Chapter 17 Coco
SEVENTEEN
Coco
The Cabildo: A courthouse and jail, housing prisoners who sometimes found its walls safer than the chaotic streets outside.
With the city plagued by duels, disease, and treachery, imprisonment offered a grim predictability that contrasted with the dangers of freedom.
This paradox highlights the complexity of survival in early New Orleans.
It’s been barely a full forty-eight hours since I left this place, but stepping back inside feels like crossing into another lifetime.
The door closes behind us, the sound echoing through the empty space.
Before, that noise was a final punctuation, whether it was when I first arrived or when Ridge came and went.
Now it lands differently. It’s not softer, exactly. Just altered. Like the room itself recognizes the difference between being brought and kept here and walking in on my own.
The shift is not just the bunker.
It’s me.
I don’t recognize the woman who stands here now, but I know I’m not the one who arrived a week ago. That version of me feels distant, flattened, like someone I watched instead of lived as.
Telling Ridge I forgot something here was a lie. There’s nothing I need to retrieve, nothing I left behind.
Except him.
When I saw him tonight, something inside me snapped tight and would not let go. The way we left things last night was abrupt, unfinished, like a sentence cut off mid-thought. I should have been relieved when he took me home. Free should have been enough.
It wasn’t.
He brought me home and shut the world around me without raising his voice, without asking what I wanted, already deciding where I would be and when. Jackson Square was the first place that felt neutral, open enough that no one could quietly reposition me without my consent.
I’m fucking sick of men telling me where I have to be and what I can and can’t do.
All day, a restless pressure has lived under my skin, like something essential was missing. Not safety. Not comfort.
Him.
I wanted to come back on my own because I needed to know whether what I felt last night was real or just panic wrapped in adrenaline. His mouth. His hands. The restraint he chose when he could have taken more.
Walking away wasn’t freedom. It felt like a mistake.
Ridge stays close as we move deeper into the bunker, his boots steady against the cement. He does not crowd me, but he does not give space either. The air between us is tight, every sound sharpened by the quiet.
I glance over my shoulder and catch him watching me.
Unreadable. Controlled. Always.
“So?” he says. “What did you leave?”
I force a smile. “I told you in the car. My panties.”
His expression does not change.
“So get them.”
I hesitate, brushing my fingers along the edge of the table where I spent hours yesterday plotting my escape. The lie is flimsy now. Transparent.
“I thought I forgot them,” I say. “But now that I’m here…”
“You thought?” One brow lifts. His arms cross over his chest, his posture settling into something patient and dangerous.
“Yes,” I snap, sharper than I mean to. “I wasn’t sure.”
He studies me for a long second. Then he leans back against the wall, gaze never leaving my face.
The room is smaller tonight than it was when I was staying here. It’s almost like it’s pressurized.
“I didn’t forget anything,” I say quietly. “I didn’t bring you here for that.”
“You think I didn’t figure that out?” His voice is low. Even. “You’re playing with things you don’t understand.”
My pulse stutters. He followed me, knowing exactly what it could cost him. The fact that he did it anyway, that he let me lead him here knowing it was a ruse, means more than any of his words.
I drag in a breath, grounding myself against the table. Yesterday, this surface was a lifeline. Now it feels like evidence from another life.
I turn to face him.
“I needed to be here with you again.”
His brows lift slightly. He does not move. “Why?”
The way he says my name tightens something deep in my chest. My hands curl at my sides.
“I don’t like how we said goodbye,” I say. “And I haven’t stopped thinking about you. About this.”
“Coco,” he says, a warning threaded through restraint.
“I know it doesn’t make sense,” I continue, pushing through before I lose nerve. “I know what you did. I haven’t forgotten it. But our last night ended wrong. Like we walked away from something we weren’t finished with.”
He does not answer.
His gaze drops to my mouth, and the silence between us stretches thin.
“And the pictures,” I add, needing to say it. “I don’t even know why I hid them. It was something to control, something that made me feel like I wasn’t just waiting.”
Emotion tightens my throat before I can stop it. I clamp down, refusing to let it spill.
“Tell me you haven’t thought about it,” I say, my voice shaking despite my effort. “Tell me you don’t want this.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he says, rougher now. His arms uncross, one hand touching his beard, the other going into his pocket.
