Fearless (Broken Love, #5)(36)

I still couldn’t believe Mario prostituted his own daughter.

And then to have never met her mother… Although, from what Willow and Keiran had told me about Esmerelda, I considered her fortunate. She disappeared after her attempt to kill Keiran had failed, but knowing she was still out there didn’t make me feel any safer.

She’d try again.

It was only a matter of when.

Being with Keiran didn’t eliminate the constant fight for survival. I’d learned how to survive him and now I was learning how to survive with him.

The unmistakable sound of sex began to drift underneath the door and my eyes widened when I realized they were doing it right in the hall!

I stormed from the bed and yanked open the door. I didn’t stop to think about it. I should have stopped to think.

The sight of a tall, muscular man with dark hair—who still wore all his clothes while Di was naked from the waist down—greeted me. His dark jeans were lowered, showing off his muscular ass that flexed with each hard, upward thrust. Di whimpered while her head rested against the wall. A tortured expression marred her features even as her nails dug into his shoulders.

“Harder. Please harder.”

Her fingers dropped from his shoulders to grip his powerful ass, encouraging him to take her the way she pleaded. He obliged and powered forward with impossible force. I watched as his head turned ever so slightly to take her lips.

And that’s when recognition hit me hard.

I was stuck. Stumped. Stupefied.

Say something!

“Q?”

What followed was like watching a fifty-car pile-up on the freeway—except they froze. Di’s eyes popped open and stared back at me. She didn’t look surprised or sorry. Her eyes were empty of emotion.

“Oh, shit,” the guy, who I quickly realized was not Q but looked a lot like him, swore. He dropped Di’s legs from around his waist and quickly yanked up his jeans. Di took her time lowering her dress, unbothered by her nakedness. Her thong lay at their feet, forgotten.

“Sorry, girly. Forgot you were here.” She giggled but forgot to add humor. Her guest finally turned, giving me a full picture. He had the short, dark hair and matching eyes, and even the stature that screamed Q. The only thing he lacked was the quiet reserve.

“She’s fucking hot. Can she join?” he asked with a lustful stare that would have unnerved me much like Keiran’s did. The only flaw was, he wasn’t Keiran so it did nothing for me.

“If you want to keep your balls and your life and in that order, I suggest you never think that thought again,” Di answered dryly.

“That’s too bad.” He took one last pass at me with his eyes and then retreated for the bathroom indicating he’d been here before.

“Boyfriend of yours?” I questioned.

“I like to think of him as a fuck buddy. He’s reliable, available, and has a big cock.”

“He looks like Q.” Shit, I didn’t mean to say that. Her emotionless gaze now burned with disdain and a mocking acknowledgment of my observation. Her expression read, ‘Yeah so?’

“Sorry. I like the taste of my feet.”

She chuckled and rolled her eyes before pushing away from the wall. “I’ll try not to keep you awake,” she promised as she disappeared into the bathroom with her Q lookalike.

I didn’t realize I was still standing there staring after her until the bathroom door reopened. I dove back into the safety of her guest bedroom to prevent another awkward situation with the reminder that her sex life was none of my business.

Later, I found that early afternoon pancakes could momentarily cure any awkward situation. Di had trouble getting up due to a hangover—and hard sex, if the sounds coming from her bedroom were anything to go by—and I just needed the escape sleep promised, so I slept in.

Di’s friend was gone so it was just the two of us, but I couldn’t get the sight of her being fucked out of my head. I kept seeing her face contorted with torture rather than pleasure. The way she clung to him and begged for more said it wasn’t physical pain that caused her torment.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I looked up to see her take a sip of her coffee and to stare at me over the rim of her cup. I could tell she found it amusing. Even though I couldn’t see her lips, I knew she was smirking.

“I didn’t take you for a coffee person,” I commented, ignoring her question.

She shrugged and took another sip. “It keeps me from crawling back into bed and staying there. It was either this or alcohol.” My mouth suddenly felt dry, so I took a sip of orange juice. Or maybe I just needed a distraction.

“So do you?” she repeated.

“No. I think I saw enough. More than enough,” I added.

“Did you touch yourself?”

I regrettably spit out the second sip of orange juice I had just taken. She looked down in disgust at the mess I had made and then handed me a napkin.

“What?” I coughed.

“I’m just wondering if you were shocked by more than just catching the act. Maybe you were turned on?”

“Oh God, no,” I groaned in horror. She burst into laughter, and I knew it was at my expense. “You’re fucking with me,” I guessed with narrowed eyes.

“Yeah, just a little. Have you never been caught in the act before?”