Chapter 20 INT. COLE’S HOTEL ROOM—NIGHT
Chapter 20
INT. COLE’S HOTEL ROOM—NIGHT
Cole hadn’t even asked “My room or yours.” He simply led Maggie to his suite.
When he opened the door, it was all Maggie could do not to gasp. Her own hotel room was nice, but it could’ve fit inside his suite’s living room twice. In the next room, the streetlight coming in through the windows outlined the bed. It looked massive. Monumental. As if it should have been a stop on the hop-on, hop-off bus for tourists.
It was a bed that carried expectations .
Now that they’d made out like teenagers in his town car, Cole’s movements were confident. Feline. The way he moved, the roll of his shoulders, the cock of his hips: it was the most goddamned erotic thing she’d ever seen.
He unfurled himself on the couch. Just poured his body over it, draping one arm along the back of it. “I want to make love to you.”
“I, um, suspected as much.” Honestly, if she hadn’t been acutely aware of Phil in the front seat of the town car, Maggie would’ve ravished Cole already. She’d known they’d had chemistry, but that kiss had been—wow. She’d had entire sexual relationships lasting months or years that had left her less hot and bothered than that single car ride.
“Good. So what gets you off?” The way Cole was watching her was probably illegal in several countries. It was definitely a fire hazard.
Maggie couldn’t make herself sit down. First, there was the problem of where. On the couch next to him? There was no way. She was still recovering from the kiss. Honestly, she wasn’t certain her knees could bend any more. Every cell in her body was still squealing as if she were a personified exclamation point.
She squeezed her thighs together. Nope, that wasn’t enough. Not enough pressure, not enough contact, and not where she needed it.
“You’re blocking this scene in your head?” she joked.
“I’ve been doing that for the last few months.”
Smoke should be pouring from her ears like in an old cartoon. What was she going to say to that? That she hadn’t been doing the same thing? She didn’t want to lie to him. She wasn’t sure she could.
“So you want my sexual history? To know about my fantasies?”
“The second one, yeah.”
Maggie fought an impulse to look away. “I haven’t ... done this in a while. Like a year and a half.” She omitted the vibrator that was in her suitcase. Nothing helped insomnia like a good orgasm or two. “But since I got to the UK, my fantasy has been ... you.”
Cole’s eyes blazed. Realistically, Maggie knew that was ridiculous. That a bonfire had not , in fact, flared in his eyes. But in that moment, she would have sworn that it had.
Yeah, whoa, he liked that.
“I understand. Like, exactly. So in the bedroom, what gets you there?”
“It isn’t always penetration,” Maggie admitted, her voice feeling gawky.
It was hard to believe that she’d spent the last seven months learning to be an intimacy coordinator and having no-holds-barred conversations about sexual positions and pleasure and freaking pubic beards with strangers while choreographing and helping to film some pretty steamy on-screen sex. But this felt utterly different. It wasn’t for a scene. It wasn’t for work. It wasn’t about characters. It was real. And she was going to do it.
She was going to do it with Cole .
Maggie had always been better at directing than she had been at acting because she was extremely self-conscious. Was it possible to get stage fright before sex? Because that seemed like the only explanation for her nerves.
Right, she had to keep talking. “I mean, so unless there’s been a lot of foreplay, mostly, I come from ... rubbing.”
“Like oral sex?” He licked his lips.
It took a second for Maggie to be able to answer. The thought of Cole’s face between her legs had her feeling messy, breathless. “Sometimes. But, um, nipple play and dry humping. That usually gets the job done.” At this point, it wasn’t going to take much at all.
Cole half sat up. “Do you not like penetration?”
For maybe the first time in her life, Maggie knew that if she said no, this partner would respect that absolutely. “No, I do. At least—I enjoy it, and I want my partner to get off.” I want you to get off. “But thrusting alone doesn’t usually do it for me.” It was very hard not to pull the curtain of her hair in front of her face, but Cole clearly wanted to watch her, wanted her blushes, and cared very much about what she wanted. And that was going to be enough to carry her past the worries and the bashfulness. “What about you?”
