Chapter 16
Sixteen
Lacey
I'm working overtime to not give away the fact that I'm freaking the actual everloving fuck all the way out. Like, I can barely breathe—my lungs have a hot iron band cinched around them right in the middle, and my stomach is twisting and fluttering.
There are too many panicked thoughts, fears, and worries to even seize and fixate on just one; they batter and wing and squawk inside my heart and mind like bats trapped in a bell tower.
What if he regrets it?
What if I get pregnant?
What if I regret it?
Do I regret it?
That was incredible, the best sex I've had, possibly ever; what if we don’t work out and that's the last good sex I ever have?
"Hey." Cole's voice is low and gentle. "Talk to me, Sweet Thing. I see that brain of yours spinning out."
I shake my head. "I have to pee."
I see the blank disbelief on his face. "Uh huh. And I'm Superman."
"I knew you were too good to be true!" I quip, forcing levity I in no way feel into my voice.
Cole sighs, a sound of loving but long-suffering irritation. "Lacey Grey. I thought we said no bullshit."
Still impaled on his softening but still quasi-firm cock, the prospect of standing up is a rather fraught one.
For one, I don't want to lose this connection. For another, losing said connection is going to feel…I don't want to think about it.
And then there's the fact that I haven't been that thoroughly and vigorously fucked in a long, long time, and I'm going to feel it.
"Lacey—”
I clap a hand over his mouth. "You fucked the sense out of me, Cole Mannix. Give a girl a second to recover. Jesus." I raise my arms overhead and flap my hands vaguely at the ceiling. "Uppy."
Chuckling, Cole cradles me in his arms and stands up; I lose him in the process, a soft whimper escaping me when he slips out of me. As I find my feet, I thunk my head on his shoulder, panting for a second at the sudden aching emptiness.
"You good?" Cole asks, holding onto my shoulders as I wobble on unsteady legs.
I shake my head. "Nope. I mean, yes, I'm better than good.
I'm just…" I try a tentative step, but my legs are still jellied and I'm still shaking with occasional orgasmic aftershocks.
"My lady bits are definitely feeling the…
um…vigor…of our activities. And I may still be coming a little bit.
And my legs don't work yet." I glance at Cole, keeping a hand on his warm, hard shoulder for balance; the shit-eating grin on his face says everything.
“You don’t need to look quite so pleased with yourself, sir. "
"You're telling me I fucked you so good you can't walk?" He kisses me delicately. "And I'm not supposed to be even a little bit proud of that?"
I hold his eyes. "Cole Mannix, that was the best sex of my life, and it's not even close. You can and should be proud of yourself."
His brow crinkles. "I didn't hurt you, did I?" He swallows hard. "I, uh…I sort of. Um. Lost control." He sounds almost…fearful.
I cup his face in both hands, stare hard into his deep, expressive brown eyes.
"Cole, honey. I just said that was the best sex of my entire life.
If you had hurt me, do you think I wouldn't say so?
No, baby. You didn't hurt me. And you losing control like that?
" I bite his lower lip, hard enough that he flinches, and then I kiss that lip softly.
"I need more of that in my life. Literally nothing could be hotter than the great and mighty Cole Mannix wanting me so badly he can't control himself. "
"Great and mighty? Really?"
I pop him on the butt. “Yup. Great and mighty." I tap—very gently—the underside of his cock. "Especially this giant dick of yours." The way he blushes makes my heart flutter with affection. "Aw, CoCo. You're blushin'. Does no one ever compliment you?"
He shrugs. "Not directly, usually, no. Guys don't tend to get a lot of compliments."
I frown, thinking about this, and realize that it's actually quite true.
Did I ever once give Eddie a single direct compliment?
Yes, but few. Granted, other than being handsome and rich, he doesn't have a lot of complementary qualities, and being handsome is a result of good genetics and his wealth is the result, equally, of inheritance and failing upward.
Cole? There's no shortage of qualities to complement.
I lean in, brush my thumb over his cheekbone, kiss his Cupid's Bow. "I'll have to rectify that, then." I take another exploratory step, but my legs are still refusing to cooperate. "You're gonna have to help me to the bathroom before I have an accident on the floor."
Cole, being the man he is, scoops me up and carries me into the bathroom across the hall and deposits me on the toilet. "Your throne, my queen."
I giggle. "Such service."
He does an elaborate courtier's bow. "I aim to please."
I reach up and pull him down to me, kiss his forehead. "You do, Cole. Very, very much so."
He backs away, clearing his throat; he turns away before I can see for sure, but I could have sworn I saw a glimmer of wetness in his eyes.
"Be right back," he says, his voice rough and gruff.