“Yes, I do.”
I close the distance before he can stop me. I press myself into him, causing him to stumble back slightly. Both of his hands grab my arms just as I lean my lips to his.
The kiss is immediate and reckless, everything I have been holding back slamming into place. His hands come up to my arms, not pushing me away, not pulling me closer. Steadying.
Then he grips my arms tightly and then pulls me tighter into him.
“Coco,” he murmurs against my mouth. “This is a bad idea.”
“I don’t care,” I say. “Just don’t stop.”
His mouth is hungry, possessive in a way that burns through every thought. This is different from before. There's nothing cautious or hesitant about him now.
Ridge backs me against the wall, his body directing mine. The plaster is cold against my back, but I barely register it through the heat of him pressing against me.
"Turn around for me," he growls, his voice rough against my ear.
My breath catches as I comply, facing the wall, palms flat against the semi-rough surface. My heart hammers in my chest.
"Is this what you want?" His fingers trace my spine, stopping at the hem of my shirt.
"Yes." The word comes out breathless and desperate.
He lifts my shirt slowly, deliberately, fingertips skimming my skin as he pulls it over my head. Goosebumps grow in their wake. The air is cool against my bare back, but his presence behind me radiates heat.
"You came back to me." His lips brush my shoulder as his hands find my bra clasp. "Your choice this time."
The bra falls away. His hands slide around to cup my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples until they harden under his touch. I arch my ass into his center, wanting more.
"Yes."
He unbuttons my jeans next, tugging them down my hips with measured restraint. I step out of them, kick them aside.
His fingers hook into my underwear, dragging them down my thighs.
"This is different. You’re here because you want to be.”
“I know.”
The sound of his belt unbuckling sends electricity through me. Metal clinking, zipper lowering, fabric rustling as his pants hit the floor.
His hand splays across my lower back, pressing me forward until my forearms brace against the wall. I'm completely exposed to him now. Vulnerable but not powerless.
He grips my hips, pulling me back against him. One hand spreads me open while the other guides his cock. Pre-cum wets the head as he drags it up and then down to my entrance.
The first push inside me pulls a gasp from my throat.
"Tell me you want this," he demands, holding still.
"I want you. All of you." My voice breaks as I push back against him. "Fuck me, Ridge."
He drives into me, setting a rhythm that has me clawing at the wall. Every thrust sends waves of pleasure coursing through me. My legs tremble, threatening to give out.
"You feel so good," he murmurs against my neck. "So fucking good."
The pressure builds rapidly, coiling tight in my core. When it breaks, it shatters through me like lightning. My body clenches around him, my back arching as I cry out his name.
My vision blurs at the edges as waves of pleasure pulse through me.
His rhythm falters, his grip tightening on my hips as he follows me over the edge with a deep groan against my shoulder.
Before I can catch my breath, he turns me around, capturing my mouth in a kiss so tender it makes my heart ache. His hands cup my face gently, so different from the intensity of moments before.
In the silence, something settles.
It's not peace or absolution, but a clarity that wasn't there before. This time, it's something real. It's something we can't justify away.
The simulated lights in the bunker ease on slowly, not enough to jar me awake, just enough to pull me out of sleep.
Pale bands of light creep along the concrete, stretching shadows across the room. The effect is muted and controlled, a reminder that this place exists outside the rhythm of the real world. Time behaves differently here.
The first thing I register is what I need to do. My father leaves early on Mondays. Coffee in Lafayette. Same place, same hour. If I move carefully, he will not know I was gone.
Then I register one of Ridge’s legs between mine.
His body is pressed against my back, heat and weight and solidity. His arm lies heavy across my waist, not loose, not careless. Anchored. As if even in sleep, he expects me to be there.
My spine fits against his chest with unsettling ease, my body curved perfectly into the hard line of him. The contact is intimate in a way that has nothing to do with romance and everything to do with instinct.
I stay still, breathing shallowly so I do not disturb him.
The warmth of his skin seeps into me, spreading slowly and indulgently. His thigh is thick and hard between mine, and I squeeze lightly as pleasure throbs at my core.
His hand rests low on my hip, fingers relaxed but possessive, thumb tucked into the hollow of my waist like it belongs there.