I’m in my pajamas on Friday night, sitting in front of the television with a glass of wine and my tablet on my lap. Alex invited me out with her and her other friends, but I wanted to finish some work, so I declined.
It’s been a week since Cole apologized to me in his office, and we haven’t been together physically since. I’d expected him to ask me back to his penthouse that night, and I was fully prepared to say no. Not only because of my standing dinner date with Alex, but because I just wasn’t ready to jump back into bed with him straight away. He hadn’t asked, though. He’d kissed me at the door to his office, said he hoped Alex and I enjoyed our dinner, then told me he’d see me soon.
I was grateful he was giving me some breathing space. But unfortunately, he’s been gone most of the time since then for work. And even though space was what I needed, I’ve had more than enough now. He’s due back late tonight, but we won’t see each other until tomorrow night. I’d be lying if I said I’m not looking forward to it.
I don’t know what it is about Cole, but when I’m with him, I feel . . . free. I do things I wouldn’t have considered before, and I like it.
I like him.
The flash of vulnerability in his eyes when he told me he didn’t have any warmth in his life made my heart hurt. Maybe I still should have walked away, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Just like him, I want more of whatever it is that burns between us. Even if it will probably flame itself out all too soon.
I take a gulp of wine to ease the pinch in my chest. Casual and temporary is what I agreed to. And when it comes to Cole, it’s all that’s on offer. That’s okay, though, because it’s the best thing for me too. We’ve cleared the air, so we can keep enjoying our physical connection, and I can continue focusing on my career. Soon I’ll have enough money to start saving for Mom’s house. That’s the goal I’ve worked toward for years, and letting myself get distracted by a complicated relationship would be silly. Cole will never want anything more than this with me, and that’s perfect.
As long as I keep reminding myself of that, then I won’t be disappointed when it ends.
My phone rings on the coffee table, and I put down my wineglass to answer it. Cole’s name is on the screen and my chest deflates a little. He might be canceling tomorrow night.
I accept the call. “Hey! How was your trip?”
“I’m outside your building,” he says, ignoring my question.
“You are?” I stand, walk to the window, and spot the big black car parked below. “Do you want to come up?”
“No. I want you to come down.” He sounds tense.
“Okay, I’ll be down in a minute.”
“Leave your panties up there,” he says.
I stop what I’m doing, since I know what that means. “I thought I was going to your place tomorrow?”
“You were. Now you’re coming tonight.”
It seems like arrogant Cole is back. His attitude rankles me, even though I was just thinking how ready I am to see him again. “I’m finishing some work.”
“It’s ten in the evening on a Friday. Why the hell are you working?”
“You’re just getting back from working,” I point out.
“And now I want to stop working and fuck you. So get your ass down here.”
As much as I’m dying to see him, I sit on the couch. “You really know how to sweep a woman off her feet, don’t you?”
He exhales a harsh breath, and when he speaks again, his tone is softer. “Delilah, I’ve had a long three days of meetings, our investors can’t seem to accept the numbers I’m showing them, and all I want to do is fuck you with my tongue, then have you ride me until we both come. Is that too much to ask?”
Exhaustion threads through his words and I frown, particularly because his concern over the investors seeps through the phone. It’s not like I haven’t done a full week’s work. There’s no reason I shouldn’t indulge in a couple of orgasms while helping Cole relax.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll be down in five minutes.”
I brush my teeth, splash some water onto my face, and finger comb my hair so I look presentable. Then I lock up behind me and head downstairs.
Jonathan is waiting for me when I get outside, and I smile at him. He tips his chin, but his expression remains inscrutable as he opens the door for me.
I slide in, my attention immediately caught by Cole’s blue eyes. I give him a smile. “It’s good to see you,” I say, taking him in.
He looks as gorgeous as ever. He’s without his jacket, and he’s rolled up his shirtsleeves. I eye the corded muscles of his forearms, images of them wrapping around me flickering through my head.
