13. Mabel
mabel
. . .
I never expected to end up in Cole Bennett's bed again, but some homecomings defy all logic.
The drive to his place passes in charged silence, our hands finding each other across the console like magnets. The same calloused fingers that used to trace patterns on my skin in high school now belong to a man—one who builds houses instead of dreams about them.
His cabin sits nestled among cedar trees––exactly where I pictured it would be all these years—simple, sturdy, unmistakably Cole.
"I renovated it myself," he says, watching my face as he unlocks the door. "Took three years."
"Of course you did," I murmur, running my hand along the hand-carved banister. "Some things never change."
Inside, the space feels like him—practical yet surprisingly beautiful in its craftsmanship. Before I can catalog more details, his mouth is on mine, hungry and certain. My body responds instantly, muscle memory kicking in like I never left Cedar Bay.
"Mabel," he breathes against my neck. "I've thought about this for ten years."
"Show me," I challenge, already pulling at his shirt.
We don't even make it to the bedroom. The living room becomes our initial battlefield, with clothes strewn about like casualties in the aftermath of a heated argument.
Cole's tongue carves tantalizing trails down my skin, a blend of the familiar and the electrifyingly new.
As he nestles between my thighs, the world beyond melts away, and I am no longer an attorney with a corner office in Portland.
I am simply Mabel, arching into his eager mouth, fingers entangled in his soft, fair hair.
"God, you taste exactly how I remembered," he groans, looking up at me with those impossibly blue eyes that seem to pierce right through me.
When his mouth descends upon me once more, it's slow and deliberate, a tantalizing slide that makes me arch against him with a fierce, primal need that surprises us both.
This isn't the frantic, heated coupling from earlier—this is worship, reverence, a promise spoken in the language of flesh and breath.
His tongue dances over me, exploring every inch with a tenderness that feels like a sacred ritual.
His technique has evolved since high school—he's learned things and discovered ways to make me shatter that his eighteen-year-old self never knew.
The flat of his tongue presses against me with perfect pressure before he draws gentle circles that have me gasping his name.
My thighs tremble against his shoulders as he works me with devastating precision.
"Cole," I breathe, my voice breaking on his name. "I can't?—"
But he doesn't relent. His hands grip my hips, holding me steady as his mouth becomes more insistent.
The boy who used to fumble with my bra strap has become a man who knows precisely how to unravel me completely.
He alternates between soft, teasing flicks and deeper, more demanding strokes that make my vision blur.
"I'm going to devour you," he growls into the skin of my inner thigh, his rough stubble igniting a fiery trail of sensation. "Tell me what you want."
"You," I gasp, my hands fisting in his hair. "All of you. Forever."
The word escapes my lips before I can catch it, lingering in the air between us like a whispered secret. Cole's gaze locks with mine, eyes deep and smoldering with desire and an unfathomable depth of emotion.
"Forever sounds perfect to me," he murmurs, just before his tongue finds that elusive spot that draws my voice out in a cry of his name.
I'm coming apart beneath him, every nerve ending alight.
The successful attorney who argues cases in front of judges dissolves into a shuddering mess.
I shatter beneath him, my body vividly recalling the way he could unravel me with nothing but his mouth.
As the tremors gradually fade, I pull him up towards me, craving the taste of him once more, eager to give back what he's given me.
"My turn," I whisper, pushing him onto his back.
I take my time exploring the body that feels both familiar and foreign to me.
Cole's broader now, with muscles defined by years spent working with his hands.
His skin is rougher, a testament to the hard work and dedication etched into every line and curve.
As I take him into my mouth, he lets out a deep, resonant groan, my name spilling from his lips like a fervent prayer filled with reverence and longing.
"Mabel, I'm not going to last if you?—"
"Good," I murmur against him. "I want you to fall apart for me."
I take him deeper, remembering exactly how he likes it—the pressure of my tongue, the rhythm that used to drive him wild in the back of his pickup truck all those years ago. His hips buck involuntarily, and I press them down with my palms, maintaining complete control.
"Jesus, Mabel," he rasps, his voice strained and desperate. "You're going to kill me."
I pull back just enough to meet his gaze, my lips still wrapped around him. The look in his eyes is pure torture—a beautiful agony that makes heat pool between my thighs all over again. I've missed this power, this ability to reduce him to nothing but sensation and need.
My mouth works him with deliberate precision, alternating between gentle suction and firm strokes of my tongue. He's trembling beneath me now, his hands fisted in the throw pillows, fighting for control he's already lost.
"Look at me," I command softly, and his eyes snap open, that familiar blue now dark with desire. "I want to watch you come undone."
His breathing becomes ragged as I take him deeper, hollowing my cheeks and using every technique I've learned in the years we've been apart.
But it's the memories of what he loved before that guide me—the gentle scrape of teeth, the swirl of my tongue around his tip, the way I hum softly against him.
