He unlocks the room with an electronic card key, then strides inside, letting the door slam shut behind us.
I’m upside down, so I don’t have the best view of the place, but I can tell it’s a suite. A large main room opens onto a smaller dining space. A lighted nook displays a piece of contemporary art. There’s a wet bar beside an enormous TV and an unlit fireplace in the living area across from a sofa and a pair of chairs.
Cole bypasses all that. He walks straight into the bedroom and flips me over onto my back on the bed.
I stare up at him standing at the edge of the mattress gazing down at me and try not to have a stroke.
Shucking off his suit jacket, he murmurs, “Those pretty eyes of yours are very wide, sweetheart. It’s still not too late.”
Ignoring the thrill hearing him call me “sweetheart” sent through my body, I pretend a calm I don’t feel. “Say that one more time and lose your testicles.”
He makes a clucking sound of disapproval. “Shame. I think they might come in handy soon.”
He drops his jacket to the floor and starts to work on the buttons of his shirt.
I don’t know what I was expecting. Actually, I wasn’t expecting anything at all. I’ve been too focused on my own anxiety to think about what he might look like under his clothes. But the moment Cole’s shirt parts under his fingertips and he pulls it open to reveal his naked chest, I think I know the feeling the architects of St. Peter’s Basilica in the Vatican were trying to inspire when they built the place.
Awe.
I sit upright, lay my handbag aside, and stare at him with my heart in my throat and my mouth hanging open.
“Now that’s a new expression. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were at a loss for words.”
I slide to the edge of the mattress and lightly place both my hands flat on his majestic abs. They contract under my touch, a ripple of hard muscle that’s both masculine and intoxicating.
I whisper, “Wow.”
It’s insufficient, but it’s all I’ve got.
Cole puts a knuckle under my chin and tilts my head up so I’m looking into his eyes. After examining my expression, he murmurs, “Thank you.”
“No, thank you.” I look back at his chiseled body, at his pecs and biceps and smooth, golden skin, and produce a small, semihysterical laugh. “God. No wonder you’re so arrogant. You look like you were created by artificial intelligence to star in action movies.”
“Arrogant?”
“Oh, please. You’re the arrogance poster boy, and you know it. How much time do you spend in the gym?”
“None.”
I scoff. “You’re telling me all this sculpted muscle comes naturally? No way.”
“I didn’t say it came naturally. I said it didn’t come from a gym. Take off your panties.”
My breath catches. I glance up at him to find him looking at me with hooded eyes and dangerous intensity.
“Can we turn out the lights?”
“No. Take off your panties. But leave everything else on.”
“Why?”
“Because after I make you come with my mouth, I’m going to enjoy tearing your clothes off your body.”
My gulp is surely audible.
Inhaling a breath, I look down at my skirt. Shit. What underwear do I have on? Am I wearing those ratty Walmart ones? Why didn’t I listen to Chelsea when she said all my lingerie looks like I found it at a garage sale?
“One final chance, beautiful girl. Once you take those panties off, there’s no going back.”
I know Cole’s dark, stroking voice is meant to be frightening, but all it does is harden my resolve.
I might not be in this position if I had an extra set of batteries in the house, but I’m getting laid tonight, and that’s that.
Pulling my skirt up my thighs, I hook my thumbs under the elastic of my panties and slide them down my legs until they’re pooled on the carpet around my feet. Then I slip off my heels and glance up at him.
“Black. I see we had a theme for the evening. Lie back and spread your legs.”
Breathless and trembling, I slowly settle back onto the mattress and do as I’m told.
Cole stands motionless as he gazes down at me. His eyes are fire. His silence is terrifying. I don’t know if he’s about to fall to his knees and devour me or ask if I’ve never heard of a disposable razor.
Instead of doing either of those things, he exhales a quiet breath and whispers reverently, “Perfect.”
This feeling I have right now must be the same feeling Chet enjoyed every time he preened at his reflection in a mirror. With one simple word, Cole not only dissolved my anxiety, he also released that powerful dark femme energy Angel’s always going on about.
Stretching my arms overhead, I spread my thighs wider.
Cole’s searing gaze flashes up to mine. He snaps, “You’re not in charge.”
Because we both know I really am, I smile. “Whatever you say, boss man.”
Like a predator contemplating his meal, he tilts his head and studies me. The tension grows until I’m resisting the urge to start squirming.
“You like playing with fire, don’t you?”
“Seems like I’m not the only one.”
“Answer the question.”
“I thought I had.”
“Yes or no, Shay.”
Something about his intensity has my heart pounding like mad. Energy courses through my body, thrumming over my skin in waves. My nipples harden. My pussy tingles. I feel unstable, as if I’m a dangerous mix of chemicals that might spontaneously combust.
I answer truthfully. “I like playing with you.”
Whether or not that satisfies whatever it was he was really asking, I can’t tell. His blue eyes are as dark and impenetrable as the surface of a stormy sea.
He kneels between my legs, then slowly runs his hands up my spread legs from the inside of my knees to where my thighs meet my body. Staring voraciously at my exposed pussy, he licks his lips.
That simple action is so sexy, I almost moan out loud.
“You want my mouth on you?”
His voice is harsh in the quiet room. Mine is breathy.
“Yes.”
“Ask for it.”
He strokes his thumbs against my pubic hair, his pressure feather-light. Fighting another moan, I swallow.
“Please, Cole. I want your mouth.”
When he murmurs, “Good girl,” I nearly expire.
Correction. When I nearly expire is the moment his hot tongue makes contact with my tingling clitoris and gives it a firm flick. Then I moan so loudly, the girls can probably hear me downstairs.
Cole slides his hands under my bare ass and grips it as he slides his tongue back and forth in a slow, rhythmic dance over my clit. A shudder wracks my body. I close my eyes and tangle my fingers into his hair.
When I start to rock my hips in time with the strokes of his tongue, he makes a muffled sound that I recognize as a laugh.
“Don’t gloat,” I breathe. “Gloating is unattractive.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he whispers mockingly, then slides a finger inside me, making me gasp and arch off the bed. He adds another finger, and I whimper.
Okay, so maybe I’m not the one in charge after all.
Dammit.
