Chapter 17 #2
It was a woodshop. Counters were lined with tools and small, carved pieces of wood.
There were special lights strung up in places, and huge lumps of wood in various stages of development, sitting on stands around the space.
I stopped at one. It was a mirror. The wood surrounding the glass was stunning.
I ran my fingers across it. The glass showed me my face.
I looked different this morning. I looked…
relaxed. Content, even. Usually, I was stressed out, a buzzing ball of caffeine and anxiety, barreling through life.
It was my reputation, and it was well earned.
I barely ever slowed down. Somehow, this morning in Cole’s cabin had unclenched something deep inside me that was always wound tight.
Or maybe that had just been the five orgasms last night.
Regardless, for the first time in a long time, I couldn’t hear the usual mental chatter I always lived with.
My parents’ voices reminding me of their expectations, and my own internal critiquing.
My editor at the newspaper putting me down, and my professors telling me that these things take time whenever I’d complained about the lack of opportunities at the Herald. It was just… silent.
Well, almost.
A sound from behind me had me spinning around.
Cole was there, his phone still at his ear.
“Maddox, I’ve gotta go,” he cut in. “We’ll sort it out later. I have something more important to do,” he murmured and then smirked. “I mean, someone.”
He hung up, and excitement raced down my spine.
“I wasn’t snooping,” I started, backing up into the counter.
Cole chuckled. “Yeah, right. Third time’s the charm. Maybe I’ll believe it this time.”
“I’m serious. I was just looking around and I saw the carvings,” I said.
“Looking around is snooping.”
I shook my head adamantly, but then Cole was there, catching my chin with a firm grip.
“Yes, it is. But it’s ok, Goldilocks. I have nothing to hide here.”
An interesting use of the word here.
“Not exactly true,” I disagreed. He was so close now, pressing me into the table. His body was solid, and his skin was hot. I wanted him to touch me with those burning hands. I wanted another few precious hours of escaping to a place where I felt good, and accepted and wanted.
He raised an eyebrow.
“You are hiding something here,” I murmured. He ran his other hand through my tangled hair, twisting it into a knot that he used to bend my head back. It was tender force, and my body tingled. There was something about his brutal gentleness that really did it for me.
“You’re an artist,” I said at last.
Cole paused. He even seemed to stop breathing. His eyes bore into mine, a pinch creasing between his brows.
“A what?” he asked after a moment.
I wet my lips. His intensity was burning me up all over.
“An artist. I mean, your talent is all over this place. From the inside of the cabin, to these pieces—”
His chuckle cut me off. “No one has ever called anything of mine a ‘piece’ unless they were talking about guns. That’s not my world, Isabelle.”
I frowned at his words. “Why not? You’re talented. Art is art. The world isn’t so cut-and-dried as you’re making it out to be.”
He surprised me by leaning in and pressing his forehead against mine.
“Don’t.” His quiet word stopped my heart.
“Don’t show me the world through your eyes, Issy.”
Issy. My stopped heart started to beat madly against my chest. I’d thought I imagined him calling me it last night, but now, it was confirmed.
“Why not?” I murmured back.
“Because I won’t want to leave it. Hope is deadly to a man like me.”
“What kind of man are you?” I asked, desperate not to break this spell, to better understand this complicated man.
“Forsaken. Damned. Hope is a luxury I can’t afford. It’s too late for me. My old man’s inside, and the apple never falls far from the tree,” he said, his mouth twisting in a sad smile.
The complete acceptance in his eyes broke my heart. I barely knew this man, and yet, I felt closer to him than any other man in my life. The thought that he’d already resigned himself to a life of crime, violence, and jail was horrifying.
“What a cop-out,” I murmured back finally. “It’s so much easier to accept fate, isn’t it? Funny, I didn’t take you for a pushover.”
My words made him jerk. He leaned away, his hand still cupping my face. He studied me a long moment and then grinned.
“Fuck, Goldilocks, you’re not afraid of anything, are you? Me, my brothers, fucking destiny…”
I couldn’t tell him right then that I was afraid, all the time.
I was afraid of turning out like my mother, of being locked in matrimony to a man like my father.
I was afraid of never seeing my dreams play out, of never getting my shot, and dying full of regrets.
I didn’t tell him any of that, because right now wasn’t about me, but it was clear, even in my own head, how alike I was to this man.
It was completely unexpected, and undeniable.
But then Cole spoke in that low, rumbling tone of his, and every other thought fled my head.
“You, Issy, make a man want to be better, even a man like me.” Then he kissed me. Hard and long, making me cling to him, my knees getting weak.
His hands fell to my waist and tugged my jeans and panties down.
“Haven’t you heard my new rules about wearing pants in this house?” he murmured as he let my jeans and underwear drop and kicked them away.
“No,” I whispered, enjoying this playful side to such an intense man. “What is it?”
“It’s pretty simple. You don’t, ever.” He lifted me onto the smooth, polished wooden counter behind me. A counter I just knew he’d hewn and polished with his own hands. How was that such a turn-on?
“People aren’t allowed to wear pants at your place?”
He shook his head. “You aren’t allowed to wear pants. Just you, Goldilocks.” His fingers moved between my legs, stroking my slit. “You still wet for me?”
God help me, I was. Then again, we’d only finished in bed a few hours before dawn.
Cole was pushing his jeans down and kicking them off, ripping another condom wrapper with his teeth and rolling it on.
“You like to get your money’s worth out of a box of condoms,” I murmured as he stepped forward and without prelude pressed inside me.
“Hmm, seven down, five to go,” Cole murmured, thrusting in shallowly, stretching me enough to sink farther inside. I clung onto his shoulders, and he snaked a hand between us, leaning away so we were only touching where his cock was pumping into me. He played with my clit, setting a hard pace.
I was coming again in less than a minute. My body was too primed for his touch to hold back. He fucked me mercilessly, fingering my clit while I screamed his name. He followed right behind, his dick pulsing inside me so hard, I could feel it despite the condom.
What really undid me was how fast he came too. A frenzied quickie where both of us could explode so immediately? It was chemistry I’d never felt before.
When he pulled out, I groaned, my underused muscles protesting.
Cole helped me down from the counter, and held me close, looking down at my naked body.
“You’re sore, aren’t you?” he reached down and snagged both our jeans at once. “Come with me.”