I open the door and there he is, face set in determined lines.
“You followed me home?”
“Yes.”
“What about your sister?”
“She understood.” Cole steps past me into the apartment, closing the door behind me. There’s a fierce purpose to his movements. “I told you to wait, Skye.”
“I thought you had a woman over!” My voice mirrors his, and I throw my hands up in frustration. “One you’re not related to, I mean.”
“And that would have bothered you?”
“Yes!” The question sinks in and I shake my head. “No. I mean, of course you’re allowed to see women. However many you want. It’s not like you need my permission or anything.”
“Good to know.” He takes a step closer and I react in kind, taking a step back. “But you were still bothered by the idea?”
He’s goading me to admit it, and damn him, but the words flow out of me of their own accord. “Yes. I didn’t want to meet her. Or take her place. “
“Take her place, huh? Tell my again why you came over.”
“Thermometer,” I say, putting as much haughtiness as I can in the word. Wanting him wouldn’t be so damn hard to admit if he didn’t draw it out like this—if he didn’t make me spell it out.
His mouth twitches. “Dressed like this? Not likely.”
My eyes drift to his lips, to the stubble along his jaw. “I didn’t think you were this slow. You must have figured it out by now.”
“Oh, I have,” he says, eyes burning. “I just want to hear you say it.”
“You want me to admit defeat? Never.”
“Not defeat. A truce.” His smile curves, crooked and sly. “You want me as much as I want you.”
Every part of my body wants to admit it, would say anything to have his lips on me again. For a few perilous seconds, I fight the impulse, but it’s a losing battle. I reach up to twine my arms around his neck and surrender. “Fine,” I say. “I want you. Stud.”
Dark humor glitters in his eyes. “Finally,” he murmurs, bending to press his lips against mine. It’s just like the kiss in the bookstore, powerful and deep and insistent. His mouth is demanding and I give in to its power. Strong hands run down my arms and raise goose bumps in their wake.
Despite everything—the fact that we don’t know each other very well, the competition over the bookstore, the vast class difference between us—it’s the same as it was in the hotel room. It’s uncomplicated, our bodies knowing one another intimately.
I press myself against him and he growls low in his throat. The sound reverberates into me, a moan of my own taking shape. He kisses down my neck and I swear my eyes roll into my head a little bit. “Bedroom,” I tell him.
The shake of his head is faint. “Right here.”
I crawl back on the couch and he follows, covering me with his body, the weight of him bearing me down.
Cole returns to my lips. I run my hands up his back as he kisses me senseless, a tongue seeking entry. Strong hands reach down and push my dress up so I can wrap my legs around him.
“This feels familiar,” I murmur.
His dark laugh washes over me. “Painfully so,” he says, pushing against me until I feel his hardness.
It undoes something in me. I pull his face down to my neck and bite his ear, my heels digging into his thighs. “Fast,” I say. “Slow later.”
He sits back, pulling off his sweater and T-shirt in one smooth motion. Tan, taut skin is revealed in all its glory. Hair on his abdomen, disappearing down into the black slacks.
I arch up to pull down my zipper, and he helps, peeling the tight dress off my skin and revealing it to his gaze.
His hands roam. My hips. My arms. My stomach. His gaze soaks up my body, my lacy lingerie, and I burn everywhere it touches.
“Sure you want it fast?” he asks, voice dark and coarse.
I undo his belt buckle and turn his former words on him. “Chickening out, Porter?”
He laughs, but it’s a short, heated sound. “Fuck no.”
I pull down his zipper at the same time as he reaches around and undoes the clasp of my bra. The lace falls down my arms and he tosses it aside.
“I’m pulling rank,” he says, standing up and kicking off his slacks. “Come here.”
Strong hands grip my thighs and I’m lifted up, held against his body. He knocks something over on his way to the bedroom.
“Leave it,” I say, though with his lips against my throat, it doesn’t seem like he’s even noticed.
He tosses me on the bed and climbs over me. My legs around his waist. His hardness against my heat, even through our underwear. His silky hair under my fingers. I’m overcome with sensations.
