Chapter 29 – COLE
CHAPTER 29
COLE
T he walk to the guest suite feels like the longest of my life. Each step down the hallway stretches into infinity, my boots suddenly too heavy, the air too thick. Bella walks beside me. She's close enough that her caramel and coffee scent, now laced with the honeyed notes of her barely suppressed heat, wraps around me like a physical touch.
I keep my distance. Not too far—my alpha instincts won't allow that—but enough that we don't accidentally brush against each other. Every cell in my body screams to touch her, to claim her, to mark her as mine. But I've spent years mastering control. Years burying those instincts beneath layers of discipline and self-loathing.
"This is it," I say, stopping in front of the guest suite door. My voice sounds strange to my own ears, rough and uncertain.
Bella looks up at me, those green eyes searching my face without flinching away from my scars. It's still jarring, that direct gaze. Most people can't manage it for more than a few seconds before their eyes skitter away, finding something—anything—less disturbing to focus on.
"Thank you," she says softly.
I nod, not trusting myself to speak again. My hand hovers over the doorknob, suddenly unsure of the protocol here. Do I open it for her? Follow her in? Stand guard outside until I'm invited?
She solves my dilemma by reaching past me and opening the door herself. "Are you coming in?" she asks, pausing in the doorway.
The question hangs between us, weighted with implications I'm not sure either of us is ready to face. But she asked for me specifically. Asked me to stay with her tonight. And despite every frayed nerve used to rejection and disdain screaming at me to run, I find myself nodding.
"If you want me to."
Her smile is small but genuine. "I do."
I follow her into the suite, closing the door behind us with a soft click that feels oddly final. Part of me screams that this is a mistake, that she'll regret this in the morning. Heat hormones can make even monsters look appealing to omegas. I've seen it before.
Bella moves to the center of the room, then turns to face me. In the soft lamplight, she looks both vulnerable and determined, her dark hair falling in waves around her shoulders, her green eyes steady on mine.
"Cole," she says my name like it's something precious, something worth savoring.
I remain by the door, my back pressed against it like I might need a quick escape. "You should rest," I say, the words coming out more gruffly than I intended. "The suppressants will make you tired."
She tilts her head slightly, studying me. "Is that why you agreed to stay with me? To make sure I rest?"
"I agreed because you asked," I answer honestly.
Her expression softens. "Thank you for that. For respecting my choice."
I shift uncomfortably under her gratitude. I don't deserve it. Don't deserve any of this—her trust, her attention, certainly not her desire. I'm a monster, inside and out. The scars are just the visible manifestation of the damage that runs bone-deep.
"You should take the bed," I say, nodding toward it. "I'll take the chair."
Bella frowns slightly. "That wasn't what I had in mind when I asked you to stay with me."
My heart rate kicks up, pounding against my ribs like it's trying to escape. "What did you have in mind?"
She takes a step toward me, then another. I press myself harder against the door, as if I could somehow melt through it if I tried hard enough. But there's nowhere to go, nowhere to hide as she approaches.
"I want you to hold me," she says, her voice quiet but steady. "I want to feel safe tonight. And I feel safe with you, Cole."
"You shouldn't," I manage to say.
"But I do." She's close enough now that I can see the flecks of gold in her green eyes, close enough that her scent envelops me completely. "I know you won't hurt me."
"You don't know that," I argue, my voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "You don't know me."
"I know enough," she counters. "I know you're gentle when you think no one's watching. I know you create beautiful things with your hands." She reaches for my right hand—my scarred hand—and I flinch but don't pull away as she takes it in both of hers. "I know these hands can be gentle."
I stare down at our joined hands. At her small, perfect fingers wrapped around my rough, scarred ones. The contrast stings. Beauty and the beast, played out in flesh and bone.
"Bella," her name feels foreign on my tongue, too sweet for my rough voice. "You might not feel the same way when the heat wears off."
She shakes her head, a small smile playing at her lips. "It's clearing my head, not clouding it. For the first time in days, I can think straight. And what I'm thinking," she says, reaching up and brushing some of my white hair away from the scarred side of my face, "is that I want you to kiss me."
The words hang in the air between us like a physical thing. I don't know how to respond to that. Don't know what to say. Does she really want that? My damaged mouth on hers?
"You don't have to," she adds quickly, misinterpreting my silence. "I just thought?—"
I cup her face with my left hand—my good hand. My scarred right hand stays at my side, a constant reminder of what she'd be subjecting herself to. How could anyone want these mangled lips against theirs? The right side of my mouth and cheek is twisted into a permanent snarl that makes me look like something from a nightmare, not a fantasy.