And it appears, as he exits the bathroom, that he may or may not have tried to pass off an eye-wipe as a scratch of his forehead with the back of his wrist, by way of his eyeballs.
I take care of business—and let me tell you, there is a lot of business to take care of. The man can come a fucking gallon, I swear.
And that thought ushers in the panic that I'd managed to ignore for the past couple of minutes.
Once I've evacuated my lady bits of Cole's man-juice as thoroughly as possible, I wipe and wash my hands. By the time I've finished that, I'm fighting tears myself—the train of what-ifs and doubts has left the station and is on a collision course with my emotional stability.
I squeeze my eyes shut and focus on my breathing. "You're okay, Lace," I tell myself out loud. "Don't ruin it with a freak-out, you dumb, emotional bitch."
“Hey,” Cole snaps, his tone legitimately angry. “No. Absolutely the fuck not."
I startle, gasping, clapping a hand to my chest, and leaping six inches vertically. "Holy shit, you scared me."
He has something in his hands as he approaches me from behind, his expression furious.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, panic replacing rationality. "I'm sorry."
He blinks, confusion replacing his anger in a split second, followed by a dawning understanding, and then a soft, loving tenderness.
He spins me in place by the shoulders. Lifts whatever it is in his hands toward my face—a shirt.
I recognize the colors—purple and white.
The colors of Three Rivers High School, home of the Wildcats.
I have no hope of containing my overwhelm when he tugs the garment over my head—cool polyester-spandex slides sensuously against my sensitive skin as it falls to drape right at the lower curve of my ass cheeks.
His varsity jersey.
Grass-stained. Ripped in places. Covered in the Sharpie-scrawled signatures of his teammates.
"Fuck," I hiss, covering my face. "Goddammit, Cole."
His arms wrap around me, pulling my back against his chest. "You don't get to talk about the woman I love like that."
I search the reflection of his face. "You…" I can't keep my eyes on him, and they drop to the cheap laminate countertop. "You really feel that way? Still?"
He flinches, visibly stunned. "Fucking obviously, Lacey. You think I go around saying I love you to just anyone?"
“Well, no, but I—"
"The last time I said those words was to Mom, as I tossed a handful of dirt onto her casket."
"Cole, I—"
"So yes, Lacey," he snaps. "I still feel that way, less than five minutes after I said it."
Tears trickle. “I’m sorry, I just—"
He closes his eyes, sighing harshly—upset with himself, unless I miss my guess. "No, I'm sorry."
"Would you let me get a fucking word in edgewise, Cole?" I snap. "Jesus. Just let me talk, sometimes.” He presses his lips together, and I let out a breath, trying to contain my tumultuous emotions. "I'm feeling a lot right now, Cole."
"Me too," he whispers. "And I'm…I'm not good with that stuff."
I snort. "What, emotions?"
A shrug. "I mean, yeah?"
I lean back into him, and his dick presses into my backside; I wriggle my butt against him. "You gotta put that thing away, Cole. We won't do anything if it's just…out…all the time, tempting me."
"Wha-a-a-a-t?” he drawls, “The mere sight of my penis puts you into a trance of uncontrollable horniness?"
"Ye-e-e-e-e-e-s-s-s," I drawl back, drawing the words out into several syllables. "Yes it does."
"I can't tell if you're teasing or not," he says.
I reach back, caress the slack, slightly sticky length. "No,” I whisper. "Definitely not."
He twitches in my hand, and then Cole is gone, returning a second later, still step-hopping into a very short pair of running shorts that are definitely not up to the task of containing either his hard, bulbous ass or the thick, swaying monstrosity that is his cock.
"Not sure that's any better, honestly," I mutter. "Don’t you have a robe?"
He blinks, missing the tease in my tone—mainly because I'm not teasing. "Um, I'm hot. A robe would just—"
I rake my fingernails down his chest. "It's fine. You're just too fucking hot for your own good. Or mine, more accurately." I grin, laughing, as his cheeks flush. "There's that blush again. So fucking adorable."
"Fucking hell, stop, Jesus."
"Never."Cole pulls me by the hand. "C'mon, let's go eat and talk."
And so we end up on the mattress in the main bedroom, eating microwaved soft pretzels and trail mix and sipping cans of Diet Coke.
“This is fucking awesome,” I say, my mouth full of pretzel. “You have great snacks."
He laughs. "Life's too short to eat boring food."
I whack the titanium block of his abdomen. "Says the man with ten percent body fat."
He splutters. "Okay," he mocks. "Try closer to twenty."
"Fuck off. Fifteen at most."
He waves a hand. "Shut up," he mumbles.
I cackle. "I'm right, aren't I? Fifteen?"
He shrugs. "According to my smart scale? Sixteen-point-five."
"My point stands."
"What point?"