Cole ran his thumbs over the sore, angry marks Keira had inflicted on herself.
“Stop,” he said in a low, calm voice infused with steel. “Look at me. Both of you.”
They raised their gazes to his. The misery and self-recrimination killed him.
“Blaming yourselves isn’t helping. I don’t know what’s going on, but if someone hurt you then that’s on them. Not either of you. Now, someone, for the love of God, tell me.”
Keira cleared her throat. “We met Vincento, at a club in San Antonio. I thought he was charming and sophisticated and suave. He did and said all the right things. We let him get close gradually, we weren’t looking for a third after . . .”
After him.
“Anyway, we told him that and he agreed to keep things friendly. We went out for dinner with him. To the movies. He wasn’t always there. He lived in Colombia, but whenever he was in San Antonio, he came to see us. That went on for about a year, right?” She looked up at Julian, who nodded.
“Julian didn’t want Vincento to dominate him, so we never played with him. But he was our friend. Or so I thought.”
She went to curl her hands up again, but he held them firmly in his. She tried to tug them out of his hold.
“Stay still, little bit,” he warned.
“But—”
“Until I can be assured you won’t hurt yourself, I’m going to hold your hands.”
“I’m not hurting myself!”
“Hurting herself?” Julian rumbled.
Cole turned over her hands. Julian sucked in a breath. “Keira!”
“I just clenched my hands too hard. It’s not a big deal.”
“You were punishing yourself,” Cole reprimanded. “The only people who punish you are your Doms. Understood?”
“Are you my Dom as well?” she asked in a quiet voice.
“For as long as you want me,” he told her, looking over at Julian.
The other man stared back at him steadily then nodded. The knot inside his gut unraveled some more. Bit by bit he’d earn their trust. Win them back. They’d moved a long way over the past twenty-four hours; he didn’t intend to mess it up.
“And as your Dom, my job is to protect you. Even from yourself. All right?”
“All right.”
“Now, tell me the rest.”
“Vincento invited us to go on vacation with him to his home in Colombia. I wanted to go. I thought he was this perfect guy and that maybe, eventually, he could mean more to us. Plus, he showed me these beautiful photos of where he lived. I’ve never been out of the country.” She licked her lips. “I pushed Julian—”
“You did not push me, Keira. I agreed to go.”
She looked up at her husband. “You weren’t entirely happy about it, though. My instincts are always off—”
“Not always,” Julian countered.
“I pushed us into buying that awful house in L.A. We were just lucky someone bought it, or we’d still be paying for it when we’re eighty.”
Later, he’d tell them he was the sucker who’d bought it from them. When they wouldn’t take his severance pay, he’d figured it was the least he could do.
“They can’t always be off, you married me, didn’t you?” Julian pointed out.