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His mouth closes down on mine, a crash of passion and demand that is everything I need, and I do need. I didn’t want to, but I do, and I don’t fight it. I tug at his shirt and he tugs at mine. It’s a matter of seconds and I’m shirtless, braless, and pressed against the wall, and I’ve brilliantly managed to get his shirt off. Or maybe he just took it off. I don’t care. He’s closer to naked, and so am I. His fingers tangle in my hair, rough, erotic, and I think of that spanking; of me laying naked across his lap, right at the same moment that he’s tugging at my nipple, and I moan into his mouth.
He responds with a low guttural sound, impatiently working the snap and zipper on my jeans. “Why didn’t I do this while you were still in the damn dress?” he growls, nipping my lip as if punishing me for changing clothes, and then kissing away the pain, until I’m left panting when he’s going down on a knee. His mouth settles on my belly with a lick of his tongue following, where he lingers just long enough to drive me insane. I want his hand, his mouth. I want him inside me.
His hands finally move, sliding under the denim of my jeans, and impatience in his touch again as he drags them down, wraps his arms around my hips and lifts me, freeing my feet. The minute I’m back on the ground, his hands grip my ankles and he licks my clit, sending a wave of sensation through my body, before he’s back on his feet, and I really don’t know how it happens, but his pants are shoved down, and he’s rolling on a condom. Smart, I decide, since I can’t remember how long it takes to be safe on the pill. I didn’t care. I was in a sex-free zone I’m no longer in. Cole cups my backside with one hand, and his fingers of his other hand tighten in my hair. “I don’t share, sweetheart. All or nothing, means it’s all me. That’s where we’re at or there is nothing beyond this fuck.”
“I don’t want anyone else, Cole. I just want you. And I—”
His mouth crashes down on mine, his tongue pressing past my teeth, stroking me until I’m mindless. We are all over each other, touching and kissing, and I barely register the moment he lifts me.
“Damn it, woman, you are going to be the death of me,” he groans, and then somehow, he’s inside me. Oh God. Yes. He’s inside me, stretching me, filling me—hard and thick and—his arms wrap my waist and he steps back, away from the wall, my legs instinctively wrapping his waist. And then he’s pulling me down on top of him, and driving into me again, all in one fierce move, and I should fear I’ll fall, but I don’t. I never feel fear with Cole. I never feel regret unless I walk away. His fingers spread between my shoulder blades, his powerful body, thrusting, pumping, his hot gaze raking over my breasts, and I’m lost. The only time I’m lost and still found is with Cole. The only person who has ever made me feel like I won’t fall is Cole.
I hold onto him, I push against him, I let go, and just feel this man, and need this man. I don’t want this to end and yet, I don’t just need him. I need the way his gaze rakes hotly over my breasts. I need what every rough thrust, every touch promises. It comes at me with a hard pump of his hips, and a stroke of his cock that drives me over the edge. I cry out and stiffen, tumbling over the edge, release quaking my entire body, my sex clenching. Cole lets out a low, rough, groan that is so damn sexy, I feel that sound in every part of my body, and I watch the hard edges of his face distort and shift, ease with fierce masculine beauty, until his body begins to relax.
He pulls me close and just holds me for long seconds, still standing, holding my weight and his. Slowly, he lowers me, burying his face in my neck, as I do his chest. And now we’re in those moments after the passion when words matter. When what we say next will either keep us together or push us apart.
Chapter thirty-two
Lori
Cole walks me backward, presses me against the wall, and does a hot, quick inspection of my naked body. “You forgot to replace the panties I tore off you.”
“I didn’t forget,” I say. “I wasn’t letting you ruin yet another pair.”
“I’ll buy you new ones,” he declares.
“I’ll buy my own. I’m a Merrick Scholarship recipient, remember?”
His hand comes down on the wall and he leans in close. “I remember everything about you, Lori Havens,” he says, his voice low, rough, “to the point of complete obsession. Which is why I blame you for our tardiness.” He straightens. “We need to leave.” He picks up my clothes and hands them to me. “Which is why you can help me pack. Get dressed and come to my bedroom.” He issues that command and then walks away, disappearing into the apartment. I pat my hot cheeks, fairly certain that I’m blushing from that exchange, when I was just crushing my naked body against his without a blush in sight. I push off the wall, and I’m also smiling as I start dressing. A man that makes a girl smile gets extra white knight bonus points.
I tug everything back in the proper places, and head down the hallway, the dark wood beneath my feet carried into the main living room, where a gray couch and chairs frame a fireplace that seems to float in the glass of floor-to-ceiling windows. I pause, taking in the rich masculine style that screams power and money, my gaze drawn to an archway to the right that seems to lead to a den or library with rows of books on shelves. I wonder about the titles of those books and what they say about Cole Brooks.
“You coming?” I glance up to find Cole leaning over the steel railing of a second level.
My eyes meet his, a probe in the depth of his stare, a question in the air he has yet to ask. What am I thinking about his life, his world, his home? How does that affect us? “It’s perfectly you,” I say. “And that’s a compliment.”
His eyes warm with my reply, but his reaction, his very need for answers, tells me that I have not said everything I need to say to him. I rush toward the elegant winding steel staircase in the far corner of the room, and quickly make the climb. The minute I reach the top level, I cut right, and bring one hell of a hot man, now dressed in black jeans, boots, and a black T-shirt, into view.
He leans on the railing, just in front of an open door I assume to be his bedroom. Watching me, tracking my every step, and I swear, I know how he wins over a courtroom and a jury. When this man watches you, when he focuses on you, there is just him; nothing else exists. I stop in front of him, and when he motions toward the bedroom, I catch his hand. “Cole.”
The minute I say his name, he turns back to me. I greet him by pushing to my toes and kissing him, before I confess, “I got something wrong downstairs.”
His hands come down on my waist, and he walks me closer. “You got everything exactly right downstairs, sweetheart.”
“No,” I say. “I didn’t. I presented my reasons for pushing you away, as if your success was a bad thing when that is not the case. Please do not think that any of my feelings about my life reflect anything but admiration for your success. Professional and personally.”
“I was born into money, sweetheart. In the end, I made my own, but I never had to question how I would pay for school. I never had to worry about taking care of a sick parent.”
He hits about ten nerves with that statement. “You’re setting me apart from you,” I say, “And that’s what I did downstairs. That’s not what I want.”
“I can assure you, Lori Havens,” he says, lowering his voice, “the last thing I want is to set you apart from me.”
“Then don’t.”
“I won’t,” he says.
That’s as far as I get. His cell phone rings in his pocket and he kisses me. “How much do you want to bet that’s the driver wondering where we are?” He glances at the number and nods. “That would be a yes.” He motions for me to follow him into the bedroom, which ironically is a signal that we have to focus on work.
“Five minutes,” he says into the phone, disappearing into the bedroom.
