Chapter 32
JESUS HATES A VPL
Favorite tradition?
Bridget: Christmas Eve Midnight Mass with my family.
Cole: My family has many traditions. None I particularly care for.
brIDGET
On Saturday night, I walked into the fancy lobby of Cole’s apartment building. It felt more sterile than his apartment with its slick green marble tile floors and gold accents. Yet, the doorman was polite when he checked my name off his list and then ushered me into the elevator.
Since Wednesday evening, when we’d agreed to be together, I’d worried about this date.
Or was it a booty call? What did togetherness mean to Cole Campion?
He’d been married, so he was clearly capable of commitment, but what would our relationship look like, especially with the complication of working together and staying secret until our presentation in six weeks?
I’d die if someone from work saw us. The consequences of the board finding us out were too terrifying to imagine.
It was always the woman who was fired in these scenarios, while a man, especially a younger man like Cole, got the “boys will be boys” excuse and a slap on the wrist.
Cole was standing at his door when I arrived. He ushered me in, and when the door was closed, he gave me a lingering kiss on the cheek. Then he took my coat.
“We’re staying in?” I asked, relieved.
“Unless you’d prefer to go out?” He paused with the hanger in one hand and my coat in the other. “We can, I suppose. Though we should talk about the eventuality of being seen.”
A ball of uncertainty about what we were doing weighed in my belly. “No, in is great.”
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
“Actually, yes.” Right on cue, my stomach growled.
“All I’ve had since breakfast is hot chocolate.
I ice-skated with my nieces and nephews this morning, then I went to the Vigil Mass this afternoon.
I thought maybe…” I hadn’t known what to think about our date.
I’d gone to the church service today so I wouldn’t feel guilty about skipping it in the morning if I slept over, but bringing an overnight bag felt too bold.
I’d compromised by leaving a change of clothes in the trunk of my car, but I’d still have to do a walk of shame to go get it. I grimaced.
“Give me a minute. Then dinner is served.” He slipped my coat into the closet and set a hand on my lower back.
I was glad I’d worn a dress—blue silk with a floral print.
It dipped low in the front, but I’d covered up with a scarf for church.
He had on gray trousers and a black wool sweater over an open-collared shirt that gave me a peek at the springy curls below his collarbone.
I was tempted to run my fingers through them the way I had at the beachside resort.
I remembered they were almost as soft as his hair.
I’d wanted to touch his hair in the office all week, but I’d been a good girl and honored our agreement.
Now, I kept my hands to myself and let him guide me into the kitchen.
“You cooked for me?” I asked.
He washed his hands. “Nothing could top buttered noodles à la Brigitte…” I nearly swooned at his fake-French accent.
If he actually spoke French, my ovaries might burst. “I bought some pantry staples. But I didn’t want to subject you to my bachelor cooking, so I got a little help from a friend.
” He gestured at the white paper bag on the counter with Savannah’s new catering logo, Made with Love.
“You mean my friend?” I almost reached for my phone to text Savannah and ask why she’d kept the secret from me.
“I’ve met her. She caters our breakfast and lunch meetings.” His voice rose defensively. “And before you jump into your group chat, I asked her to keep this a secret.”
“I hope you paid extra,” I grumbled.
“I probably did.” He chuckled as he opened the oven and pulled out a foil dish. “Ow. Hot,” he muttered.
“Potholder.” Shit, I sounded like my mother. I opened the drawer that held a pair of the most pristine ones I’d ever used and handed them to him. He took the pads from me and lifted the other container. While I washed my hands, he got out two plates and removed the foil lids.
“Mmm.” I inhaled the savory scent. “I love her balsamic chicken and risotto.” My stomach growled again. “How did you know?”
“I asked her for your favorite dish.” His smile was smug. “Totally worth the secret tax.”
“Is there…” I peeked inside the bag, but it was empty.
“I put the salad in the fridge. Want to get it out?”
In his high-end refrigerator was a biodegradable container of salad. But it was the small pair of paper cups that I took out. “Are these…”
“Chocolate mousse. But they’re for later.”
“Later?” I pouted in my best Veruca Salt impression. “But I want it now.”
“Sometimes we want things that aren’t good for us.” His eyes burned like Luke Skywalker’s lightsaber.
“Are we still talking about chocolate mousse?” I set one on the counter and lifted the lid off the other.
In half a second, he pinned me against the counter, his thick arms caging me. “You want dessert first?”
My heart raced. “I think I do.” I dipped a finger into the cup and scooped out a taste, then popped it into my mouth. The airy, creamy chocolate melted on my tongue, and I moaned.
Cole’s mouth was on mine, kissing and invading.
He licked the chocolate from my tongue, and I savored his minty taste alongside the heavenly mousse.
His hands slid from my hips up my sides, then he cradled my jaw and raised it to deepen the kiss.
I was wearing four-inch heels, but I stood up straighter to try to match his height.
With a frustrated growl, he broke our kiss, set his hands on my waist, and lifted me to sit on the kitchen island. I squeaked in surprise. “Don’t manhandle me.”
“Sorry, sweetheart.” He kissed my neck, making me shiver. “Next time, I’ll say, ‘Bridget, may I please lift you onto the counter so I don’t break my neck bending to kiss you.’”
“Much…” I groaned in pleasure as he found the sensitive spot under my ear. “Better.” I spread my knees, and he stepped between them.
