Chapter 20
Cole
FORGET THE TOY
Ican’t sleep.
Tomorrow we drive to the lake house. In less than twelve hours Ariana and I walk through that door together for the first time as a couple—fake or otherwise—and face her siblings.
I should be sleeping. Instead I’ve been lying awake for the better part of an hour staring at the ceiling, running through scenarios, when my phone lights up.
It’s late. Late enough that my first instinct is that something’s wrong. I reach for it fast, and when I see her name on the screen a shock of adrenaline courses through me—and for one terrible second I think she’s calling to cancel, call this whole thing off.
“Hello?” I answer evenly despite my racing heart. It doesn’t matter that it’s probably not an emergency—I can’t help the way my brain works.
“Hi,” Ariana says so quietly I almost don’t hear her.
My heart rate steadies, but a sense of dread still settles low in my gut. She doesn’t sound like herself. “Are you okay?” I sit up and rub my eyes.
“Yeah,” she says through a humorless laugh.
Something in me calms at the sound of her dry laugh, and I lean back against the headboard. Not canceling. Just calling.
“Why the late call, doll? Can’t let go of your work schedule even on vacation?”
“How do you know my work schedule?”
“I pay attention to things,” I say a touch defensively. “You own a coffee shop and everything’s baked fresh. It’s an easy assumption.”
“Right.” She chuckles like it was silly for her to question me.
When really, she’s right to question it.
It makes sense that a coffee shop owner would be up early—but the only reason I know for sure is because I slept at the tasting room one night during renovations.
It was an accident. One minute I was lying on the floor staring at paint swatches and the next I was out cold.
It wasn’t the stiffness that woke me. It was humming.
Beautiful humming, sounding through the wall. I thought I was hallucinating, possibly inhaled too much paint. I forced myself to go investigate and followed it until it led me next door, to a door cracked open just enough to let warm light spill through.
And there she was—cheeks dusted with flour, eyes heavy with sleep, a soft melody moving through her lips as she rolled out dough.
I don’t think I’d ever seen someone look so purely happy.
I knew who she was, had seen her countless times running Novel, but something about this felt different.
Like I was seeing her clearly for the first time.
Not a Ledger. Not Ethan’s little sister.
Just a beautiful woman—and I was a man, captivated.
I stood there longer than I should have before I went back. Later that morning, I stopped by Novel and it became a habit. Seeing her became a habit.
“I’m sorry for calling so late,” she says, pulling my attention back.
Between family visiting and exhaustion from having to socialize with them all, fielding questions about my relationship status and when I’m going to settle down, I haven’t gotten to talk to Ariana as much. I’ve missed her. The sound of her voice, her smile, everything.
“I wasn’t asleep. What’s up?”
She’s quiet for a stretch. I imagine her biting her lip and it makes me smile.
“Spit it out. Obviously you called for a reason.”
Her sigh sounds through the phone. “Promise you won’t tease me.”
“Judgment-free zone. Just tell me. Whatever it is, I won’t make it weird.”
“I was trying out something and it wasn’t really working and I don’t know if it’s a me thing or—”
“Back it up,” I cut in. “What were you trying?”
“Um—it was um…”
“Ariana.” I keep my voice even. “You can trust me. I’m not going to make fun of you. Pinky swear.”
She lets out a long breath as if she’s gathering the courage to continue.
“Remember that…um…toy you gave me?”
That gets my attention and I sit up a little straighter. “Yes,” I say carefully, not wanting to discourage wherever this is going.
“Well, I was trying it. Sort of. And I just think maybe this whole masturbation thing isn’t for me. It’s just not working.”
I can’t help but silently laugh at the way she whispers the word masturbation even though she’s alone in her apartment.
Likely in bed. Probably wearing some soft, comfortable thing that isn’t meant to look anything other than cozy—but I’d bet good money it looks incredible on her anyway. Everything does.
I’ve never met a woman so completely unaware of how stunning she is.
I clear my throat. “What do you mean it’s not working? Does it need charging or is it broken?”
“No,” she blurts. “It works.”
