CHAPTER 9
Cole
Iwake before the sun and for a few seconds, I don’t move. I lie there, staring at the faint gray light filtering through the curtains, listening to the utter quiet enhanced only by Tessa’s deep breathing.
She’s draped over me, one leg thrown across my thigh, her cheek pressed against my chest like it belongs there.
Her hair spills across my shoulder, silky against my skin.
My arm is wrapped around her back, palm resting at the base of her spine, and I move it slowly, stroking up and down without thinking.
Last night was…
Jesus.
I’ve had five years to forget what it felt like to touch her but turns out… I didn’t forget a damn thing. I would never be able to count all the nights we slept just like this, her body a blanket over mine, and I wonder how I ever thought it was acceptable to let this go.
Was it all pride? Ego? Or just that deep, gut-wrenching fear I didn’t want to deal with, thinking the peace of not having to worry about her was better than the peace of having her lie against me?
Fuck if I know, but I do know last night was better than it had ever been. Deeper. More desperate. Like the pressure that had been building for half a decade finally ruptured. I should have had more control. I’m trained for control, and discipline, and measured responses.
Instead, the second I kissed her, it was like the world narrowed to skin and heat and the gift of having her at least in that moment.
But the warmth of that lasts only a second and then my jaw tightens at those pressing matters that turn my blood cold. Whoever killed Erik Lanning and had the video evidence erased is going to identify Tessa, and it’s only a matter of time.
I let my hand drift, tracing the curve of her hip and letting it ground me to the simple fact that she’s here right now. Breathing. Warm. Alive.
She stirs slightly but doesn’t wake and God, how I’ve missed this.
Not just the sex. Not just the way she fits against me like she was engineered for me and me alone. I’ve missed the sound she makes when she laughs at something stupid. The way she argues like she’s cross-examining a hostile witness. The way she makes a room feel fuller simply by standing in it.
We talked about it the other night on the rooftop and yeah, I’ve dated since Tessa. Good women. Safe women. Women I chose in the hopes they’d make me forget her, but none of them ever changed the air when they walked into a room. None of them ever made my heart race just with a simple smile.
I can admit it, at least to myself, but the last five years have felt flat. Like I’ve been moving through them on autopilot, convincing myself I chose stability when really, I chose loss.
Carefully, I shift her off me and ease out of bed. She murmurs incoherently and rolls onto her stomach, clutching the pillow.
I pull on a pair of sweats and step into the kitchen, grabbing my laptop from the counter. The house is quiet, but that doesn’t mean safe. It only means nothing is happening right this moment.
I settle at the kitchen table and awaken the computer. I pull up the camera interface and scroll back through the overnight logs.
The front porch feed shows nothing more than shifting shadows and the lazy sway of the maple branches in the wind.
The driveway camera catches the empty stretch of concrete and street beyond.
The backyard perimeter view tracks the fence line and the gate we reinforced yesterday.
Everything is undisturbed, no heat signatures lingering, no movement beyond a neighborhood cat that triggered the thermal system for all of three seconds before disappearing beneath the deck.
At 2:17 a.m., a sedan had passed slowly down the street. I observe nothing erratic. It didn’t slow down or stop but it was just deliberate enough to make me watch it twice. I replay the clip again, but nothing leaps out as overtly threatening.
And yet, my shoulders tighten anyway.
This is the part that makes me crazy—the not knowing. The absence of proof of nefarious actions doesn’t equal the absence of danger. It might mean no one is coming for her, or it might mean they’ll come tomorrow. I can only be on alert and be ready to protect.
I absolutely hate that Tessa has insisted on staying here. She stood in this very kitchen yesterday, chin lifted with that stubborn tilt that made me want to both kiss her and shake her into rationality.
“I won’t be pushed out of my own life, Cole,” she’d said.
She told me that if I wanted to protect her, it would have to be here, in the house she bought with her own money and filled with her own choices. She wasn’t going to hide in a fortified building and wait for men like DelRey to decide her fate.
I had no choice but to agree, and honestly, it just wouldn’t have been Tessa had she agreed to anything else. Despite hating the danger she might be in, I have always admired her grit and bravery. Always thought to myself that I’d want our children to be just like her one day.
It’s so fucking confusing to love a woman for those qualities and hate them about her at the same time.
So here I am—embedded in her space, reviewing surveillance footage before sunrise, trying to convince myself that preparedness is enough.
It should feel reassuring that the feeds show nothing suspicious. Instead, the apparent peacefulness of the night makes my skin crawl.
I sit back in the chair and rub a hand over my jaw, wondering what else I can be doing to make sure Tessa comes through this intact.
Five years ago, I convinced myself that leaving her was the only way to protect my heart.
That loving a woman such as this meant resigning myself to the possibility of loss I wasn’t built to handle.
Now the danger isn’t theoretical. I find no irony in the fact that I’m in the exact position I always dreaded might happen, but now I can’t walk. This isn’t a future risk I can debate with her. She’s already in the thick of it, and whether or not I like it, so am I.
I close the laptop halfway but don’t shut it down, my mind still running through scenarios.
I’ll have Josie run the plate of that car that passed by, although it’s probably just a neighbor coming home late.
I’ll adjust the perimeter sensitivity, and I’ll try to grab some sleep during the day so I can watch over the house at night.
