CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Cole
I shouldn’t be here.
The thought’s been on repeat since I watched her walk out of the film room. Like she didn’t say I know. Like she didn’t kiss me like she meant it.
But I drove aimlessly to burn off the restlessness. Down side streets, through neighborhoods where bikes were left haphazardly on the lawn, and around UT Austin where students crowded crosswalks on their way to the nearby fraternity houses.
And none of it helped, because I ended up exactly where I was headed from the start.
Dublin’s place.
It wasn’t hard to find. I knew the name of the condominium complex from the utility bill that fell out of her tote, and all it took was to find her car and the number painted on the asphalt to correlate with what unit number.
Yes, I feel like a stalker, but desire is a hell of a drug. And the woman inside the end unit with the light on in the windows even more so.
I sit with my engine still running, staring at her place like I’m giving myself one last out. Leave. Drive away.
Let her have her space.
Let this cool off.
But that is bullshit and I know it.
I kill the engine and climb out with no other purpose besides the lie I’m telling myself—that I’m just making sure she got home okay. That she’s okay after that kiss.
Because I’m sure as hell not.
Not with what she said. Not with what she found.
Someone’s been watching me—close enough to matter.
And possibly for an extended period of time.
For a man who lives on a stage in front of thousands, the only thing that freaks me the fuck out more than knowing that, is that this person’s money-making “habit” has led to not only this investigation but also added a footnote that will forever be associated with my career.
Even my dad believed I was fucking guilty.
And of course, the only person who went beyond the patterns and the numbers, who has truly looked at me like I’m innocent (beyond the guys, of course), is also the one person I can’t stop fucking thinking about.
Or wanting.
And regardless of how much I see it in her eyes or read it in the way she reaches out to touch me and then jerks her hand back, she still refuses to admit she wants me too.
My feet move where I swore they weren’t going to go, but when they land on her doorstep, I knock anyway.
The door opens slowly, and when she looks up at me, it’s there—that flicker of surprise, awareness, and something deeper she doesn’t want me to see. Excitement.
“You followed me home?” Her voice is controlled but with a tinge of surprise.
“No. Yes. I tried to stay away but . . .” I motion to her like she should understand why I need to be here, and then I lean one shoulder against the doorframe. “Besides, you followed me home.”
She barks out a laugh. “Um . . .”
“And you’ve been showing up where I am for the last week.”
That earns me a dubious look, but she doesn’t shut the door on me.
“You mean your work?” She lifts her brows. “I don’t exactly think showing up where we both need to be justifies this. You. Stalking,” she says, but takes a step back.
That’s all the invitation I need to follow her inside.
Her place is exactly what I expected. A lot of ivory and tan with pops of light orange. The space is clean. Intentional. Everything where it belongs in an organized fashion.
Except her. Because she’s standing in the middle of the family room, like she doesn’t know what to do with me. Or herself. Her fingers linked in front of her and twist as her eyes dart everywhere but at me.
She’s nervous.
I didn’t think anything made Dublin Locke nervous.
“Cole.” She swallows but doesn’t say anything else as her eyes flutter back to mine, desire and caution warring within them.
“I tried to respect your boundaries,” I say. “If they’re important to you, then they’re important to me . . . You’re important to me.”
What are you doing here, Valor? Fuck this up and the woman who can pull the pin on your entire career is the one you’re messing with.
Does it matter when it’s inevitable?
But it wasn’t. It isn’t. Sure we got hot and heavy five years ago, but who didn’t I get hot and heavy with when I was in college? The moment stood out simply because what guy wouldn’t get their ego bruised when a woman pretended to sleep instead of fuck you?
But I’m standing here, staring at her, wanting her in a way that the twenty-year-old me wouldn’t be able to comprehend, even when there are so many fucking risks involved. Even when I’m trying to respect those boundaries she needs.
Her lips part slightly, no doubt the same argument on her tongue that I heard earlier, but it doesn’t come. “I’m . . . this is confusing.”
My smile is quick. Automatic. “It doesn’t have to be.”
“That doesn’t mean that it’s not though.”
“You know that despite that this case is almost over, it doesn’t mean I want to be done with whatever this is, right?” I add, closing the space between us another inch. “Not even close.”
Her lashes flutter as her eyes lift to mine.
“If you want me to leave,” I whisper, “just say the words.”
I mean it. I will. And that’s the part that surprises me the most because I usually don’t give anyone that level of control.
She doesn’t answer.
Her silence is everything.
“You’re always talking about patterns.”
I take a step closer.
She doesn’t move.
“How they don’t lie.”
Another step as I pull my shirt over my head with one hand.
Her eyes dip down and take in my torso, pupils flaring, and yet she still doesn’t say anything.
“Maybe this is ours.”
And another.
Still nothing.
“Complicated. Probably a bad idea.” I shrug. “But still keeps happening.”
This time when I move forward, she retreats a step, bumping into the wall at her back. There’s nowhere else to go.
I brace one hand beside her head, leaning in so that we’re close but not touching, despite every nerve in my body begging to.
“Last chance,” I murmur as I cup her cheek with my other hand. “Say the word.”
Her breath is thready as her eyes drop to my lips and then back up.
She doesn’t say stop. Doesn’t push me away. And I’m done waiting.
So I kiss her.
