly sure which emotion is filling my chest right now, but it feels good and there’s a lot of it.

Later that evening, I slouch back into the couch with my arm tucked behind my head and a beer in my hand, watching TV I’ve been in a lucid daze for a while now as one show has turned into five.

I set down my beer and pick up the remote, finally turning off HGTV and blinking, I think, for the first time in three hours. “She’s right,” I mumble. “They’re fucking obsessed with backsplash.”

In a moment of curiosity, I had clicked on the channel after we got home from Home Depot, and it’s like I blacked out after that, only momentarily zoning back in to make a sandwich and try to talk to Cole.

He’s out again now, though, grabbing a quick shower and another quick exit after he came home from work and realized Jordan wasn’t here. I thought we could go grab a late dinner or something, but apparently, his plans couldn’t be broken again.

Or he’s afraid to be alone with me. It’s not like I want to fight, either. Even just watching a show together would be fine. I mean, we had managed not to kill each other in the past. He used to like me.

And where does he get all this money to party? He has to be spending everything he’s making.

Not that I’m in a rush to have him save money and leave, but I guess I can now judge myself as harshly as I’d judged Jordan. The more you do for someone, the less they do for themselves. I’m as much to blame as she is. Cole won’t grow up until he’s forced to.

I down the rest of my beer and stand up, carrying the empty bottle into the kitchen.

My phone rings in my pocket, and I dig it out.

Dutch.

“Hey,” I answer, tossing the bottle into the garbage.

“Hey. You should come to Grounders right now.”

Huh?

“Like right now,” he adds before I have a chance to say anything.

“Why?”

“Because…” he pauses, and I hear a breathy little laugh. “Jordan is, um…misbehaving, I guess you could say.”

I straighten, my brows pinching together. “Misbehaving?” I repeat. “What does that mean? And why do you think I care. I’m not her dad.”

Music pounds in the background, and I can hear a crowd talking and laughing. One of my guys is getting married in a couple weeks, so the crew took him out tonight. We need at least one person not hungover tomorrow, so I stayed home.