Chapter 19
The second the words leave my mouth, Cole bolts from the table like the devil himself is chasing him, nearly knocking his chair over again in his haste.
I follow at a measured pace, but my blood is already burning.
The team’s knowing laughter and Elias’s dramatic wolf whistle fade behind us as we head toward the elevators.
Cole keeps glancing back at me, equal parts nervous and excited, his cheeks flushed from the vodka and the tension he spent the entire dinner stoking.
The elevator doors open and he steps inside quickly. I follow right behind him. The moment the doors slide shut and the car starts moving upward, I move.
I press him against the mirrored wall face-first, my chest flush to his back, one hand braced beside his head while the other grips his hip hard.
The mirrored surfaces reflect us from every angle — my much larger frame caging him in, his breath already fogging the glass.
Cole’s body tenses, then melts back into me with a shaky exhale, his ass pressing against my cock like he cannot help himself.
“You want to play games, little bird?” I ask, letting him feel exactly how hard I am for him already.
My hand slides around to the front of his sweats, palming him possessively through the fabric.
“Teasing me under the table all night. Calling me daddy in front of the whole team. Dragging my hand where it does not belong. You think I will let that go unpunished?”
Cole whimpers, his forehead pressed to the cool mirror, hips rocking helplessly into my grip. The elevator dings softly as it climbs, but neither of us pays any attention. I squeeze him again, slower this time, and watch in the reflection as his eyes flutter shut, lips parted on a silent moan.
“Yeah?” he gasps, voice breathless and defiant as he pushes against me. “What are you gonna do about it, big guy? Gonna punish me? Right here where anyone could walk in? Sounds like you’re the one playing games now—”
I have had enough.
I spin him around, hands gripping his thighs as I lift him clean off the floor.
Cole’s back hits the mirrored wall with a dull thud, his legs wrapping instinctively around my waist as I press him there, holding him up like he weighs nothing.
His eyes widen, dark and glassy with want, lips parted on a surprised sound that I immediately swallow with a brutal kiss.
I kiss him like I have been starving for him for years — because I have.
My tongue slides against his, claiming every inch of that smart mouth that has driven me insane since the day I met him.
Cole moans into it, the sound vibrating against my lips as his hands fist desperately in my shirt, pulling me closer like he cannot get enough.
I bite his bottom lip, then soothe it with my tongue, grinding my hips up into him so he can feel exactly how hard I am, how badly I need him.
The elevator keeps rising, soft dings marking each floor, but I do not care. Let the whole hotel know. Cole is mine, and right now I am done pretending otherwise.
When I pull back just enough to let him breathe, his lips are swollen, eyes dazed, and he is panting against my mouth like he has run a marathon.
I rest my forehead against his, my voice rough with every ounce of restraint I have left.
“You talk too much,” I growl. “Keep pushing and I will fuck you right here against this wall.”
Cole’s breath hitches, his legs tightening around me, but the wicked little spark in his eyes tells me he is considering it.
“Is that so?” Cole moans, daring even while pinned against the mirrored wall.
Before I can respond, his hand shoots out and slaps the emergency button.
The elevator jerks to a sudden halt with a loud ding, the lights flickering once before settling.
In the brief moment of surprise, Cole squirms like the slippery little thing he is, sliding down my body until his feet hit the floor.
He drops to his knees in one fluid motion.
My jeans are undone in seconds — his fingers fast and greedy — and then he pulls me out, hard and leaking, wrapping that sinful mouth around me without hesitation.
The cool metal of his piercing presses against the underside of my cock as he takes me deep, sucking hard, eyes watering but locked upward on mine with pure filthy challenge.
“Fuck—” I slam one hand against the mirror beside his head with a loud smack, the other immediately tangling in his hair, gripping tight.
My head falls back on a groan, hips twitching forward into the wet heat of his mouth.
He is relentless, tongue working the piercing against me in ways that make my vision blur, sucking and swirling like he is trying to ruin me right here in this elevator.
That is when I see the small security camera mounted in the corner, its red light blinking steadily.
Shit. Zara is going to kill us if this footage gets out.
