Chapter Two
Cole
Every time I think that I have never wanted to be inside Lori more, I want more—sooner, faster, harder—just more. And with her by my side, walking toward our Paris hotel room, the taste of her on my lips, I can say I have never wanted to be inside her more than right this moment. And it’s not just about sex or how much I fucking love this woman. It’s about how much I want to wash away her fears; ease her need for control, because that control is rooted in tragedy; in her father’s death and her mother’s stroke. Not that I don’t get the need for control, not that I want to take hers away. It’s the reason she needs it that I want to tear away; her fears and her past that have cut deeply, perhaps more so than she realizes. But I realize. I see what she does not. Every moment to Lori is the moment before someone pulls the rug out from under her and us. Every moment is the moment she dared to just be happy when she believes she should have been thinking about how to protect her mother, or me, or us or everyone around her. So, yeah. I want to be inside her. I want to be next to her. I want and want and want, because then she has no room to do anything but feel, moan, and want right along with me. That’s her sanity. That’s our sanity. It’s the place we can go to escape her fears until I drive them all away. And I will. Nothing that awaits us in New York City is unusual, but with her mother there and us here, the next twenty-four hours will be hell for her.
A crazy possessive need that I can’t even explain—she’s my damn wife, it’s not supposed to get much more possessive—overcomes me and I wrap my arm around her shoulders and pull her closer, our legs and hips aligned. No one is taking her from me. A silly protest is not taking her from me. Fuck. What the hell is wrong with me?
I guide us across the street and to the hotel and a doorman opens the door for us. I actually have to force myself to let her go to allow her to enter the building first, but I’m right there, just behind her, quickly settling my arm back around her shoulders. She tilts that delicate chin up and gives me a soft, aroused look that tells me she feels the energy I’m radiating. I lean down and kiss her, keeping us in motion. The sooner we’re in the room, the better. The sooner I’m fucking her, and loving her—I can’t do the previous without the latter anymore—the better.
I manage to keep our pace quick but steady, and we’re now at the elevator. I punch the button, but I don’t look at Lori. If she tilts her mouth to mine again, I’m going to forget what a private person I am and devour her right here and now. For a high-end hotel, the doors open with such creeping slow-ass speed that I want to shove them open. I drag Lori into the elevator and against my body, all her soft perfect curves pressed to mine and she punches in our floor.
She tilts her chin, offering me her mouth, and I quickly turn her to face forward, resting her cute little backside against me, and holy hell, she’s now nuzzled up against the ridge of my pulsing erection. Holy hell again. I think that pretty little backside needs a spanking. Her punishment for driving me this crazy without even trying. No woman should have that kind of control over a man, even his wife, and yet, I fucking love it. The floors tick by and I lean in, inhaling that sweet floral scent of her. “No woman should leave Paris without being spanked.”
She sucks in a breath and tries to turn in my arms, but I catch her waist, a low laugh escaping my throat. There it is. The way to take her mind off the protestors and her mother. One of the few things that I haven’t done since that first night we met. “Cole,” she whispers, her hands going to mine, and my name is a rasp of desperation that is both need and panic.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” I murmur, nipping her earlobe. “I’ll make it hurt so good.”
She pants out a breath as if my mouth and hands are already all the places we both know they will be. The elevator dings and I push off the wall, my body cradling hers as I walk her forward, placing her between me and the yet-to-part doors. Adrenaline radiates off her, into me, and I can almost feel the pulse of her heartbeat as she wills the doors to open. Slowly, they creep left and right until they are wide enough for her to try to step forward, but I don’t let her. I make her wait. I make me wait.
Only when the doors are fully open do I find her ear again and say, “Are you thinking about my hand?”
“Cole, damn it,” she hisses, and I release her, laughing as she darts forward, with nowhere to go but our room, but she does what I expect. In true control freak mode, she stops at the door and turns, leaning against it to watch my every slow step toward her, as if she’s in control when she knows that, right now, she’s not, and we both like it that way. Later, she’ll kick my ass if I act like a barbarian, but right now is not later.
I stop in front of her, but I don’t touch her. “Ready to go inside, Mrs. Brooks?”
“Not without some rules.”
My lips twitch. “What rules would those be?”
“If you spank me—”
“I’m going to spank you, Lori.”
“If I say you can.”
“Okay. Am I going to spank you, Lori?”
“I haven’t decided.” In that grab for control, she gives me her back and swipes her keycard to open the door My hand comes down on the handle, my body framing hers, my knee in front of her leg, blocking her entry. “Once we go inside, your pretty little ass is mine, unless you say no now.”
She rotates and faces me, her hand settling on my cheek, her soft fingers rasping over my newly formed stubble. “Except,” she says, “I know you’ll always let me say no, even if I wait until we’re inside.” There is such tenderness in her eyes and voice that she undoes me. “Which is why the answer is yes. You can spank me, Cole. Because I married you for ten million reasons that include trust.”
If I wasn’t so damn hard I was about to break before those words, I’d be so damn hard I was about to break now. I’m not sure where that puts me now, besides needing inside the room. I take the key from her and swipe the card again. She rotates, her beautiful backside brushing my cock, and the minute I push the door open, she’s inside the room, but she doesn’t get far. I’m a step behind her, my reach long enough to catch her hand and pull her back to me, and by the time the door is shut, she’s against it and I’m in front of her, my legs caging hers.
“I married you for ten million reasons too,” I assure her, reaching for her zipper and pulling it all the way down, while I go down on a knee in front of her just long enough to lick her clit and hear her gasp before I’m back on my feet, turning her toward the wall to pull away her dress and bra in one quick swipe, to leave her in only her thigh highs and heels.
“One of those reasons,” I say, “is your perfect ass.” I smack her cheek in a tease of what is to come, and on her yelp, I turn her to press her back against the door. “The other,” I continue, “among the too many to count,” I clarify, “are your stunning breasts.” I reach up and tease her nipple.
She swallows hard. “You married me for my ass and my—”
“Stunning breasts,” I say. “The whole package, sweetheart. You’re the whole package for me and that makes me a damn lucky man. Don’t move. Understand?”
“Yes, Mr. Brooks. I understand.”
My lips quirk. “I really love these rare moments when you just do what I say. Too bad I can’t get you to listen with your clothes on.” I toe off my shoes.
She laughs. “I could say the same of you, only you don’t even listen when you’re naked.”
I pull my shirt off and press my hands to the wall next to her, my gaze raking her naked body before I look at her and say, “Of course I do. When you say ‘harder, faster, more’ I don’t ever deny you, now do I?”
“I don’t suppose you do,” she whispers, breathless. I really love this woman breathless. “Face the door and don’t even think about turning around.”
“Is this when you—”
“I’ll warn you. Do it.”
She turns and I don’t immediately move. I let her wait. I make us both wait, the sound of her breathing and my breathing the only whispers in the room. Seconds tick by until she whimpers, “Cole, damn it, you’re killing me.”
I drag my finger over her shoulder, goosebumps lifting in its wake. “Don’t turn,” I warn before I step back and finish undressing, and the sight of her in her heels and thigh highs, her backside waiting on my hand has me ready to bend her over the bed, spank her, fuck her and start over. I reel myself back in, wanting to show her just how much of an escape we can be together. On some level, before we go back to the states, I need her to know this. A need that claws at me in ways I can’t understand and I don’t question.
This is about more than a spanking. This is about that need to possess her that defies reason and won’t be ignored. We won’t be sleeping this last night in Paris.