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“Me,” I say, “I do. I felt it in your reaction. I feel it now. I see it in your eyes.”
“You see nothing in my eyes,” she counters. “Your courtroom read might be good, but my courtroom mask is just as good.”
“We aren’t in a courtroom,” I point out. “We’re in a hotel room. My money bothers you.”
“You having money is a non-factor. This is one night. We’re fucking or we’re supposed to be. We’re not proposing marriage.”
“Most women start plotting the wedding when they find out I have money.”
“I can make my own money.”
My hands come down on her waist while hers immediately come down on mine. A sign that she is out of her element, seeking control that I’m going to demand she give up. “Is that the issue?” I demand softly, my head low, a lean in from kissing her. “You feel competitive?”
“No,” she says immediately, pulling back to look at me, her hand flattening on my chest. “Not at all. I don’t feel competitive. We aren’t competing.”
“No?” I challenge.
“No,” she repeats.
“Any second thoughts about coming here?”
“No,” she says again.
“Then you still want me to fuck you,” I say.
“No,” she says. “I want to fuck you.”
I laugh because she isn’t being bold and sexy. She’s playing tug of war. “No competition though, right?”
“That’s not competing. It’s stating a fact.”
“You can fuck me when I tell you to fuck me.”
She laughs. “You’re competitive.”
“And I always win.”
“Not with me.”
“Interesting,” I say, damn glad I didn’t just fuck her hard and fast. I’m going to enjoy this tug of war she’s playing. And I’m going to make sure she not only enjoys it, but that she wants more. “Come with me,” I say, releasing her and starting to walk toward the bedroom. My tug. Her war.
Chapter five
Lori
Iwatch Cole walk away, and I know he’s pulling a power play on me. I work with attorneys. I went to Stanford. I get it. I also know that he’s intentionally given me the gift of freedom. I’m alone by the front door. I can leave if I want to leave. That, along with the fact that this man is really pure hotness, affects me. Makes me not want to leave. Makes me want to stay. Makes me want him all the more. I like that he wants me to choose to be here. I like that I know that while he will battle me for control, that he’s also sent me an important message. It’s always my choice what I give him. Not that “always” is an appropriate word. This is about tonight, one night, and tonight it’s my choice.
I force myself to take my time in making that choice. He’s in the legal profession. He’s well established in that profession. He’s powerful and rich. He could know people that I know and that could damage my reputation, but he’s also in a hotel. He’s not from here. He’s not of the New York legal world. And thinking that we’d actually meet again is certainly possible, but why would it matter to him? He is rich and powerful, and I’m a fresh face, with no power or control, not in that world.
I can do this with him tonight without consequence. This is not a problem and it’s been so long since I’ve been with anyone and I’ve never been with anyone like this, with no tomorrow and complete freedom. Tomorrow I’m back to all work and no play. Tomorrow there is no him which means I better do everything I might ever want to do with him and to him, right here and now. I choose to stay. I choose to do this for me and to follow him.
I push off the couch, pick up my bag, and walk to my right, following the path he’s created. This leads me to a hallway that presents a set of steps, because obviously, this place needs another set of steps. It’s all bells and whistles, displayed in thousands of square feet, in a city known for closet-sized everything. The steps are stone, the railing steel, and the panels between the two are glass. Fancy. Expensive. I grab the railing and start the upward climb, my heart thundering in my ears as I do. I’m nervous and I really don’t get nervous. Law school did that for me. A lot of things did that for me, actually. Life just doesn’t have a lot of patience for nerves and the hesitation that comes with them.
I reach the next level of the suite and there is only one open door. Inhaling, I enter the bedroom to find myself inside a huge master with a huge bed and a gray headboard directly behind it to my left. Beyond that massive bed is a sitting area, complete with a teal blue couch and two matching chairs. Cole is on the couch, an oval gray coffee table in front of him and on top of it is a bottle of wine with two glasses.
I don’t let myself inhale or prepare myself for what comes next. I embrace the moment, round the bed and stop on the opposite side of the table, setting my bag down on the floor beside it. He’s standing, towering high and broad by the time I arrive. “You stayed,” he says.
“You thought I’d leave?”