Then, I really look at him, noticing the shadows under his eyes. “Are you okay?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer my question. “Come here,” he says, holding out his arm for me.
I cross the car and slide onto the seat next to him, but he wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me onto his lap as Jonathan starts the car. Cole presses his lips to my neck and groans. “Fuck, I’ve thought about nothing but tasting you again for days.”
His teeth scrape across my pulse point. “I’ve been thinking about you too.”
“What exactly have you been thinking about?” he says as his hands skim under my T-shirt.
“This.” I feather my lips across his, barely touching.
Cole’s fingers tighten on my waist, and he groans, deepening the kiss. He tastes like the whiskey he must have had on the plane. The hard length of him presses against my core, and since I’m not wearing panties, I half expect him to take me right now. Surprisingly, he seems content to kiss me as his hands roam over my skin. This slow, sensual molding of our mouths is something new. By the time we get to his building, my blood is simmering in my veins and I’m sure I’ve left a wet patch on his pants.
He continues his methodical assault on me in the elevator on the way to his penthouse. As soon as the doors open on his foyer, I’m dropping my purse on the floor and he’s stripping my shirt over my head while my fingers fumble with his buttons.
True to his word, he has me flat on my back on the plush rug in front of his fireplace within moments, and his mouth is busy making me pant and moan. Seconds after I come, he’s rolled on a condom and buried himself inside me. It’s not the smooth seduction I’m used to from him, but I love it just the same. It makes me feel like he’s been wanting me as much as I’ve been wanting him.
I close my eyes and lose myself in the sensation.
COLE IS PRESSING kisses down my stomach on his way to giving me a third orgasm when my stomach grumbles loudly. “Oh my god,” I say, throwing my hand over my eyes in embarrassment.
He chuckles against my skin—a low rumble that has me looking down at him in surprise. I’m not used to such good humor from him.
He meets my gaze, and there’s a sparkle in his eyes that wasn’t there when he picked me up. “Do I need to feed you before I can eat again?”
I laugh and prop myself on my elbows. “It couldn’t hurt. What do you have in the house? I could make something for us?”
He nuzzles his nose against my stomach. “I don’t cook, so there isn’t really anything. I’ll order something.”
I reach down and tug on his hair until he looks up at me. “You don’t have a single thing in that massive fridge of yours?”
He crawls up my body and presses his lips to mine, then says, “Some wine, bread, possibly a block or two of cheese. Nothing you can make a decent meal out of.” He sucks a nipple into his mouth and tugs on it sharply, forcing a gasp out of me.
I lie back on the rug as he sucks and licks his way across my chest to my other breast. “Cole.” I laugh, threading my fingers through his hair again. Then I roll him over and sit astride him. His eyes go dark as he grips my hips. I shake my head, and when he scowls, I lean down and brush my lips over his. “I’m going to make us dinner, and then I’m going to ride you like a pony.”
He stares at me for a second and then bursts out laughing. “Like a pony?”
I’m secretly delighted to see him so relaxed. “Okay, I’m not good at dirty talk. Would it have been better if I’d said like a stallion?”
“Marginally,” he says.
I climb off him and look around for my T-shirt, but his hands encircle my waist. “Wear my shirt,” he murmurs in my ear.
He fishes his button-up from the couch and I slip my arms into it, my heart thumping rapidly in my chest.
His knuckles graze across my breasts as he slowly smooths the material over me. I shiver, my nipples peaking against the luxurious material. I reach for the buttons, but he brushes my hands aside. “Leave it.”
I glance at the floor-to-ceiling windows surrounding his massive apartment, but he just shakes his head, trailing his fingers down over my abdomen and moving them lower until they slide between my slick folds.
