Chapter 21 Coco #2
“Well, let’s not get carried away,” he says. “I’m not sure I want Laurent seeing me through your eyes.”
I huff. “Fair. I’m already distracted enough by what you have hiding behind those tight pants.”
His attention snaps fully to me.
“Mmm,” he murmurs as he sits beside me, close enough that heat radiates from his body.
I turn serious again. “He’s not wrong about one thing. If this keeps escalating with the Duvalls, it’s going to spill beyond anyone’s control. At some point, it won’t be something you can contain or manage. It scares me.”
Ridge stops a breath away from me, his eyes steady on mine.
“That’s exactly what I’m trying to prevent.”
The conviction in his voice lands harder than I expect. Not because I doubt him, but because he sounds settled. Like he’s already weighed the cost and accepted it.
“And what am I supposed to do if I lose you?” I ask quietly. “If he hurts you the way he hurt your father?”
He doesn’t answer right away. His hand lifts, brushing a strand of hair from my face. The touch is careful. Controlled. Almost reverent.
“I won’t let it spiral,” Ridge says quietly. “But my father’s murder doesn’t go unanswered. That’s the line I can’t step around.”
There’s nothing to argue with. Maybe there never was.
The silence between us thickens, heavy with everything we aren’t saying.
Then one of us moves. I’m not sure who.
My hands land on his chest, savoring the steady strength beneath my palms. His mouth takes mine in a kiss that is raw and consuming, stripped of anything gentle. This is Ridge. Desperate in a way he never allows himself to be anywhere else.
His hands grip my waist, pulling me closer, and my body yields without hesitation. I melt into him like this is exactly where I belong, even if I don’t want to admit it.
His kiss is not a promise. It’s a claim.
“You know this can’t stay a secret forever,” he says against my lips, rough and dark.
“Forever starts right now,” I murmur.
The danger feeds it. The secrecy sharpens the need running through me. My nails rake over his shoulders, a low sound escaping my throat.
The truth is, the risk of us is part of how this began. The taboo, the tension, the way his touch makes everything else fall away. I know it, and I accept it.
I press closer, wanting him with an urgency that leaves no room for restraint.
He doesn’t argue. He lifts me easily, my legs locking around his waist as he carries me toward the bedroom. The air between us crackles.
When he lays me down, his eyes hold mine. For a moment, the world narrows to just this.
“Forever is a foreign concept in my world, Coco,” he says quietly, pressed hard against me.
“Right now isn’t,” I answer.
His weight anchors me to the bed as his mouth moves from my lips to my neck. Each kiss burns hotter than the last.
"Stay still," he murmurs against my throat, his voice low and certain.
My body responds instantly to his command, a tremor running through me. I don't move except to breathe as his fingers find the top button of my blouse.
"Is this what you want?" His eyes hold mine, serious and intent.
"Yes." The word comes out breathless. "God, yes."
One by one, he works the buttons open. There's no rush in his movements, just deliberate focus that prickles my skin with anticipation.
When he reaches the last one, he doesn't immediately push the fabric aside. Instead, his fingertips trace the exposed strip of skin from my collarbone to my navel.
"You're beautiful." He says it like he's stating a simple fact, not offering a compliment. My legs start to shake, so I press my thighs together.
He eases the blouse from my shoulders, his palms sliding down my arms as he removes it completely. The cool air hits my skin, making me shiver.
"Cold?" His mouth curves slightly.
I shake my head. "Not cold."
His hand slides beneath me, finding the clasp of my bra with practiced ease. He unhooks it, then slowly pulls it away. My nipples harden instantly in the air and under his gaze.
"Perfect," he whispers, lowering his head.
The first touch of his mouth on my breast pulls a gasp from me. My back arches, pressing closer to his lips as heat spirals through my body. His tongue circles my nipple before he takes it between his teeth, applying just enough pressure to make me whimper.
"Turn over," he says, pulling back. "On your hands and knees."
My heart pounds against my ribs as I comply, shifting onto my stomach and then rising to position myself as instructed. I'm vulnerable and exposed even though I'm still half-dressed, and it turns me on even more.
His hands find my hips, steadying me. Then they move to the zipper of my jeans, pulling it down with excruciating slowness.
"Lift up," he instructs, and I raise my hips so he can slide my jeans down my legs.
The mattress shifts as he moves behind me. His hands trace the curve of my spine, down to the edge of my underwear. One finger slips beneath the elastic, running along the band but going no further.
"Tell me what you need," he says, his voice rough with restraint.
"Touch me," I whisper, desperate for more contact. "Please."
His palm slides over the thin fabric covering me, applying just enough pressure to make me push back against his hand.
"Like this?" he asks, knowing exactly what he's doing to me.
"More."
He hooks his fingers into my underwear and draws it down slowly, exposing me inch by inch.
"You're already wet for me," he observes, his finger sliding through my folds.
A moan escapes me as he finds exactly the right spot, circling it with maddening precision. My arms threaten to give out, but I force them to hold me up.
"Ridge, please," I gasp, rocking against his hand.
"Not yet." He leans forward, his chest pressing against my back as his lips find my ear. "I want to take my time with you this time. I want to inspect every inch of you."
I hear fabric rustling, then the distinctive sound of a zipper. My body tenses in anticipation.
His hand returns to my hip, gripping firmly. The blunt head of his cock presses against me, pausing at my entrance.
That’s when everything becomes clear. This isn’t him scratching an itch and re-drawing the line afterward. This is him choosing to cross it.
The danger isn’t the pleasure. It’s the intention behind it.
I press back into him anyway, accepting what that means. His breath leaves him against my neck, low and controlled, as he closes the distance between us.
There’s no pretending after this.