She must hold it up near the phone because I hear a distinct buzzing sound and my cock hardens instantly at the thought of her lying in bed with it between those thick, luscious thighs.
I clear my throat. “So what seems to be the issue?”
“I just—what am I supposed to do? Do I just lie here and think about something? Do I watch something? I’ve never done this before and I’m pretty sure I’m already failing at it.”
I like to think I have a decent amount of self-control. But the urge to race across town and show this woman she’s not failing at anything is almost too strong to resist. Instead I swallow roughly. “You’re not failing.”
“Well then what am I doing wrong? Everyone seems to do this except me and—”
“Forget the toy,” I tell her, cutting off the spiral before it gains momentum. “Put it away and lie back and relax.”
“But—”
“You’re going to use your fingers and you’re going to pretend they’re mine.”
I hear the rustling of fabric and my mind drops beyond the gutter.
I have no idea what I’m doing. The smart thing would be to tell her goodnight. The decent thing would be to end this here. Unfortunately I’m neither smart nor decent when my cock is at half-mast and Ariana is trying to orgasm.
“You trust me?” I ask, a thick knot lodged in my throat.
“Yes.” She says it on a breath. “I don’t know why, but I do.”
“Good. I want you to do everything I tell you for the next few minutes. Can you do that for me?”
“Yes,” she repeats.
“Good girl. Now tell me—are you wet?”
“Cole,” she whines.
“Answer the question. Are you wet?”
“A little.” She swallows audibly.
I suck in a slow intake of air. “Good. That’s good. See, you weren’t doing anything wrong.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
I don’t like how discouraged she sounds. What should be a fun, curious exploration of her own body has turned into a test she’s afraid of failing, and the thought of her lying there frustrated instead of curious makes my chest tighten. She deserves so much more than that.
“Remember—you do everything I say, okay?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Take your hand and slide it into your panties.”
“I—I—”
“You’re completely alone. No one can see you. No one knows what you’re doing.” I pause. “Touch yourself.”
She doesn’t respond and the quiet extends long enough that I think she might’ve hung up.
“Did you do it?”
“Yes.” She stays silent for a moment. “My hand is inside my panties.”
“Are you rubbing yourself or is it just hanging out down there?”
She giggles. “If I didn’t know better I’d think you could see me. It’s just so embarrassing. I can’t do it.”
“You can. Close your eyes, relax your shoulders, and rub your pussy, baby.”
She huffs out a breath but doesn’t protest.
“Keep your eyes closed and listen to my voice. Are you rubbing yourself?”
“Yes,” she says.
Either she’s gotten more comfortable or she’s gotten more aroused, because her voice has gone husky and slightly breathless.
Without thinking I slip my hand inside my briefs and start stroking.
Somewhere between the start of this conversation and now I’ve fully hardened, a bead of pre-cum sitting at my tip.
“Use your fingers and spread the wetness between your lips.”
“Okay,” she says shakily.
“Does it feel good?”
“I think so. It doesn’t feel bad.”
“I’m assuming you know where your clit is.”
“Yes.” She laughs. “I do know my own anatomy.”
She’s never snarky with anyone but me and I love it every single time. “Okay, smartass,” I say. “If you’re so familiar with your anatomy, start rubbing your clit in slow circles. Light pressure. Just enough to make you want more.”
A moan slips out of her and I increase my pace, moving my hand up and down my shaft. “Are you getting turned on?”
“Yes.” Her rough, aroused voice is driving me out of my mind.
“What are you thinking about?”
“I don’t know.”
“Liar.”
“I can’t tell you. Because if I do you’ll never let it go.”
If she’s thinking about that professor I’ll lose my hard-on before she can finish the sentence. But I have to know. I’m a masochist like that.
“Tell me, doll. Who are you thinking about?”
“You.”
There’s a frantic edge to her tone, and my cock jumps in my hand.
What I wouldn’t give to be in that room with her right now.
To watch her touch herself. To hear her.
To run my cock between her soaking center, gathering all that sweet arousal on the tip before sliding so deep inside her she’d never think of another man without thinking of me first.
“I wish I could see you,” I admit.
“Why?”