“Someone might see in if they’re looking. And if they’re looking hard enough, they might catch a glimpse of this pretty pussy.” He slides his fingers into me and I go up on my tiptoes, bracing myself on his shoulder and rolling my forehead against his chest as I pant. “If they do, they’ll be fucking jealous, knowing it belongs to me tonight.” He pulls his fingers from me and brings them to his mouth, sliding them between his lips. His eyes drift shut as he licks them. My cheeks flush, and when his eyes meet mine again, they glitter darkly. “My favorite appetizer.”
“God, Cole,” I breathe, and he gives me a slow, seductive smile that has me squirming. But then my stomach grumbles again, breaking the tension swirling between us.
Cole chuckles. “Come on. Let’s see what wonders you can create from whatever’s rattling around in my fridge.”
He pulls on his boxer briefs, follows me to the huge double-door fridge, and hovers behind me as I look through what he’s got in there. He was right. There’s not much. Some expensive-looking cheeses, butter, some condiments, a bottle of white wine, and about a thousand bottled waters. I glance over my shoulder at him. “You said you have some bread?”
“I think so. Although I don’t know how fresh it is.”
He pads on bare feet to a cupboard. When he pulls open, it’s actually a walk-in pantry. Curious, I peer in. It’s huge, but once again, there’s hardly anything in there.
Cole pulls out a brown paper bag and hands it to me. I look inside and see a half-loaf of crusty white bread. I pull it out and he’s right. It is a little stale, but that’s okay. It won’t be an issue for what I have in mind.
I ask Cole for a cutting board and a knife, which he pulls out of various hidden compartments around his massive kitchen.
“Can I help?” he asks as I cut four slices.
I tuck a tendril of hair behind my ear and smile at him. “Can you get the wine and a jar of mustard?”
He collects the bottle and jar and deposits them on the counter next to me. “What are you making? Grilled cheese?”
“A variation of it.” I glance up at him. “Do you like grilled cheese?”
He shrugs. “Don’t most people?”
“Well, I wasn’t sure what billionaires eat at home. And you don’t exactly seem like the comfort-food type.”
“Is that what it is for you? Comfort food?”
“Yeah.” I smile to myself. “My mom used to make it for me whenever I had a bad day. When I got older, and Mom was working two jobs, I started making them for her when she got home too late for dinner. When I was a poor college student, I experimented. This is my favorite variation. Although”—I hold up the cheese and wine he’s given me—“I never had ingredients this expensive.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “I suppose not. That bottle cost five hundred dollars.”
I freeze. “Oh no, I can’t use—”
“Use it.”
I bite my lip, then nod, and continue what I’m doing.
He watches quietly as I melt the cheddar and brie in a saucepan, then add in some of the wine.
Cole fetches two glasses, then takes the bottle and fills them. I accept the one he hands me and take a sip. The cool, tart flavor explodes on my tongue. “Mmm, that’s good.”
And now I know what a five-hundred-dollar bottle of wine tastes like.
Cole hasn’t drunk any of his yet. He’s watching me with an inscrutable expression on his face. It makes me a little nervous, so as I combine the butter and mustard in a small bowl, I ask, “Did your mom ever make you grilled cheese when you were growing up?”
He doesn’t answer, and I look up at him. His jaw is tight, but he just shakes his head. “We had a chef. Sometimes if we harassed him enough, he’d make us one. He didn’t like doing it, though. It was beneath his culinary talents.”
Right. I guess caviar was more his thing.
“Well, we’re the chefs tonight,” I tell him. “So, here.” I pass him a plate with two slices of bread on it, along with the bowl of butter and mustard. “Spread the melted cheese on, then butter the top with this.”
He does, and I do the same with mine. When we’re finished, I find a skillet and fry the sandwiches until the bread is a crispy golden brown. When I slide Cole’s plate over the counter to him, he looks at it, then back up at me, something shifting in his gaze.
“Thank you,” he says in a low voice.
When was the last time someone other than a professional chef made him a meal? I smile. “You’re welcome.”
I’m still standing on the other side of the bench, but he uses his foot to push the stool next to him out and nods at it. “Come here.”