I am tall enough to reach it. Without thinking, still groaning from the way Cole’s mouth feels around me, I swing my free hand up and punch the camera hard. The plastic cracks under my fist, the lens shattering, and the little red light dies.
Cole makes a surprised, muffled sound around me at the sudden violence, but he does not stop.
If anything, he takes me deeper, moaning like the risk only makes it better for him.
My hand tightens in his hair, breath ragged as I look down at him — my loud, chaotic, impossible man on his knees in a stopped elevator, sucking me like he was born for it.
I should stop this. I should pull him up and get us to the room before we get caught. But the sight of him like this, the wet heat of his mouth, the glint of that fucking piercing — it is too much.
Cole pulls off my cock with a wet, obscene sound, strings of spit connecting his swollen lips to the head for a second before they break.
He looks up at me from his knees, his eyes glassy with lust and mischief, lips shiny and wrecked, and flashes me that wicked, spit-slick grin that has always been my undoing.
“Hope Zara doesn’t mind watching you fuck my throat on the security feed,” he rasps. “Or maybe she’ll just enjoy the show. Broken camera or not.”
The last fragile thread of control I had been clinging to disappears.
I growl, and fist my hand tighter in his curls, dragging him back onto my cock in one rough motion.
Cole’s laugh vibrates around me as he takes me deep again, the sound turning into a wet, eager moan that sends shocks of pleasure straight up my spine.
“Fuck— Cole—” I jerk forward as I start fucking his mouth in earnest, no longer gentle, no longer holding back.
The broken camera, the stopped elevator, the very real risk of someone figuring out what we are doing — none of it matters.
All that exists is the tight heat of his throat, the wicked press of that silver piercing dragging along my length, and the way he looks up at me like he loves every second of it.
God, he is so good at this. I could die like this, buried in his mouth with his hands gripping my thighs and his eyes watering but never looking away. I groan his name again, thrusting harder, chasing the edge he is so eagerly pulling me toward.
My hips are stuttering, hand tight in his hair, the edge rushing up fast when the elevator suddenly lurches back into motion with a soft mechanical hum. The emergency lights flicker off and the regular ones come back on as it starts ascending again.
A crackle comes through the intercom. “Is everything alright?” a concerned male voice asks. “We received an emergency stop signal. Do you need assistance?”
I grit my teeth, barely holding back a groan as Cole’s tongue flicks wickedly against me one last time.
With monumental effort, I pull him off me, the wet pop loud in the small space.
Cole laughs — bright, breathless, and entirely too pleased with himself — as I yank him up to his feet and quickly tuck myself back into my jeans, zipping up with shaking hands.
“Everything is fine,” I lie through my teeth, slightly strained as I press the button to respond. “False alarm. Thank you.”
Cole is still smirking like the devil as he smooths down my shirt with both hands, pretending to be helpful while his eyes sparkle with pure mischief. His lips are red and swollen, a little shiny, and I cannot stop staring at them.
Just before the elevator dings on our floor, I cup his jaw with one hand, thumb dragging slowly across his bottom lip, wiping away the last traces of spit and precum. I lean in close, and whisper. “We’re not done.”
Cole’s breath hitches, his eyes darkening instantly.
The doors slide open and I step out first, grabbing his wrist and pulling him after me down the hallway toward our room.
Cole follows without protest, but I can feel the way he is practically vibrating beside me, that wicked little smirk still playing on his lips.
"Gonna punish me, big guy? Gonna throw me around like one of your defensive partners? I might like that—”
I open the door to our room, grab him by the waist, and pull him inside.
The door slams shut behind us with a heavy thud.
Before he can say another word, I lift him clean off the floor and throw him over my shoulder like he weighs nothing.
Cole yelps, half-laugh, half-surprise, his hands grabbing at my back as I carry him straight to the bedroom.
I toss him onto the bed. He bounces once, already scrambling to get his clothes off with frantic speed — hoodie, shirt, sweats, everything flying across the room.
I am almost impressed he does not sprain something in his hurry.
In seconds he is naked, hard, flushed, and looking up at me with those bright, challenging eyes.
I decide to be mean. Instead of climbing on top of him like he clearly expects, I turn away, walk to my bag, and pull out the bottle of lube. I toss it onto the bed beside him.