“Maggie, when I touch you”—Cole relaxed against the couch, fully confident once more—“it’s going to be hard not to go off like a rocket.”
“Right. But after the first time ...”
“There will be a second time, and a third time, and a bazillion other times.” That was as fast and firm as the fuck he was offering her—and it was a glitter cannon inside her gut. “There will be many, many nights and mornings. Lots of days. Bunches of afternoons.”
“I, that, yeah. I’m on board with that. So what’s your ideal?”
He raised his hand to his mouth and bit his fingertip, and she wanted to offer him hers instead. But the second they touched, things were going to get intense. They needed to finish this conversation first.
“No bondage or Fifty Shades stuff. No anal, no groups. Toys can be fun, maybe, and yeah, I can see that you like that idea. But what’s going to make me come is getting you off. I want to bury my face in your hair. I want to kiss the underside of your chin. I want to feel you laughing against my chest. I want to learn how you taste.”
Which wasn’t exactly a road map to sex. It was more like the recipe for a happy relationship. Though that sounded good too.
Needing more specifics, she asked, “Do you like blow jobs? Hand stuff?”
“Yes and yes. The last few years, I haven’t had time for this. For dating. For ... getting to know someone. With you, I’m in deep. And I can’t say I’ve felt like this—ever, really. But when the connection is this deep, the rest tends to be mind blowing. We’re going to be mind blowing.”
“How can you be sure?”
“I just am.”
His certainty was intoxicating. How could she keep clinging to her worries in the face of his belief in them?
“And penetration?”
He blew out a long breath. “The thought of your pussy makes my dick throb.” He ran a hand down the front of his pants, and it was ... holy shit, she could make out his length and girth. “I mean, that’s normally what makes me come, but I don’t need that if you don’t want it.”
Maggie had to close her eyes then. There were too many sensations, too many emotions. The body stuff, yes. The hammering of her pulse in her clit. The way her pussy was swollen and wet. The hardness of her nipples against the lace of her bra. But it was also her heart, squeezing at his concern for her. His respect for her.
“I want you to be inside me,” she whispered. “I don’t know if I’ll orgasm that way, but I’m ... aching for you.” She’d never been as hungry for food as she was for him . Every way she could have him, she wanted him.
It was almost scary, feeling that. Admitting it. If they’d known each other any less well, she would be standing here, trying to play it cool. To pretend that she wasn’t a pile of Jell-O where he was concerned. That emotionally, sexually, physically, she was desperate for him.
But his grin—cocky, hot—let her know it wasn’t embarrassing to feel like that.
Like he was equally worked up about her.
Like she’d made his life by letting him turn her into a puddle of want.
“Just tell me what you want, what you like, and what you don’t, and we’ll be fine.” He said it as if it were that easy.
But maybe with him, it would be.
“I will.”
“Then I think we’ve about covered things.”
“I think we have.”
“Unzip your dress and come ’ere.”
With shaking hands, Maggie did. She’d only been standing five or six steps away from him, but it felt like an epic journey.
Cole folded into her, pushing his face into her stomach and biting her through the fabric of her dress. One of his hands stole up under the hem. “So soft,” he said of her thighs.
And even though she knew her skin was ... regular, she suddenly felt soft. Desirable.
She parted her legs for him, and he cupped her mons.
“I’m pretty wet.” That was a massive understatement. She might not have ever been so ready before.
But rather than diving in like she’d expected him to, Cole pulled her up onto the couch until she was straddling him, and then he peeled her dress open, revealing her cleavage. Maggie had debated between this bra, which got scratchy after a few hours, and a more practical cotton one, and she was glad she’d gone for the lace. His approving smile let her know she’d made the right choice, and then he licked her cleavage. Actually licked her. And then his mouth was on her bra over her nipple.
He used his lips and his tongue and his teeth—exactly the right amount of teeth. Rough in a way that had her bucking against his hand, digging her nails into the back of his neck, whimpering in her own mouth, struggling to keep the inarticulate babble inside. The Oh my God, yes, just like that and Don’t stop, don’t ever stop and I love you . Mostly that last one, because it was just too soon for that last one.