But she leans into the touch, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment. Her skin is soft beneath my calloused palm, warm and alive.
"I want to," I admit, the words dragged from somewhere deep inside me. "But I don't... I haven't... since..." I gesture vaguely at my face.
Understanding dawns in her eyes. "Oh," she breathes. Then, with a gentleness that threatens to shatter me, "We can go slow."
Slow. As if time could somehow make this easier. As if anything could prepare her for how it would feel for my scarred lips to press against hers.
But she's looking at me with such open trust, such quiet certainty, that I find myself nodding.
"Okay," I whisper. "Slow."
She smiles, and it's like watching the sun break through clouds. Warm and bright and so beautiful it hurts to look at directly. Slowly, telegraphing her movements, she rises onto her tiptoes and places her hands on my shoulders for balance.
I remain frozen, barely breathing as she leans in. Her eyes hold mine until the last moment, then flutter closed as her lips brush against mine in the lightest of touches.
It's barely a kiss—more a whisper of contact—but it sends electricity racing down my spine. Her lips are soft, warm, and they press against mine without hesitation or disgust. I stay perfectly still, afraid to move, afraid to breathe, afraid to do anything that might break this impossible moment.
She pulls back slightly, her eyes opening to search mine. "Okay?" she asks softly.
I nod, not trusting my voice. It's more than okay. It's miraculous. Terrifying. Overwhelming.
The restraint I've held onto so tightly begins to slip. My hand slides from her cheek to the back of her neck, pulling her closer as I lean down to capture her lips again. This kiss is different—deeper, more insistent. I back her up a few steps until she meets the wall, my body instinctively moving to cage hers.
A small sound escapes her, a mix of surprise and pleasure. Her hands tighten on my shoulders, then slide up to tangle in my hair. She tugs gently, pulling me closer, meeting my intensity with her own.
I break away, breathing hard, worried I've gone too far. "Sorry," I begin, but she shakes her head.
"Don't apologize," she says, her pupils dilated with desire. "I like this. I like seeing you... not holding back so much."
The words loosen something in my chest. I lean down, my forehead resting against hers. "I don't want to scare you."
"You don't," she assures me, her hands moving to frame my face—both sides, scarred and whole alike. "You make me feel safe and wanted. That's... new for me."
I turn my head slightly to press a kiss to her palm. "You have no idea what you do to me," I admit, my voice rougher than usual.
Her scent spikes with fresh arousal. "Show me," she challenges softly.
The invitation is all I need. I lift her, my hands firm on her waist, and she wraps her legs around me instinctively. The position brings her core against my hardening length, and we both groan at the contact.
I carry her to the bed, never breaking our gaze. Her arms wind around my neck, holding on as if she's afraid I might disappear. I lay her down gently on the mattress, following her down but catching my weight on my forearms.
"You're beautiful," I murmur, the words escaping before I can stop them.
A blush spreads across her cheeks. "So are you," she replies.
I shake my head, unable to process her words, unable to believe them. Instead, I lower my head to kiss her again, losing myself in the one truth I can accept—that for whatever reason, she wants me right now.
My lips trail from her mouth to her jaw, then down the column of her throat. She tilts her head back, offering more access. I nuzzle the spot where her neck meets her shoulder, breathing in her scent directly from the source.
"Cole," she sighs, her hands running through my hair, down my back, everywhere she can reach.
I growl against her skin, nipping gently at her pulse point. She gasps, her body arching beneath mine. The reaction emboldens me, and I suck at the spot, leaving a mark. Not a mating bite—I would never do that without explicit consent—but a claim nonetheless.
Her hands tug at my shirt, slipping beneath the hem to touch bare skin. I freeze momentarily. My torso bears scars too, though not as severe as my face and arm. But her touch is gentle, exploratory rather than wary.
"Can I see you?" she asks softly.
I hesitate, then nod once, sharply. How many times have people flinched away from this sight, grimacing when they thought I wasn't looking? I pull my shirt over my head in one fluid motion, exposing myself to her gaze, bracing for the inevitable moment when desire turns to clinical interest or worse. Pity.
The scars on my right side continue down from my neck, covering my shoulder and part of my chest and back. The skin is mottled and uneven, a patchwork of grafts and scar tissue. Not as bad as my face, but still hard to look at.
Bella sits up, her eyes traveling over my exposed torso. I brace myself for the pity, the disgust, the carefully hidden revulsion I've come to expect. Instead, she reaches out and places her palm flat against my chest, right over my heart.