And even though it’s not the most pressing matter to consider, I have to wonder what this means for me and Tessa.
When this is over and she’s alive and healthy, what happens then?
When DelRey is in cuffs and the smoke clears, what are we?
Was last night a pressure release valve?
Or was it feelings we’ve both been pretending didn’t still exist?
I’ve never loved anyone but her. Not once. No woman since has even come close.
And just being around her again—arguing with her, protecting her, touching her—has made it painfully obvious how muted the last five years have been.
I hear the faint shift of fabric behind me, followed by the soft pad of bare feet on hardwood. When I look up, Tessa’s standing there in the doorway, wearing my T-shirt, hair mussed from sleep. She watches me with the keen understanding of what I’m doing.
My body tightens instantly at the sight of her. Lithe body surrounded by shadows, the memories of how good it felt to be buried inside her last night.
She tilts her head slightly. “You’re up early.”
“Checking feeds,” I say, closing the laptop the rest of the way. “Just making sure nothing moved overnight.”
She steps into the kitchen, the early light catching the curve of her legs. There’s a vulnerability about her like this—unguarded, still soft from sleep.
Tessa moves to stand beside me, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off her. “My worrier,” she murmurs, hand to my shoulder where she strokes up to my neck. She bends down, peers at me. “You’re tense.”
“Of course I’m fucking tense,” I mutter. “There could be a psychopath killer coming after you.”
“Poor baby,” she coos, her eyes glinting with amusement as she presses against me. “Bet I could ease your mind.”
“You mean you’ll agree to come stay with me at headquarters?” I say hopefully.
“No,” she says, shaking her head with a somber smile. “Better.”
And better is apparently her pulling the T-shirt over her head until she stands before me totally naked. My eyes rove over the perfect swell of her breasts, the roundness of her belly, the dark patch of curls between her thighs. My dick instantly responds, thickening and tenting my sweatpants.
Tessa puts her hands on my knees and pushes my legs apart, which willingly comply with her silent request.
I swallow hard. “What are you doing?”
She squats, palms on my thighs, and murmurs provocatively, “I’m going to turn every wicked thought in that head of yours into reality.”
My hands clench into fists. “How do you intend to manage that?” I ask, but I think I know exactly where that pretty head of hers is at, and I know this because she looks down to my cock pressing up against my soft cotton pants.
Tessa drags her knuckles over the ridge of it. “I’m going to make you come with my mouth.”
Oh, fuck! My head tips back and my eyes close halfway as a ragged breath pushes out of me.
I feel her fingertips dip into my waistband and I tilt my head to look at her. She stares right back at me and commands, “Lift your hips a bit.”
I don’t hesitate, punching my pelvis up so she can pull the material down. Just enough that she frees my cock, her hand wrapping around the length and squeezing.
“Fuck,” I hiss through my teeth. “That feels good.”
Her throaty laugh causes it to get harder, and I about lose my mind when she runs her thumb around the head.
A groan rips out of my chest and my hips flex to create more friction.
“Easy,” she whispers as she starts to stroke and I watch mesmerized as she leans forward. There’s a slip of pink tongue peeking between those full lips and then she’s running it flat on the underside of my dick. She licks from base to tip, and an unholy growl rumbles free.
“Missed that fucking mouth,” I mutter.
“It missed you,” she whispers and then takes me all the way in. The tip of my cock hits the back of her throat and breaches. She sucks in air through her nose and moans against me. Tessa’s always been magical with that mouth, enjoying giving oral sex as much as receiving it.
She slides her tongue side to side against my hot flesh and a tremor races down my spine. Tessa pulls free and I almost protest, but I’m caught by the heat in her eyes, those plump lips wet as she smiles at me. “Feel good?”
“Feels fucking phenomenal,” I reply, cupping her cheek before it slides back to tangle in her hair. I grip the back of her neck, give her a nudge back toward my aching dick, and she grins at me.
And once again she swallows me and I’m fucking lost to the sensation. Her head bobs up and down on my length, sucking hard on the tip and putting pressure on the underside that has me seeing stars.
Somehow both hands end up on her head, gently gripping her. My hips get in on the action and Tessa murmurs in appreciation. She used to love it when I fucked her mouth, but not as much as I loved it.
Every time her lips pull on the tip, she rotates and squeezes with her hand at the bottom and it’s making me goddamned delirious.
My balls tingle and I don’t even think to pull her off or warn her.
She wouldn’t want me to because Tessa is the type of woman who’s going to swallow ten out of ten times.
My fingers tense against her, and she knows I’m close.
She increases her pace, takes me in deep and I come so hard, I shout out a litany of nonsensical words.
Tessa just swallows and sucks and squeezes, wringing every bit out of me until I’m left gasping and panting like I’d run a marathon.
But as boneless as I feel right now, I’m strangely energized by this beautiful display of care she just gave me.
She’s right… I’m not tense anymore.
I’m starved.
I push up and lift her from the floor. I sweep her into my arms and carry her toward her bedroom. She laughs huskily and presses her lips to the hollow of my throat.
She knows what’s coming.
I’m going to return the favor, my mouth already watering at the thought of my tongue on her pussy. And only after I make her come hard, I’ll fuck her just the way I know she likes it.