Cole breaks away with his trademark smile. “No hesitation tonight. You were more unsure that night at the hotel.”
“Only at first.” I pull him down again and rake my nails lightly over his back.
“Only at first,” he agrees, flipping over so I’m on top. His hands grip my hips and his eyes are on my breasts, my body, unmistakably hungry.
I grab his wrist and pull it to my chest. He cups obligingly, strong fingers pinching my nipples. “This, I remember,” he says, and sits up to put his mouth on them. He bites. I gasp.
This is what the hotel night had been like. No awkwardness. Full communication. The combination had made for multiple orgasms and more playful sex than I’d ever had before.
Heady waves of need pulse through me with each pull of his lips. I run my hands over his wide shoulders, the deep grooves of his back. I’ve missed this body.
Cole leans back and inspects my breasts—both of them full and heavy, the nipples now taut and red. “Perfect.”
I push him back and he falls onto the bed, laughing. “So impatient, Holland.”
“Very.” I reach down and stroke him through his boxers, and his laughter dies immediately.
“This is separate,” I remind him.
“Entirely,” he agrees.
I pull the waistband down and grip him hard. He hisses in painful pleasure.
“We’ll have sex.”
“Yes,” he growls. “Please.”
I stroke, once, twice. He’s throbbing in my hand, steel and velvet combined. “And afterwards, we go back to hating each other.”
The black of his eyes flashes. “Yes.”
He reaches out and tugs my panties roughly to the side. And then he does the same to me, the same power play, letting his fingers tease and circle until it’s difficult to focus on stroking him.
“Fair is fair,” he says, voice breathless.
I feel the same way. Every touch of his fingers increases the ache inside me. There’s not much more of this I can take.
Cole flips me in one strong move, and then he’s moving down my body, hands on either side of my panties. I raise my hips off the bed and he pulls them down my legs. “What did you think of the lace?”
“Very nice.” He puts his hand on me, fingers spreading me, before one of them sinks deliciously deep inside. “But I like this better.”
Something inside me warms at the praise at the same time as need claws through me. Judging from the dark of his eyes, he feels the same.
“And so wet already,” he says. “Fuck.”
“Already warmed up.”
Cole draws his finger out slowly. “Clearly.”
He sits up between my legs and spreads them wide, eyes not leaving mine. He grips himself and slowly runs the throbbing head along my center. Every time it touches the top of my slit, I mewl. He’s giving me just enough to keep me on the edge.
“Quit teasing.”
“No,” he says. “This is payback.”
“For what?”
“For leaving me that note instead of your number.”
I rise up on my elbows and slide my hands up my sides, cupping my breasts. His gaze shifts to my nipples as I roll them between my fingertips. “Two can play that game,” I say. It’s the kind of exhibitionist sex I’ve never had before—lights on, no shyness. There’s no space for awkwardness with him around.
Still watching me, he reaches down and circles my clit with sure, practiced fingers. Fire races through me like an ember to a flame and I collapse against the bed with a moan. It’s more than I can bear, and it seems like it’s more than he can, too. We lose the game at the same time.
Strong hands grip my hips and pull me tighter. The pressure at my entrance increases, delicious, not enough, I want—
“Condom,” I breathe. “We need one.”
His exhale is shaky. “Right. In your bedside drawer?”
“I don’t have any.”
“For fuck’s sake, Holland. Who wouldn’t—”
I push against him. “Stop wasting time. Do you have one?”
“I might. Let me check.” He disappears and I’m left on the bed, physically aching from the lack of him. When he returns, it’s with determined strides.
I lay back and watch him, his v-shaped physique, the wide shoulders and trim waist. He’s cut like a swimmer. It’s unthinkable that I’m not nervous or self-conscious around him, but here I am, comfortable and so turned on it’s painful.
He tears off the foil and rolls the condom on with one practiced move. “Had one in my wallet,” he growls. “Thank God.” He kisses me so hard I think I might bruise, both of us gripping each other eagerly. He grabs my thighs and pulls me close. I reach down and guide him.