"Thank you," she says simply. "For trusting me."
The words undo me. I capture her hand, pressing it harder against my chest, letting her feel the rapid beating of my heart. "I don't deserve this," I admit roughly. "Don't deserve you."
"That's not for you to decide," she counters, her free hand coming up to cup my scarred cheek. "It's my choice. And I choose you, Cole. Right here, right now."
I close my eyes, overwhelmed by her acceptance, her desire, her gentle insistence that I am worthy of this moment. When I open them again, she's watching me with such tenderness that it steals my breath.
"Your turn," I say, tugging gently at the hem of her shirt.
She smiles and raises her arms, allowing me to pull the garment over her head. Beneath it, she wears a simple cotton bra, practical rather than seductive. But the sight of her—soft curves and smooth skin—makes my mouth go dry.
"Beautiful," I murmur again, and this time there's no argument from her, just a deepening of her blush.
I lower my head to press kisses along her collarbone, then down to the swell of her breasts above the fabric of her bra. She sighs, her head falling back, her hands coming up to tangle in my hair again.
"Can I?" I ask, fingers tracing the edge of her bra.
"Please," she breathes.
I reach behind her, unclasping the garment. The bra falls away, and I'm confronted with the sight of her bare breasts—perfect, pale, tipped with rosy nipples that harden under my gaze.
A growl rises in my throat, possessive and hungry. I capture one nipple in my mouth, sucking firmly, using my teeth just enough to make her gasp and arch into me.
"Yes," she moans, her fingers tightening in my hair. "Just like that."
I lavish attention on both breasts, alternating between them until she's writhing beneath me, her scent thick with arousal. My hands find the waistband of her pants, fingers dipping just beneath the fabric.
"These too?" I ask, my voice rough with desire.
"Yes," she nods eagerly. "Everything off."
I help her shimmy out of her pants and underwear, my movements more urgent now but still controlled. Once she's naked, I sit back to take in the sight of her—all soft curves and smooth skin, her inner thighs already glistening with evidence of her desire.
"You too," she says, tugging at my belt. "Fair's fair."
I stand to remove my remaining clothing, suddenly self-conscious again. The scars continue down my right leg, though less severely, and the right side of my cock wasn't spared either. The scars end just an inch below my crown.
Bella's eyes widen slightly at the sight of me fully naked, her gaze lingering on my erection. "Oh," she breathes, and there's a note of apprehension in her voice that makes me pause.
"We don't have to do anything you're not ready for," I assure her quickly. "We can stop right now."
She shakes her head. "No, I want this. I want you. It's just..." She bites her lip. "You're... big."
Despite everything, I feel a surge of alpha pride at her words. "We'll go slow," I promise. "I won't hurt you."
She nods, trust evident in her eyes. "I know you won't."
I rejoin her on the bed, settling between her spread thighs. The contrast between her perfect, unblemished skin and my ravaged body is almost painful to witness. Like watching someone take a sledgehammer to fine porcelain. But I push the thoughts away, lowering myself to kiss her again, deeply and thoroughly, until she's melting beneath me once more.
My lips trail down her body—neck, collarbone, breasts, stomach—until I reach the apex of her thighs. I look up at her, seeking permission one last time.
"Please," she whispers, her hands fisting in the sheets in anticipation.
I spread her thighs wider, exposing her completely to my gaze. She's beautiful here too—pink and swollen and glistening with desire. For me. The thought is still incomprehensible, but I push it aside, focusing instead on the task at hand.
The first swipe of my tongue makes her cry out, her hips bucking involuntarily. I hold her steady with my hands on her thighs, using my strength to keep her open to me as I explore her with my mouth.
She's so responsive. Some spots make her moan, some spots make her writhe, panting my name the entire time. I lose myself in the taste of her, in the sounds she makes, in the way her thighs tremble against my palms.
When I find her clit with my tongue, circling it with firm pressure, she nearly comes off the bed. "Cole!" she gasps, her hands flying to my hair, not pushing me away but holding me in place.
I focus my attention there, alternating between broad strokes and targeted circles, gauging her reactions to find what she likes best. When I slip a finger inside her, she moans long and low, her inner walls clenching around the digit.
"More," she pleads, and I oblige, adding a second finger, then a third, stretching her carefully while continuing to work her with my tongue.
She's tight around my fingers, but wet enough that they slide easily. I curl them forward, searching for that spot that will drive her wild, and I know I've found it when she cries out sharply, her back arching off the bed.
"There," she gasps. "Right there."
