Chapter 24 Good Girl
GOOD GIRL
Morning routine?
Cole: A run, then a shower, then my first cup of coffee.
Bridget: This time of year, it’s still dark out when I get up. I shower and get ready, then I walk to work as the sun rises.
brIDGET
My alarm went off too early. After a week of birdsong-filled early sunrises closer to the equator, I wasn’t ready for the pitch-black silence that met my bleary eyes as I silenced my phone.
Five more minutes. I snuggled back into Cole’s arms, letting his herbal scent envelop me. Wait.
It was Tuesday, a workday, with fifty-five days left in my ninety-day plan, and Cole shouldn’t be in my bed.
I should not be cradled in his body like an orchid on a mango tree.
Everyone would suspect the redness on my cheek was Cole’s shoulder-print.
I started to shimmy to the edge of the bed, but his arms wrapped around me and pinned me to his body.
“Huh-uh,” he murmured. “You’re not going anywhere.” His hand slid under my sleep shirt to the underside of my breast, setting off an eruption of tingles in my core.
“Who says?” But my voice was breathy as his erection pressed against my butt.
“I do,” he rumbled. “Any objections?”
I should’ve objected. There were a dozen reasons to.
But I couldn’t think of any of them as he flicked my nipple.
Someone moaned, and I was afraid it was me.
Maybe if I closed my eyes, I could pretend it was a dream and I wasn’t actually letting my colleague, my competitor, tug down my panties a few hours before we had to be in the office.
His hands felt too good. “N-no. No objections.”
“Excellent.” He cupped me, his fingertips teasing my opening while his thumb tapped my clit. “Such a good girl. So wet for me.”
Wetness gushed between my legs as I pressed into his hand. “I’m not a girl. I’m older than you.”
He chuckled into my ear. “You think you can’t still be a good girl if you’re over thirty? Besides, you love it when I call you a good girl.”
I bit my tongue to keep the moan inside. “Do not.”
When he tweaked my clit, I gasped. “If you lie to me, I’ll stop calling you a good girl.”
My brain glitched, unable to decide whether I liked the praise or the pinch more. I was seconds away from soaring on a current of pleasure.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Come for me.” He plucked my clit.
That was all it took. My body went taut, and I cried out as bliss overwhelmed me.
But he kept going, adding a finger inside me as he played my clit like a guitar.
I’d seen Carlos Santana in concert once, and Cole Campion might be almost as skilled with his fingers.
He strummed me to an even higher peak that caused a tear to trickle down my cheek.
He eased me onto my back, and as I brushed the hair off my sweaty face, I heard a crinkle of foil. I opened my eyes to find Cole rolling on a condom.
“Where did that come from?” I asked.
“Bedside table.” He positioned himself between my legs.
“I keep my condoms in the bathroom.”
“This one’s mine.” He pushed inside.
“You…” I had just enough functional brain cells to say, “You put a condom on the bedside table last night so you could fuck me this morning?”
“What can I say?” He thrust again. “Strategic thinking is my strength.”
When he lifted my legs to his shoulders and went deep inside me, thoughts and words disappeared. I couldn’t be rational around him. We had to stop doing this.
After one more orgasm.
I let myself float on a decadent wave of sensation as he rocked in and out of me, a furrow of concentration between his eyebrows.
Cole was single-minded about everything he did.
It was what made his performance so superior.
He paid attention to details like the sounds I made, my expressions, and the way my breathing hitched when he moved just like that.
He didn’t have to touch my clit this time. His dick hit the sensitized spot inside me, and I came again, soaring out of my body for a moment to an astral plane where we weren’t coworkers or adversaries but two bodies designed to give each other pleasure.
When I came back to myself, he was lying next to me.
“Fuck.” He sounded out of breath. “I could wake up like this every day.”
“Yeah.” If only.
He rolled toward me and kissed my neck. “I knew this was good for us.”
Realization was a hard slap across the face. “This isn’t good for us.” I scooted out of reach and tugged my sleep tee down over my thighs. “We have to work together.”
“And now that we’ve resolved the sexual tension, we’ll work even better together.”
“Will we?”
“Sure,” he said. “Think of it as a release of pressure, like a minor volcanic eruption. It doesn’t have to be any more than that.”
“Volcanoes can be dangerous. I remember that from our hike.”
He traced the hem of my sleep shirt. “Minor eruptions of ash relieve the pressure and prevent more destructive events. We’re much less likely to have another shouting match in the office now that we’ve released all that cortisol.”
“So you’re saying Stan will be happy?”
His finger stopped its progress. “Probably better that we don’t mention this to Stan.”
“We tell no one.”
“No one,” he agreed.
“Not even our families or friends.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Of course not. Because we agreed we won’t do this again.”
“Right.” But my stomach was cold. Having sex with Cole once was dangerous, and we’d done it a dozen times over the last few days. What would happen if anyone at work found out?
We had a lot to lose. And he was just as guilty as I was. “Okay,” I said. “We’ll go to work and never speak of this again.”
“Deal. After I make you coffee.”