And then he’s inside me.
“Shit,” he growls. “You feel so good.”
I want to echo the compliment—he’s stretching me out in the most delicious way—but then he starts to move and speech eludes me completely.
Cole grasps my ankles and puts them on his shoulders. His fingers dig into my thighs, using me as leverage to push himself deeper.
“Touch yourself,” he orders. “I want to feel you come around me.”
And that’s why I haven’t been able to forget the night at the hotel room. He’d demanded that I show him where I wanted to be touched, and he’d wanted to see it, to learn. To touch me that way himself.
I reach down and circle my clit in the way that always brings me to the edge. It’s easy—I’m already close—and Cole looks down, eyes transfixed.
It empowers me. I circle again, and again, and he’s groaning now. “Fuck. I’m close.”
He bends me over until I’m nearly double, and I’m gasping, I can’t breathe, he’s so deep. My hand is still working. I’m teetering on the edge, dangerously close to losing control. The abyss is beckoning.
And then he rolls his hips while inside me and I’m lost, to pleasure, to him. To us.
Somewhere through the climatic fog I hear Cole groan loudly. He jerks into me, hands gripping my thighs.
Seconds pass. Minutes.
My legs are lowered gently to the bed as he stands, tying off the condom. I admire his backside as he heads to the bathroom. It’s all I have the energy for. My limbs feel loose and heavy. Moving is beyond me at the moment, possibly for all future.
He laughs at me when he returns. “Are you all right?”
“Much better than all right.”
“Glad to hear it.” He sits down on the bed, propping up a few pillows. Making himself comfortable. It reminds me of when I was sick and woke up to him reading on the other side of my bed.
A bit flustered, I turn over on my stomach. His gaze dips down to caress my body, and I revel in it, feeling powerfully feminine. He might only have seven percent body fat, but he certainly doesn’t mind mine.
“So,” I say.
“So,” he echoes. “Let me guess. You’re going to say that this was a one-time thing?”
I try a smug smile of my own. “No. I was going to discuss ground rules.”
“Rules? You really know how to talk dirty, Holland.”
“Hah.” But… interesting. “Would you want me to?”
One of his eyebrows rises. Naked, with his just-fucked hair, he looks too good to be true. Which he kind of is.
“Absolutely.” He glances over at my stack of books. “I’ve never slept with a writer before. Will you use similes? Metaphors?”
“Tons,” I tell him. “A lot of alliteration.”
“You’re turning me on already.”
I reach for my pillow and slide my arms underneath it. “Ground rules. No one knows we’re sleeping together.”
“Who would I tell?”
“Especially not Karli, or anyone in your business.”
He looks at me like that’s obvious. “I don’t gossip.”
“Didn’t imagine you did, but it needed to be said. Too much is at stake,” I say. Like my business. My reputation. My heart, my head warns, but I wave it away. Just because I’ve never had a friends-with-benefits situation before doesn’t mean I can’t.
Cole leans over, running a hand along my back. I close my eyes at the pleasure of the simple touch. “What we do in bed won’t interfere with anything outside of it. I can keep the two separate if you can.”
“Good,” I murmur. “Because outside of bed, I still hate you.”
His laugh is rough. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“So we’re agreed. This is just sex.”
“Just sex,” he agrees. “Uncomplicated, no-strings-attached sex.”
I glance at his chest, his shoulders, the sharp cut of his jaw. The man is sex on a stick, and I’m sure he’s used to this kind of situation. Not to mention the glittering amusement in his eyes when we spar. The curve of his smile, sly and teasing. Enemy or not, I’d have to be a fool to throw that away.
“Hot-as-hell sex,” I correct softly.
His answering grin is all masculine pride. “You’re coming over to mine on Saturday.”
“Oh?” I say, reaching out to run a hand over his chest. “I am?”
“Definitely.” He reaches out to flip me over, his body moving over mine. “We’ve only just begun.”