I keep the pressure steady, my fingers working in tandem with my tongue until I feel her begin to tighten around me, her thighs trembling, her breathing becoming erratic.
"Let go for me," I urge, briefly lifting my mouth from her. "I've got you, Bella."
She does, coming apart with a cry that might be my name, her body shuddering as waves of pleasure wash over her. I work her through it gently, easing off as the aftershocks subside, pressing soft kisses to her inner thighs as she catches her breath.
When I look up at her, she's watching me with heavy-lidded eyes, her chest rising and falling rapidly. "That was..." she trails off, seemingly at a loss for words.
I can't help the small, satisfied smile that tugs at my lips—the first real smile I've felt in longer than I can remember. "Good?"
"Amazing," she corrects, reaching for me. "Come here."
I move up her body, settling between her thighs again, my cock pressing insistently against her still-sensitive flesh. She wraps her arms around my neck, pulling me down for a kiss that tastes of her own pleasure.
"I want you inside me," she whispers against my lips. "Please, Cole."
The words send a surge of heat through me, my cock twitching in response. I position myself at her entrance, the tip parting her slick folds. "Tell me if it's too much," I say, my voice strained with the effort of holding back.
"I will," she promises.
I push forward slowly, watching her face carefully for any sign of discomfort. The head of my cock breaches her, and I growl low in my throat, the sound mingling with her gasp. She's tight, but wet enough from her orgasm and my attention that I slide in without resistance.
I continue slowly, giving her time to adjust to my size, until I'm fully seated within her. The feeling is indescribable—hot, tight, perfect. It takes every ounce of self-control not to start thrusting immediately.
"Okay?" I manage to ask, my voice barely recognizable.
She nods, her eyes wide and dark with pleasure. "More than okay."
I withdraw slightly, then push back in, establishing a rhythm that starts slow but gradually builds in intensity. Each thrust draws a soft sound from her—a gasp, a moan, a whispered version of my name. I drink them all in, memorizing each one.
How could someone respond this way to me? To this body? I half expect her to snap out of it, to suddenly see me clearly and recoil. But her hands keep roaming my back, my shoulders, my arms, touching everywhere she can reach. Her legs wrap around my waist, changing the angle slightly, allowing me to go deeper.
"Harder," she urges, her nails digging lightly into my shoulders. "I can take it, Cole."
I comply, increasing the force of my thrusts, driving into her with more power. The bed creaks beneath us, the headboard thumping softly against the wall with each movement. I capture her mouth in a possessive kiss, swallowing her moans as I drive us both toward completion.
I feel my knot beginning to swell at the base of my cock, a response to her omega pheromones and my own overwhelming desire. It catches slightly on her entrance with each thrust.
"Bella," I warn, my voice rough. "My knot?—"
"Yes," she interrupts, her eyes locking with mine. "I want it. Want all of you."
The permission releases something in me. My thrusts become more forceful, more demanding, my body seeking to claim hers completely. I lean down to capture her mouth in another deep kiss as I drive us both toward release.
Her second orgasm takes me by surprise. One moment she's matching my rhythm, the next she's crying out, her body clenching around me in rhythmic pulses. The sensation is too much, pushing me over the edge I've been teetering on.
With a final, powerful thrust, I bury myself deep inside her just as my knot swells to full size, locking us together. My release hits me like a punch, pleasure radiating outward from where we're joined, washing over me in waves that seem endless.
I collapse beside her, careful not to crush her with my weight, maneuvering us so we're lying on our sides, still intimately connected. Bella's face is flushed, her eyes bright, her lips curved in a satisfied smile. She reaches up to touch my face—my scarred face—with such tenderness that my chest aches.
"Thank you," she whispers.
I frown slightly, confused. "For what?"
"For this. For trusting me enough to let me see you. All of you."
The words hit me harder than they should, cracking something open inside me that I've kept carefully sealed. I pull her closer, burying my face in her hair.
She nestles against me, her body fitting perfectly against mine despite our size difference. Her scent has changed subtly, the heat pheromones dampening, replaced by a contentment that wraps around us both like a blanket.
As we lie there, joined together, I allow myself to hope for the first time in years. Hope that this isn't just a fleeting moment of comfort in the midst of chaos. Hope that when the heat wears off completely, she might still look at me the way she is now. Like I'm something precious, something worth wanting, and not a monster in her bed.
It's a dangerous hope, one that could shatter me more completely than any explosion ever could. But as Bella's breathing evens out, her body relaxing into sleep while still locked with mine, I can't bring myself to extinguish it.
It's worth it.
So fucking worth it.