Chapter 7
She woke as Cole got out of bed. The drag of his finger over her clit as he pulled away had her moaning even before she was awake enough to realize what was happening.
“Cole?” Her voice was rough with sleep.
“I have to go.”
“Go?” Mara blinked hard and sat up, pulling the sheets to her chest as she watched him slide out of bed.
When he glanced back at her, she realized how pathetic and pleading her tone had been.
“Right,” she said before he could speak. “We’re done. Thank you. It was—”
Cole had her pinned down with a hand splayed over her sternum in half a second. Holding her gaze, he tugged the sheet down with his other hand, sliding it from between his palm and her body so there was skin-to-skin contact.
For the first time, she felt his bare hand on her.
No, that wasn’t right. He had been wearing gloves that first night, but she hadn’t taken note of the feel of his hand then, because she hadn’t known he would later have the barrier of gloves between them every time he touched her.
His palm felt hard, almost like it was made of something other than flesh. And…scratchy? Like there were sharp edges to his flesh.
“I have to get home for work.”
“I understand. Thank you—”
She cut herself off when he leaned down so close their noses almost touched.
“You think we’re done.”
Mara pursed her lips. “It would greatly help if you would add inflection at the end of your sentences so I know when they’re a question.”
He chuckled, and the smile that went with it was softer than any that had come before. Her heart thumped hard, and she had the insane urge to kiss him.
“If you’re not busy, I’d like to scene next weekend,” Cole said. “I still have unrestrained… No. Un…hinged?”
“Uninhibited. Untamed,” she countered.
“I still have untamed things to do to you. Or maybe you’re still untamed and I need to tame you.”
“I should find that objectionable, but I don’t.”
“Good. Next weekend?”
“Yes.”
Cole’s gaze slid down to her exposed breasts. She held her breath, waiting, hoping.
With a last smirk, he pushed up and was gone.
They stared at one another as the last light of sunset painted the western sky gold and pale yellow that faded to blue.
Cole wore cargo pants and a polo shirt with a logo on it. The way the armband hugged his biceps made her mouth water. She wanted to lick the visible parts of his tattoos and sink her teeth into his muscles.
Cole was staring at her too, eyes a little wide. She’d come right from work, and instead of peacefully sitting in her office, she’d been in meetings and so was dressed up.
She didn’t do politician business suits, but instead had a curated style that blended high fashion with expensive workwear in a look that was edgy and sophisticated.
She always received compliments when she wore one of these looks, but the real reason she liked them was that a certain subset of men found them off-putting.
Probably because she didn’t fall easily into one of two corporate women’s fashion categories: either slightly feminized versions of male workwear or heavily feminine pieces like bodycon dresses made work-appropriate with thick fabrics and high necklines.
Tonight, she had on a Wilma Simkhai skirt.
The overskirt was calf-length with repeating columns of pierced oval cutouts and gave it an almost net-like look.
The underskirt was a classic pencil shape and stopped just above her knees.
On top, she wore a silk men’s dress shirt with exaggerated points on the collar.
Her wide, curved belt was almost a corset it came up so high.
She’d layered gold necklaces, some inside and touching her bare flesh, some worn over the shirt and hooked under the collar.
Her hair was pulled back in a simple bun, showing off gold snake earrings, and she’d winged the shit out of her eyeliner, because, once again, a certain subset of men found winged eyeliner and a bold lip off-putting.
She’d walked into the room and had them all on the defensive, just the way she liked it—she preferred offense.
What she didn’t want was Cole seeing her like this. She didn’t want him to be one of those men. It shouldn’t matter; it didn’t matter, because this real-world version of her would never interact with Cole.
Except by chance, they’d been walking through the parking lot at the same time.
Mara tipped her chin up and kept going, having to pay attention to her steps in the sandy gravel lot, given that she still had on her heels.
Silently they climbed the steps together, but when she reached for the door, Cole put his hand on it, holding it closed.
“We’ve got a problem, Brown Eyes.”
Mara cursed internally but turned to face him. “Yes?”
“I want to fuck you right now, up against the wall.”
Mara’s eyes went wide as she turned to look at him.
“I know fuck-all about nice clothes, but I’m damn sure that outfit cost more than my first car.” Cole edged into her personal space. “Not wanting to mess up your outfit is the only thing keeping me from taking you right now.” He glanced at the door. “And technically we aren’t inside the club yet.”