"Mabel, I'm—" His warning comes out strangled, desperate.
I don't pull away. Instead, I increase my pace, one hand working what my mouth can't reach while the lingers on Cole's hip bone. His whole body goes rigid beneath me, muscles coiled tight as a spring.
"God, yes," he groans, his control finally snapping. "Don't stop, I’m going to come. Fuck, I’m going to come.”
And he does, beautifully, completely, his hands gentle in my hair as he comes undone.
His release hits my tongue in waves, and I swallow everything he gives me, savoring the taste of him and the broken sounds spilling from his lips.
His body shudders beneath my hands as I work him through it, gentle now, coaxing out every last tremor until he's completely spent.
When I finally pull away, he's staring at the ceiling with glazed eyes, chest heaving like he's just run a marathon. I crawl up his body, pressing soft kisses to his ribs, his chest, and the hollow of his throat, where his pulse still races wildly.
"Christ," he breathes, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me against him. "I forgot how good you are at that."
"I’m glad you noticed," I murmur against his neck, tasting salt on his skin.
He lets out a low chuckle that vibrates through his chest. "How could I not?”
"I want you inside me," I whisper, unable to contain my need for him.
Cole’s thick, stiff shaft plunges into me, his warmth and girth filling me to the brim, reigniting a fire that has smoldered for too long. My hands grasp at his chiseled back as he drives into me with a primal rhythm, our bodies slapping together in a harmony we thought we'd lost forever.
"Fuck, Mabel," he groans into my ear, his breath hot and ragged against my skin. "Feels so good."
His words fan the flames of my desire, spurring me on as I meet his every thrust with equal fervor.
The room is filled with the sultry soundtrack of our mingled breaths and the wet, hungry sounds of our coupling.
It's raw, unrefined lust at its finest—the polar opposite of the refined sex I've grown accustomed to in Portland.
"I've missed this," I pant out, digging my nails into his back as he hits that spot deep inside me that sends electricity coursing through my veins. "Missed you."
"Me too," he grunts between clenched teeth. "Fuck, Mabel, I've missed you so much."
His words act like a catalyst, sending me hurtling toward the edge again. Cole senses it, his tempo changing, slowing to deep, deliberate thrusts that make me feel every inch of him.
"I want to feel you come around me," he growls, his voice rough with desire. "Let me feel you, Mabel."
His hand slides between us, finding that sensitive bundle of nerves with practiced precision. The dual sensation of his thick cock stretching me and his fingers working their magic is overwhelming. I'm climbing higher, my body tightening around him.
"That's it," he encourages, his eyes never leaving mine. "Give it to me."
When I shatter this time, it's like a supernova exploding through my body.
Wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me, my inner walls clenching rhythmically around him.
I cry out his name—not caring who might hear, not caring about anything but this moment, this man, this connection that never truly broke.
Cole follows me over the edge with a hoarse shout, his hips jerking erratically as he empties himself inside me. The primal satisfaction of feeling his pulse within me sends another aftershock of pleasure through my system.
We collapse together, a tangle of sweaty limbs and racing hearts.
Cole's weight on me feels like an anchor, keeping me from floating away on the tide of endorphins flooding my system.
For several minutes, neither of us speaks—there's only the sound of our breathing gradually slowing, synchronizing without effort.
"I never stopped loving you," he confesses, each thrust punctuating his heartfelt words. "Not for a single day."
The admission breaks something open inside me. "I tried to," I gasp, my nails marking Cole's back. "God, I really tried."
Later, tangled in his sheets upstairs, I trace the contours of his chest as moonlight spills through windows that face the ocean.
"What happens now?" he asks, voice hesitant for the first time tonight.
The practical part of me—the part that built a life 200 miles away—wants to call this a nostalgic mistake. But looking at him, I can't form the words.
"I have a life in Portland," I say instead.
He props himself up on one elbow, suddenly serious. "Mabel Maxwell, I let you walk away once because we were kids with different dreams. I'm not making that mistake again."
"I can work remotely sometimes," I find myself saying. "Three days a week, maybe."
His arms pull me closer, a comforting embrace that feels like home. "I could expand the business," he murmurs, his voice a soothing rumble in the quiet room. "Portland needs contractors, too."
"We're doing this, aren't we?" I respond softly, my fingers tracing gentle circles on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my touch.
"If you want to," he replies, his eyes sincere and full of warmth. "No pressure, no ultimatums this time. Just possibility."
I lift my head to meet his gaze, taking in the features of the man who has haunted my dreams for over a decade. "I love you, Cole Bennett," I confess, my voice barely above a whisper. "I never stopped either."
His smile blooms, radiant and full of joy, a light so bright it could illuminate the entire Pacific Northwest. "Then we'll figure out the rest," he assures, his words a promise of endless tomorrows.