She sounds genuinely surprised. If there’s one thing I want her to take from our arrangement it’s this—she’s desired, wanted. She’s so much more than she gives herself credit for.
“I’m so hard right now,” I tell her. “Thinking about you touching yourself. I’ve been stroking my cock this whole time.”
“You have?” A gasp slips out of her.
“Yes. And I’m not coming until you do.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Blue balls for me. But you’re going to come.”
“You sound so sure.”
“Are you wetter than before?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Slip a finger inside and push it in and out. Keep rubbing your clit.”
I hear her sharp inhale and know she’s done it.
This is either going to kill me or feel close to it, because my hand isn’t enough. I need to feel her. Be inside her. Bury my face in her neck and breathe her in while I take her apart completely. Maybe then I’ll be rid of this torture, get her out of my system before I lose my damn mind.
“Don’t stop. Keep going. Faster if it feels good, add another finger if you think you can take it.”
“How do I know if I can?”
“You can. Believe me. You can take two fingers because pretty soon you’re going to take my cock, and I’m a hell of a lot bigger than two fingers.”
“Cole,” she moans, and I nearly come right then. “I think something is happening.”
“You’re almost there. You’re doing so good, baby.”
She’s a tangle of moans and sighs on the other end of the line and I’m using everything in me to hold back.
“Tell me how wet you are.”
“So wet. The wettest I’ve ever been.”
“That’s my girl,” I say, rougher than I mean to be. “I wish I were there with you. I’d have my fingers so deep inside you. I’d be sucking on one of your perfect tits, teasing your nipple with my tongue. I’d be curling my fingers inside you, trying to make you squirt.”
“I don’t think squirting is going to be happening anytime soon,” she says through a sigh.
“I could make you squirt. I can make your body do things you didn’t know it was capable of.
Do you want that? Do you want me to make you feel good, to ruin you for anyone else?
Because once I get my hands on you—once you get a feel for my cock—you’re going to crave me.
I’ll be the only one who can satisfy you. ”
“Yes,” she breathes.
“Come for me. Soak the sheets like you’re going to soak my cock.”
Her breathing grows heavier, the sound of sheets rustling, and I imagine her hips lifting, chasing it.
“Cole—I—Oh, God—”
Her words dissolve as the orgasm takes her and I follow right behind, gritting my teeth against my own sounds but not entirely succeeding.
Afterward we’re quiet, just the sound of our breathing coming through the line. My heart is hammering. A droplet of sweat slides from my temple down my cheek as I try my best to clean myself up with some tissues.
I wasn’t expecting to come that hard. But then again, I’ve never come to the sounds of Ariana before.
“That was…that was amazing.”
I laugh quietly. “Was your first orgasm everything you hoped?”
“I think having someone actually there would’ve been ideal,” she says, “but maybe I wouldn’t have gotten there with the pressure of someone watching.”
“How do you feel?”
She laughs—light and free and unguarded—and my lips curve up without my permission.
“I don’t know how to describe it. Relaxed. Amazing. Happy. I think I understand now why people are so obsessed with sex. If that’s how good it is by myself, I can’t imagine how much better it gets.”
“You’ll see.” The words come out quieter than I intend, more honest than I mean them to be. Whatever thread I was hanging onto has dissolved completely.
“Thank you.” Her voice is a soft, sated whisper.
“Happy to help.” I swallow. “I’ll let you get some sleep.”
“Wait,” she says quickly. “Would you—would you stay on the phone with me for a bit? I know that probably breaks some kind of rule but—”
“Yes.” I clear my throat. This is a terrible idea. A reckless, line-blurring decision.
“Thank you,” she sighs, already sounding tired.
I settle back against the headboard in the dark, phone against my ear, listening to her breathe slow and even as she drifts toward sleep.
Soon we’ll be at the lake house. In a matter of hours I’m going to walk into a room full of her brothers and her family and pretend to be her boyfriend. But right now, listening to her breathe on the other end of the line, that feels like the least complicated part of any of this.
I stay on longer than necessary, listening to her soft little snore. And I think it’s the most comforting sound I’ve ever heard.