I carry my plate and wineglass around the bench and slide my butt onto the stool. The tension on his face relaxes, and he smiles at me. Once again, that expression has my breath catching in my lungs. He really is unbelievably gorgeous, even more so with that look on his face rather than the stern one he normally wears. Although, the stern expression he gets when standing at the head of a conference table, controlling a room full of people with a single look, isn’t too bad either.
I pick up my sandwich and take a bite. The mix of sharp cheddar and creamy brie goes beautifully with the mustard and the hint of wine. I watch him as he bites into his and chews, and I’m more nervous than I should be to hear what he thinks.
His eyes meet mine. “This is delicious,” he finally says, with a hint of what sounds like surprise in his voice.
I can’t help the grin that crosses my face, and I take a sip of my wine. “Now that you know how to do it, you can make one of these whenever you get the urge for a snack.”
“I’ll probably just call my favorite restaurant and tell them how to make it, then get them to deliver it.”
I stare at him with my mouth open. His expression is deadpan, and I don’t know if he’s serious or not until he cracks a smile and chuckles.
I laugh too. “Wow. There’s that sense of humor again.”
“It comes out on occasion.”
I take the last bite of my sandwich and then, with a hum of contentment, I lick the last bit of greasy goodness off my fingers.
I look up in time to see Cole’s eyes focused on my mouth. They’ve gone dark. He puts the rest of his sandwich on his plate, pushes it away from him, hooks his foot around the leg of my stool, and drags me closer, forcing a gasp out of me.
“Cole, I—”
He shakes his head, cutting me off before reaching for the wine and raising it to his mouth. He takes a sip straight from the bottle, then he tips it toward me. “Drink.”
Relaxed Cole is gone. Intense Cole is back. My belly twists in anticipation, and I reach for the bottle. He shakes his head again, then presses the rim to my lips. When I part them, he tilts it until a trickle of delicious liquid fills my mouth. I barely have a chance to swallow before he’s gripping the back of my head and dragging me to him. His tongue meets mine with an urgency I match.
It’s almost one a.m. I should be tired after a long week at work and already having sex with him once. But I’m not. Instead, I’m filled with a strange energy that traces its fingers along my nerve endings, waking my body in a way only he has ever done.
I thread my hands through his hair, rubbing the tips of my fingers along his scalp, and he groans against my lips. Before I know what’s happening, he’s slipped his shirt off my shoulders and I’m naked in front of him. He breaks the kiss, his gaze sweeping over me, causing my nipples to furl into tight, sensitive peaks.
“You’re so fucking sexy,” he growls. Then he stands, shoves our plates aside, and lifts me onto the countertop. I gasp when the cool marble meets my skin, my eyes immediately going to the wall of glass surrounding us.
“If anyone’s watching, let them. Let them see how I make you mine,” Cole says, and I shudder as the part of me that craves being reckless and free pushes against my restraint.
Then he’s pressing me down, and I’m letting him, my heart thundering as his big hands spread my thighs. My eyes are closed, breath spilling from my lips in frantic bursts. Then his mouth is on me, hot and wet, and he eats me like he’s a starving man, his tongue spearing into my opening and wringing a gasp from me.
His fingers replace his tongue, which traces a path to my clit, the sensitive bundle of nerves already swollen with need. He flicks it and then sucks it between his teeth. I’m so close, my hips buck against his hold. Just before I lose control, he stops and I cry out with frustration, my eyelids flying open.
Cole is staring down at me, his eyes hot and hungry. Then he picks up the almost empty bottle of wine and tilts it so a small stream trickles over my pussy. I almost shriek at the sensation, but before I can say anything, he’s sinfully lapping at the liquid covering me.
I squirm. “God, Cole, that feels so good.”
With a hand under my ass, he tilts my hips up, and then the bottle’s cool glass brushes against my inner thigh as he pours another trickle over me. This time, with the way he’s angled me, I feel it pool at my entrance. His mouth covers me, and he drinks. The thought of what he’s doing is such a turn on, and even with no direct stimulation against my clit, my orgasm barrels closer. But it’s not quite enough to push me over the edge.