“Bridget,” he whispered in my ear, “may I please put my hand under your skirt?”
My core clenched. “Yes.”
He captured my lips again in a kiss, then he put both hands on my knees and traced up the insides of my thighs, dragging up my skirt as he went. He paused with his fingers an inch away from the apex of my legs. “Bridget, may I touch your pussy?” he murmured against my lips.
“Yes. Stop asking. I want it all.” Something cold hit my fingers, and I looked down. I’d crushed the cup of mousse. Chocolate oozed between my fingers.
He clicked his tongue. “See what happens when you’re impatient?
” He took the crumpled cup from me and set it on the counter behind him.
Then he licked the chocolate from my hand, sucking each finger into his warm, wet mouth until it was clean.
Each pull from his hollowed cheeks tugged an invisible string that connected straight to my core.
I wrapped my legs around him and tried to pull him closer to relieve the ache.
“Ah-ah, Bridget,” he said. “I’m in control here.”
That startled a gasp out of me, and the air I’d sucked in cooled and sharpened my lust-hazed brain. I was in his kitchen, where he’d chosen what we’d eat, and even the order we’d eat it in, and now he was telling me he was in control of sex too?
No, not after the last time, when he’d sent me away as we were getting closer. “I want to be in control tonight.” I put my hand on his trousers where they strained over his erection and squeezed it, not hard enough to hurt but enough to let him know I was serious.
“Fuck, Bridget.” He closed his eyes. “Okay. You’re in charge.”
Oh, shit. I hadn’t expected that to work. I found his tip and rubbed my thumb across it. The fabric dampened. Okay, so he was into it. “Kiss me,” I demanded.
“Where?” His smirk was wicked.
“First, on the lips, then…lower.”
“I want to be clear on the requirements,” he said. “First, I kiss your lips, then I make out with your pussy?”
My cheeks heated. “Yes.”
He covered my mouth with his. He tasted like the chocolate he’d licked from my fingers.
Soon, his kiss turned urgent and rough. I gave it right back to him, nipping his lip and pillaging his mouth with my tongue.
His arms went around my back, and he pulled me to him.
The friction of his sweater against my dress woke up my nipples. Every part of me was into this kiss.
When I broke away to breathe, he kissed down my jaw to my neck, then followed the upper swell of my breast to the valley between. “You smell fantastic,” he said with his nose buried in my cleavage.
“It’s just my regular perfume,” I said.
He nipped the inside of my breast. “You always smell fantastic. It drives me crazy at work.”
“You know what makes me nuts?”
“My charming personality?” He looked up at me and grinned, tipping his head at a mischievous angle.
“As if.” I combed my fingers through his hair. “This. It’s always so glossy and perfect. I want to mess it up.”
“I’d be pissed if you did it in the office, but tousle away here. In fact, lie back and hold on.” He gripped my hand and nodded at the stone countertop behind me.
“I thought I was in charge.” But I eased back onto my elbows.
“You are, sweetheart. I’m following instructions.” He flipped my skirt up, revealing my black thong. He gasped, pretending to be shocked. “You wore this to church?”
“Jesus hates a visible panty line almost as much as he hates sin.”
“Why does the thought of your naked ass cheeks on a pew make me so hot?” He tugged it to the side, making the strap cut into my hip, but I forgot the pain when his mouth covered my pussy.
“There were no naked ass cheeks”—my breath caught when he brushed against my clit—“on the pew.” Even as the pleasure spiraled through my core, it felt important to clarify. “My dress covered everything.”
“Let me have my fantasy, please.” He speared his tongue inside me.
I threw back my head and moaned as I tried not to jab my heels into his sides.
“Watch me,” he said. “Watch as I devour this pretty pussy.”
I lifted my head. The lines of concentration on his forehead were definitely hot.
One hand anchored my hip while the other wedged between my legs.
He thrust a finger inside me while he trailed his tongue up to my clit.
With a few passes of his tongue, I was lifting off, my knees trembling around his shoulders.
“Give it to me, sweetheart,” he demanded.
A hint of irritation tweaked my pleasure. Goddamn Cole Campion couldn’t let me be in charge of even one orgasm. He had to be commanding me all the damn—
He sucked my clit into his mouth, and I forgot everything except his name.
I chanted it with each wave of ecstasy that pulsed through me.
My hips bucked, and I felt a pinch and a snap.
But I didn’t care. He kept his mouth on me, urging my orgasm on and on until I ached from the contractions.
My elbows wobbled, and I sank onto my back. “Enough.”
He gave me one last swipe with his tongue and lifted his head. “I hope these weren’t your favorite.”
“What?” I opened my eyes.
“I promise it wasn’t intentional.” He held up the ruined strap of my thong. “She gave her all for the protection of this precious pussy.”
“You owe me a new thong, you vandal.” I couldn’t muster up any anger, not with the pleasure still filling my veins and his chin shiny and wet with me. “Help me get down from here.”
He gripped my hand again and helped me up, then he grasped my waist and lifted me from the island. My ravaged panties dropped to the floor, and he bent to pick them up, then pocketed them.
“You can toss them,” I said. “They’re no good to me anymore.”
“Sure.” But he didn’t move toward the trash.
“Weirdo. Come with me.” I led the way into his living room. I’d wipe the smirk from his face and take back that moment when he’d pushed me away.