They'd had their moment when they were young, and they needed to both just get over it. They were chasing fantasies, and it was going to destroy them both.
He stood up and leaned against the bathroom counter, then looked at his face in the mirror. What the hell was wrong with him, anyway? He was a strong man. He ran a billion dollar empire. He headed up a covert organization. He wasn't weak. He didn't shirk from the hard shit. When he had a project or a mission, he did what had to be done to make it happen. Emotion didn't enter into the equation.
So why had he let it with Jane?
Because he'd wanted her.
Because she'd wanted him. Or at least she had until she'd learned this new truth about him. God only knew what she thought of him now.
But just because they wanted didn't mean they could have, and they'd been torturing themselves for years.
He didn't know how to stop. He didn't know how to rip open his heart and pull her out.
But he had to figure it out.
Because if they kept on like this, he'd just end up dragging her down. And he loved her too damn much to watch that happen.
He rubbed the back of his neck in defense against a rising headache. He'd never truly gotten used to his cock failing on him, but he certainly wasn't surprised anymore. Every time--every goddamn time--he lost his erection at penetration. In fact, he rarely even tried anymore.
But that wasn't all of it. Hell, he couldn't even fuck a woman's mouth and get off. She could suck him until the end of the world, and it wouldn't make a goddamn difference. For that matter, he couldn't let her jack him off with her hand or her tits.
He came by his own hand or not at all, and there was no therapist, no drug, no goddamn magic cure. He ought to know--he'd tried every fucking thing.
This was who he was--who his captors had made him. And he'd gotten damn good at making sure the women in his bed were satisfied. Hell, it had become a point of both pride and camouflage. If they walked away feeling thoroughly fucked, the likelihood of them realizing they hadn't actually been thoroughly fucked was significantly less.
But over the years, some part of him had believed that Adele was right--that it would be different if he was with Jane. Now even that had proved to be bullshit.
He sighed. He'd said all along she deserved more. She deserved better. And although he hated the thought of her in another man's arms, he knew that's where she belonged. She was his sister. Maybe not by blood, but that didn't change the reality. And the reality was that he shouldn't even be thinking about whether or not his cock could make her happy.
A sharp rap at the front door startled him from his thoughts, and he pulled on the pair of gray sweatpants he kept on a hook behind the bathroom door and went to answer it. Once again, he assumed the guest would be Liam, and once again he was wrong.
His father stood on the threshold, his hands in the pockets of his plaid golfing slacks, the ones he wore when he wasn't at the office even if there was no golf course in sight.
"Dad. Hey." He knew he sounded confused, but that's only because he was. He stepped aside and gestured for his father to enter. "What's up?"
"Am I interrupting your phone call?"
"What?" The moment the question was out of his mouth he realized his mistake. Obviously his father had bumped into Jane doing a version of the Walk of Shame and she'd covered for them both. "No, I've been off for a few minutes. About to make a couple more, though." He looked at his wristwatch for good measure.
"Hmm. Good to catch you between, then," his dad said, not taking the hint. "I've been hoping to grab a few moments to chat with you."
"Great. Do you want something to drink? I've got OJ and sparkling water in the fridge. And the bar is stocked if you want something stronger."
"I'm fine." Eli crossed the room to the one leather armchair, then waited for Dallas to sit. He chose to stand.
"Well, I just wanted to say that I'm proud of you, son."
"Oh." Dallas took a seat on the ottoman. Whatever he'd anticipated his father had come to say, that wasn't it. Especially since Dallas had only yesterday told his father he was backing out on the Canadian launch events next week. "Well, thank you, sir. I'm very glad to hear it."
"I don't approve of your string of women, but you've been through the kind of hell I can't imagine. I know you have to work through that, probably for your whole life. So while I don't like it, maybe I understand it. At least a little."
Dallas wasn't at all sure where this was going, so he said nothing. Just sat on the ottoman and waited for his dad to keep talking.
"And while there've been a few times when you've missed a business meeting in order to--well, in order to engage in one of your liaisons, on the whole you're doing a good job running your divisions. You're an asset to the empire, Dallas."
"Thank you." His gratitude was sincere. But he was still waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"I'm your father, and I'm very proud to be. Sykes blood flows in your veins, Dallas, but you and I both know that it's not my blood." Dallas nodded slowly as his father's meandering path became more clear. "My brother made some terrible mistakes during his life. Bad choices. Choices that ruined him."