I thrust my fingers into his hair, tugging to get him where I need him the most. With one final flick of his tongue, he moves upward. My breath shudders out of me as he latches onto my clit, sucking it between his lips.
And then the smooth rim of the bottle presses against my entrance and I gasp, shooting almost upright. “Cole?”
“Lie down,” he growls, and I obey, collapsing against the bench. The tip of the bottle eases into me and I don’t know whether to be embarrassed or aroused. My body decides for me, and my internal muscles clamp down around the neck. The cool hardness of the glass feels incredible inside me, especially when Cole doubles down on my clit.
He thrusts the bottle, but not hard enough to be uncomfortable. Just enough to give me some pressure and friction where I’m craving it. I imagine what we would look like if anyone saw us: me, laid out naked on the countertop with my legs spread, and a shirtless man with his head buried between my thighs, fucking me with his mouth and the neck of a wine bottle.
The mental picture and the physical sensations are enough to catapult me over the edge, and I cry out as my climax hits. My channel clenches around the bottle and my clit pulses against each lash of Cole’s tongue. By the time it’s over, I’m a sweaty, shuddering mess. Finally Cole stands, pulling the bottle from me. All I can do is lie bonelessly on the countertop and stare up at him as he gives me a dark, sensual smile. He raises the bottle to his lips and tips it up, the strong column of his throat moving as he drinks most of the remaining wine inside it.
His arm slides under my back and tugs me upright, holding the bottle to my lips. “You taste fucking divine,” he says.
I open my mouth and let him pour the last drops of wine onto my tongue. He sits down, pulls me onto his lap, and kisses me again so that we’re sharing the taste of the wine and me. My body quakes almost as much as my heart and mind. Cole is too much for me. Too much of everything I’m not. And yet the feeling he gives me when I’m with him like this and can let go is addictive.
Too addictive.
The way his mouth claims mine, the possessive grip of his hands on my body—none of it feels casual or temporary. I don’t want to move from where I am. I want to stay here, pressed against him like this, without reminding myself that this must end.
But I can’t, so I gather myself and pull away. When I try to slide off his lap, he tightens his arms around me. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“I should probably go home.”
He feathers his lips down my neck. “Stay,” he murmurs against my skin.
“What?” I lean back to meet his gaze.
His brow is furrowed, as if he’s not sure of what he’s saying. “It’s late. You should stay.”
“You . . . want me to stay the night?”
He doesn’t bother to answer my question. “I’ll get you one of my shirts to wear.” He lifts me off him and disappears down the hallway to his bedroom. I trail behind. He’s never asked me to stay before. I never really expected him to. I assumed it was a way to keep the reality of our non-relationship front and center in my mind.
But now . . . now I’m confused. I enter his bedroom and find him rummaging around in a drawer. He turns toward me and holds out a white T-shirt that will be far too large for me but nicer than sleeping in the one I was wearing all evening and will have to wear home tomorrow.
I take it from him, my fingers brushing his, and a little curl of warmth blossoms in my stomach. I do my best to suppress it. I don’t want to give in to the temptation of thinking this means something.
And yet . . .
I pull the shirt over my head. It hangs down to mid-thigh, but the material is soft and luxurious. Cole stares at me, the intensity of his gaze heating every inch of my skin. He scrubs his hand over his mouth, then abruptly turns and disappears into the bathroom, coming out carrying a new toothbrush for me to use. We both quickly clean up, and before I know it, he’s climbing into his huge bed and holding the covers back for me.
I slide under, but lying there next to him, I’m not sure what to do with myself. Cole doesn’t exactly seem like the spooning type, but then he rolls toward me and places his large hand on my stomach, the warmth of his palm seeping through the shirt and relaxing me.
We might not be cuddling, but being here with him like this still feels special. I think I might be smiling as I drift off to sleep.