Entirely too soon.
Cole didn’t let up. Not consuming her breast, not working his fingers over her panties, and definitely not with the heel of his palm, blunt and firm and punishing against her clit. Exactly what she needed.
She came quickly, loudly. Like a malfunctioning firework that detonates the entire box all at once.
“How was that?” he said, lifting his head from her.
“Oh, you know, pretty good.” Maggie sprawled on her back across the couch, feeling boneless and embarrassed and desperate to come again.
“We’ll have to do better than that, then.” Cole started to strip off her dress, then stopped. “Can I take this off?”
“Yes, please.”
Once he’d dropped her dress to the floor, her bra followed. The way he looked at her, the way he stopped and kissed the lower part of her stomach, the stretch marks on her hips, it made her feel precious, perfect.
He left on her panties, which were soaked and messy, but he stood and stripped himself down to his boxers. “All night,” he vowed, settling between her legs. “I want to do that to you all night.”
Cole kissed her as if they were going to be tested on it later. Hungry, ravenous, consuming kisses. One of his hands was on her breast, and the other was on her ass. His hold was controlling. Acquisitive.
Which ... of course. She wanted him to touch her like that, to be his and to trust it would be forever. She felt like clay in the hands of a master.
He dragged himself over her, blunt and slow. “This good?”
“Y-yes.”
He made another pass and another and another. Each time it was harder and faster, and Maggie’s restraint disappeared.
She was rocking into him, her calf pulling him into her, until he ground against the spot that had her head rolling back. “There, there. Right ... oh God, please, harder, please.”
They, this, were probably hurting his erection, and she was probably being too loud, but Cole was kissing her neck and telling her that she was beautiful and that he wanted to see her fly again. She couldn’t help it, she couldn’t stop. She could only take and take and take.
Her orgasm, when it came, went on for forever. Her eyes were watering, and every cell in her body was vibrating. The things she said then, she couldn’t help them, but she’d never felt so good, and all control fell away. She was begging, begging him not to stop, and he was saying he wouldn’t ever stop, and she believed him.
She believed him.
When she was done, she would’ve rolled over, hid her face, but Cole pinned her hands to the couch. “That was ... you’re beautiful.”
He kissed her, sunny and assured, and then he scooped her up and carried her to the bedroom.
After depositing her on the colossal bed, he flipped on the light on the nightstand and then dug around in his suitcase for a box of condoms. He held them up. “Yes?”
“Yes.”
His boxers came off—and that was a lot of Cole. A lot a lot. Maggie swallowed, and then he was putting the condom on. “I know I said all night, but I have to—that is, I want to, and—”
“No, please, I’m ready. I don’t think I can wait any longer.”
He slid her panties off, taking a moment to inhale them. “Damn, you smell good.”
She wouldn’t have trusted those words from anyone else, but all the most private and needy parts of sex—the things she’d tried to hide from her other partners—he seemed to revel in them.
He climbed onto the bed. “This is okay? It’s what you want?”
She knew he cared about the answer, which made it so easy to say yes and mean it.
For the first time all night, he parted the lips of her pussy. His finger worked into her flesh, and she whimpered.
“Good? Bad?”
“Good.” She was panting, lifting her hips, pleading for him with her body.
Then his cock was there, pushing into her, and in the best way, it was hard to catch her breath.
“Goddamn, you’re wet.” The way he said it, it was the highest compliment.
“That’s what you do to me.”
“That’s good.”
“ So good.”
He didn’t release her gaze while he slid all the way home and ground himself against her. While he began to move, fast and certain. While his eyes went glassy and unfocused. While he stroked her clit—because of course he was determined to take care of her too. Again.
Then his thrusts went wild, and his hands on her were hard, like he wanted to make sure she was real.
The orgasm hit him like lightning. His groans filled her ears and his chest filled her vision, and Cole filled her. Every nook and cranny of her.
Afterward, he cradled her against his chest. “That was ... that was something else.”
No, it was everything.