Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Willa
T he ride home was silent. Except for the sound of my heart beating out of my chest. I was having some kind of physical reaction that I couldn’t understand or explain.
The whole way home, I snuck glances at Cole as he quietly drove—the corded muscles of his forearms gripping the steering wheel; the way his eyes narrowed when he was focusing on the road.
Something had changed tonight. When he spoke to Jonathan, my neurons shifted. His words, his tone of voice, even the way he touched me, had changed my genetic makeup, and I’d never be the same.
He’d claimed me.
Publicly.
He’d practically shouted about his attraction from the rooftops. Logically, I knew it was for show. That he was being a good friend and a good fake husband. But logic was not winning this fight. Because my hormones had kicked into overdrive.
And lust had entered the equation.
I was lusting after my husband.
He was gorgeous, and sure, I’d always felt some level of attraction to him.
But this was something else entirely. My body ached for him. My mind was solely focused on him. I wanted to touch every inch of him, experience the kind of connection I had only ever read about in books.
If I were brave, I’d kiss him. I’d climb on top of him and give in to the ache that had been building inside me since he sat next to me on that bench in Vegas.
But that wasn’t how real life worked.
He was a good man, and he’d been working hard to figure his life out. In many ways, he was helping me too.
I was getting way more out of the marriage than he was.
What if I came on to him, only to find that he wasn’t attracted to me? That I was wildly misreading the signals?
I needed Lila. She’d help me break this down and walk through every possibility.
But I couldn’t tell her. I couldn’t tell anyone.
I was alone with my lust. And it was going to kill me.
We parked and headed into the house, still ensconced in this bubble of silence. At the very least, I should find my voice and thank him for what he’d done, for the way he’d stuck up for me. To most, it may not have been a big deal, but seeing Jonathan’s reaction to Cole’s declaration had healed a tiny piece of my teenage broken heart.
But before I could find the words, Cole hung his coat, kicked off his shoes, and headed straight for his room.
My stomach plummeted. Why was he leaving? It wasn’t even late. Was he upset? Oh God, I’d been so consumed by my lust that I’d failed to realize that he was upset.
I hesitated in the kitchen, just outside his room. He clearly wanted to be alone. But I wanted to smooth things over. I hated the idea that he might be feeling bad about our encounter with Jonathan and what I’d said to him after.
Letting my hormones take over, I stepped up to his door. We had promised each other total honesty. And I didn’t want to go to bed with a weird misunderstanding hanging between us.
As I stood there, working up the nerve to knock, he let out a low groan. Oh shit, he really was upset.
I knocked lightly, desperate to clear the air. To talk about this like adults. We’d done a great job of being open and honest so far. This would be fine.
He didn’t answer.
Thinking he hadn’t heard me, I knocked again, and when he still didn’t answer, I twisted the doorknob. It was unlocked.
With my fingertips, I pushed, and when Cole came into sight, I called his name softly.
His back was to the door, and he was shirtless, wearing only a pair of gym shorts. At the sound of his name, he whipped around, his eyes widening and his mouth dropping open.
I blinked, taking him in. The cut muscles of his chest and abdomen, the V that led straight to his waistband, and—holy shit—the massive erection tenting his shorts.
“What are you doing here?” he choked out.
“Sorry.” I squeezed my eyes shut, both embarrassed and intrigued. I was a doctor and had seen some things. But what the hell was happening in his pants? I’d never seen such an impressive show of desire. “I wanted to check on you. You seemed upset.”
“I’m not,” he said softly. “Just frustrated.”
“I shouldn’t have come in,” I said, lowering my head and stepping back.
“No,” he said firmly. “Come in. I want you to see this.”
Swallowing thickly, I obeyed, stepping over the threshold. I’d been in his room dozens of times, but tonight, an awareness I’d never experienced hit me as I padded across the hardwood floor.
“This,” he gritted out, fisting himself over the fabric of his shorts. “This is how hard my wife makes me.”
I gasped at the sight. All the muscles in his abs clenched, his eyes hooded, and his large hand wrapped around whatever that bulge was.
My inner muscles tightened, and at the same time, my legs turned to jelly.
“Take a good look. This is every day of my life. Every single night, I lie in bed next to you, dreaming about what it would feel like to touch you, to taste you. To sink my cock into you and fuck you through that fancy headboard.”
My nipples puckered, turning to sharp points I was certain would cut right through my sweater. My heart was racing, and a fire ignited below my skin.
“Every morning,” he gritted out, “I wrap my hand around it and hate myself. Because you’ll never be mine. I will not mess things up for you. I will not hurt you in any way.”
“Cole,” I said, overwhelmed by a mixture of need and confusion.
He was so sad, so desperate. I itched to go to him, touch him, give myself to him fully. To experience what it would be like to be his wife in every way.
He was fully stroking himself now, the act making my mouth water. His body was massive and strong, and yet his words were soft and vulnerable.
“We promised each other honesty,” he said, forcing the words out. “So here it is. Every day I fall a little more in love with you. I love your laugh and your smile and how incredibly funny you are. And fuck, do I love your body. The things I want to do to you.” He bowed his head. “I’ll honor our agreement. You’ve done so much for me, and I don’t think you even realize it. So I won’t do it. I won’t touch you and risk ruining everything you’ve worked for.”
My body was an inferno now, begging me to jump on my husband. To throw all our rules and boundaries and the friendship we’d built straight out the window. How could I control myself when this man was standing here, looking like that , and saying those words?
The attraction I’d been feeling earlier was nothing compared to the simmering volcano of lust inside me now.
We stared at one another, silent. There was nothing left to say. He’d declared himself.
This was the fuck-it moment. The one I’d read about in so many books.
He’d made it clear: He wouldn’t touch me. He wouldn’t be the one to make the first move.
So now it was my turn.