Mara put her hand on Cole’s cheek. Her heels had evened out their heights, though she was still looking up at him.
“Do it.”
Cole’s gaze caught hers.
She cocked a brow. “Or is that just.”
Cole wrapped an arm around her, yanking the door open with the other hand. The overnight bag he held bumped against her, and there was an odd metallic sound of something clinking inside.
Cole spun them both into the elegant foyer, their overnight bags hitting the floor in quick succession.
Then her back was against the wall, his hands bunching her skirt, shoving the tighter underskirt up around her hips.
Mara wrapped one arm around his neck, the other trying to find and undo the fastenings on his pants.
Her skirt kept getting in the way, but it didn’t matter because he gently knocked her hand aside and freed his cock.
Cole hooked one of her legs over his arm the same way he had last weekend.
Her skirt fell between them, but his hand wiggled under it, sliding along her thighs to her apex.
With brutal efficiency, he jerked her panties to the side, tossed her skirt out of the way, and a second later, he thrust into her.
Mara’s back arched and her mouth opened, though no sound escaped. She was stretched to the point of near pain, her body willing but not ready for his invasion.
He pulled back, and she grabbed a hold of him, worried he’d seen a flash of pain on her face and was going to stop.
Cole adjusted the angle, inching her one leg higher, then thrust in again.
His breath panted in her ear; his chest was hard and hot against hers.
“Can’t wait? At least fuck her good,” someone said on a laugh as they walked through the foyer.
“I’m coming in you, Brown Eyes,” Cole snarled. “You’re going to be dripping with me. All. Weekend.” He punctuated the last words with thrusts.
Pleasure rippled and rolled through her, her clothing too much against her sensitive, heated skin. She wanted to be naked.
Cole hiked her other leg up, holding her entirely off the floor. She was helpless. Spread.
Mara balled up the front of her skirt, getting it out of the way as he fucked her while she kept one arm hooked around his neck.
Cole’s rhythm stuttered, his eyes squeezed closed, and she watched with avid delight as he came. His cheeks flushed, his jaw clenched, and her pussy was so tight around him, she could feel the twitches and jerks of his cock in her.
With a final ragged breath, Cole rested his forehead on hers. He was silent for several minutes as his breathing slowed, though he did lower one of her legs, letting her toes brace on the floor with his cock still in her.
Cole cleared his throat, and she opened eyes that had drifted closed. This felt…different. Intimate, of course. Sexy and sexual, yes. But more. There was an emotional intimacy born of desperation that wasn’t normal at the start of the scene.
If this even was a scene.
Before her thoughts could continue down that track, he eased his cock free of her body, then gave her pussy a friendly pat.
“Let’s get dinner.”
The club wasn’t as full tonight as it had been last weekend, which meant there was no wait for a table, and consequently no more playing.
Mara tugged her robe back over her shoulder. The silky material kept sliding down. Cole’s gaze tracked the movement of the material even as he took a bite of roast chicken.
“You wearing anything under there, Brown Eyes?”
“Hmm?”
“You had to know that was a question. I did the inflection.”
“Sorry. I was thinking about something else.”
“I asked if you’re wearing anything underneath the robe.”
“No. I’m not. When you said we were getting dinner first, I decided to wait to put on my outfit for the evening.”
He grinned. “Corset?”
She made a noise of agreement, then went back to picking at her food.
“Look at me, Brown Eyes.”
She did, readying an apology.
“What’s wrong?” His voice was low and soft, his brows drawn together in concern as he studied her.
The gentleness of the question and his voice undid her.
“What if I’m not submissive?”
Her blurted question was met with a moment of silence before he grinned and started to laugh.
When she didn’t join in, his smile faded. Cole leaned back in his chair, one elbow hooked over the back. “You’re serious.”
“I am.”
“Because I told you what the other Doms say about you.” Cole snorted. “Fuck ’em.”
Maybe now was a good time to confess her past, but that wasn’t the conversation she was interested in having at this moment. She steeled herself to be forthright.
“Last weekend was the best sex I’d had in years.”
Cole smirked, and she shook her head slightly, fighting her own smile.
“You said it, not me,” he pointed out.
“It was the best sex I’ve had, not the best scene.”
His smile was gone in an instant. “You didn’t consider it a scene.”