He stepped between my thighs, lifted my glasses off my face and set them down next to my fruit bowl. My eyes burned with unshed tears.
“I’m free to be with the woman who’s invaded my thoughts.” He licked his lips, stared at my mouth. “The woman whose kiss haunts my dreams.” Warm, trembling hands cupped my face. “I’m free to explore this extraordinary woman who makes me laugh, makes me want, makes me fucking crazy.”
Cole went for the kill. Lips, tongue, teeth, moans—God, the noises he made. Auditory porn.
He sucked any fight clean out of me.
Skin to skin, breath to breath, his soul for mine in a frantic exchange. I was lost to the euphoria, the silent confessions.
My doubts withered, turned to dust, floated away on the soft waves of his hums.
My legs opened, inviting him closer. Heat and denim filled the empty, aching space. My shirt disappeared. His lips traveled lower. Mine remained parted, drawing precious oxygen while he tasted and ravished my neck, my collarbone, then moved lower still to my breasts in a manic exploration.
Cole sucked and nibbled and licked, giving my breasts equal attention, driving me mad. And his touch? Sunshine to a morning glory. A desert rain. A baby’s first breath. I was reborn under the heat of those fingers.
He pinched a tight bud between his thumb and forefinger, giving a gentle rub and twist, causing a flood of heat between my legs. He let go, then pulled the skin between his teeth, and sucked in slow, languid pulls, a rhythmic pulse that carried down my spine, pooled in my belly, and swelled.
He sucked. Relentless. Determined. My hips moved, commanded by that pull, seeking more. Desperate for the friction, I cinched my legs around his thighs, writhing against the hard bulge behind his denim, silently cursing the barrier between us.
Cole slid one arm around my back, never breaking the seal of his lips on my breast, continuing his slow, deliberate pulls, then rolled his hips, helping me bump and grind against his steel-hard heat. Mindless and molten and delirious with need, I begged for more, my head falling back. He held my weight, sucking, my breast a thousand pounds of lust, and the room became unbearably hot. I lost sense of everything but our bodies and the power of that pull, his mouth commanding me to… “Oh, God, Cole. Oh, God. I’m coming. Fuck. Fuck.”
My eyes slammed shut, my toes curled, and I came, a full body tremor, gasping for breath, strange noises coming from my lips. I hugged his head, holding the man hostage to my chest.
And when the ecstasy melted to utter devastating exhaustion, Cole rested his head between my boobs but held me steady, the broad expanse of his back rising and falling, and when I gathered my faculties, I raked my fingers through his hair and forced him to look up.
“What the hell was that?” Death by nipple-gasm, I suspected. Because, I swear, I had caught a glimpse of the pearly gates before crashing back to earth.
Eyes wild with lust, he begged, “I need you.”
Three simple words.
I held all the power, but God, I was powerless because there was nothing I could deny the man. “Take me to my room, Cole.”
He carried me with impossible grace and breathtaking strength. My back hit the mattress. I shimmied out of my pajama bottoms, my skin tight and tingly, my insides liquid heat.
With sure hands, Cole worked the button of his jeans, those muscles in his arms bulging and flexing. Before dropping his denim to the floor, he pulled a stack of condoms from the pocket and tossed them on the bed. A stack. Not one, but two, three…oh shit, five.
Face flushed, lips parted, gaze weighted, Cole stripped naked, revealing years of conditioning, his body thick and defined. Dark hair covered his chest and blazed a trail over ripped abs down to his heavy erection. Oh, my Lord. Perfection.
Cole prowled over me, admiring every inch of flesh as he passed, eyes alight with appreciation, and I’d never felt more cherished. I grabbed a foil packet, ripped that baby open, and did the honors, my fingers trembling, not from nerves but anticipation.
Wet lips met mine, and his cock nudged my opening.
I’d waited my entire life for that one singular connection. Slow and steady would not do. I curled my legs around his waist, dug my heels into his ass, and pushed him inside me, and oh, shit…the stretch. The burn. The delicious fullness.
Something akin to a moan escaped my lips. Cole growled in my ear. Then, he started to move, and oh, sweet mother of mercy, the man was fluid and precise. As if we’d danced that dance a thousand times before, my body rolled into his thrusts, our hips finding a frantic rhythm.
He slid one hand behind my head, gripping my hair, tilting my head to accept his mouth. But before he plunged, he whispered, “I knew you’d be perfect.”
Cole fucked my mouth with his tongue before pulling back and mumbling, “I knew you were meant to be mine.”
My heart soared to the moon. My body melted under Cole’s attention, his command, his thrusts, grunts, and kisses. God, the man kissed me into oblivion. He staked his claim, smothering me in orgasms and promises.
We used the last condom on Saturday morning before breakfast. We ate. We laughed. We planned dates. We walked to the corner store and bought more Trojans.
I couldn’t get enough of those dimples. That smile could inspire a thousand paintings, a million love songs.
My heart, my body, my soul was so full of Cole Adams. By Saturday evening, we crashed on my couch, bodies tangled, and fell asleep watching Ray Donavan.
Somewhere around midnight, Cole carried me back to bed. We lay in the dark, face to face, his hand on my hip, his erection tickling my thigh.
“I’m a goner,” he whispered, our breaths mingling. “I’m not