Slower this time. Not fueled by frustration. The need is still there, the want to take and sate, but this kiss is more deliberate. More controlled. I want to feel it deep in my bones. I want her to feel us.
Desire. No question about it. No point pretending otherwise.
Her hands come up immediately, sliding up my chest like she forgot she wasn’t supposed to touch me.
In her world of we can’t, she’s relenting to we can.
That makes this feel steady and real, because this isn’t a mistake.
This is her choosing it. Me. Again.
I revel in the warm softness of her mouth. In the moaned sighs she makes in the back of her throat. I love the soft seduction of her fingers as they thread through the hair at the back of my neck.
I don’t rush the kiss or take more than she gives. I let it build and stretch so it’s deeper than just heat. Last time I needed her to help bury my pain. This time is all about what she needs. What she wants.
Her fingers move down the plane of my back and then slide back up the front of my chest, her palms resting on my pecs.
I kiss along her jawline to just below her ear. “Tell me to stop,” I say, my mouth against her skin as goosebumps ignite beneath my tongue.
She exhales my name. “Cole.” It becomes a mainline of desire straight to my core, tightening my balls and hardening my cock more . . . if that’s even possible.
Yeah, her saying my name gets me. Knowing she wants me back even more so.
I kiss her again. Deeper. Slower. A tug on her bottom lip before my tongue dips back in for another taste.
I move the hand framing her face to her waist to pull her close so I can feel her against me without pushing further than that. Not yet. I want this to last. To remember it.
The way she softens.
The way her breath stutters.
“Still want me to leave?” I ask as I lean back to meet her desire-drugged eyes.
Her answer isn’t in words. It’s in the way she slides her hands up my neck to my cheeks and pulls me down so she can kiss me again. It’s in how she arches into me while emitting that soft moan in the back of her throat that drives me wild.
“Or do you want me to taste you?” I say against her lips as her fingers dig into me in response.
And I do just that. I set the course sliding my mouth down the line of her neck, breathing in her perfume and shampoo. Tasting her skin there as my hand makes quick work of her shirt and bra. I revel in the weight of her breast in my hand and how her nipples have tightened for me.
I dip my head down even farther, pressing kisses over heated skin, before sucking one of their tips into my mouth and running my tongue around it.
Her fingers tighten in my hair, and I love the gasp she emits.
“Jesus,” she whispers.
Yeah. Exactly.
I draw back and look at her. The soft light of the kitchen spills over her, catching the flush on her cheeks and the rise and fall of every uneven breath.
Yep. I’m fucking screwed in so many goddamn ways.
She reaches her hand out to me. I look at it, then at her, understanding the invitation is so much more than just sex. It’s her saying yes. It’s her consenting. She knows we didn’t step back from the fire willingly.
Her room is dim. Soft colors. The faint trace of vanilla mixed with her perfume. But I don’t see much else because she’s in the center of it, with the backs of her knees against the mattress, and her hands sliding her shorts down her thighs so that she’s naked. Ready for me.
I step into her, pulling her against me. Slide my hands along her waist and over bare skin that turns warm beneath my palms. I cup the back of her neck and pull her into me so I can kiss her again.
“Tell me what you want,” I murmur.
Her fingers curl against my chest, lashes fluttering up for her to meet my eyes. “You.”
With my hands on her hips, I guide her to take a seat on the edge of the mattress.
I lower myself with her but then drop in front of her, spreading her thighs as I go.
I keep my eyes on hers as I kiss the inside of one knee.
Then move up her thigh with another. I use both hands to cup her ass and bring her closer.
She’s fucking gorgeous. Pink and glistening and begging for me to taste her.
What man would say no?
I slide my tongue down her slit and she moans, her hands grabbing the edge of the bed, and hips lifting up into my mouth. I take my time licking my way up to her clit, working her in slow, relentless circles before flicking it with my tongue and then pulling it into my mouth to suck on it.
Christ, she tastes fucking incredible. And just as enticing is the way her muscles tighten around me every time I fuck my tongue into her.
Teasing her.
Pleasuring her.
Coaxing her.
“Yes,” she groans, fingers tightening on my hair and dragging my face closer.
I don’t let up. Not when she starts to tremble. Not when she begs. “Please. Yes.” Not when her thighs clamp tight against my shoulders. “Stop. I can’t take anymore.” Not when her fingernails scrape my scalp in desperation. “Cole.” With greed. “Yes.” In urgency. “Now.”
I keep my face buried there, owning her orgasm and her sweet taste. I help her ride it out, wanting every last drop but she pulls me up, grabbing me like she needs something to hold on to.
Kissing me, tasting herself there, and moaning into my mouth.
And it’s the sexiest fucking thing in the world.
Now. I need to be in her right fucking now.
Within seconds we’ve repositioned, me against the headboard, her sitting astride me as our lips meet over and over, and she sinks down onto me.
“Fucking hell.” My voice is a pained groan that grates out of me.
She stills. “Does that hurt?”
“Only in the best fucking way,” I murmur.
She shifts, slow at first. The roll of her hips grinds a sound out of me as desperation consumes me.
I can’t touch enough places of her to get my fill. My palms caress her hips. I drag my teeth against her shoulder. It’s incredible when her nipples graze my chest with every grind of her hips. My cock bottoms out in her, and the slick sound of us moving is proof of what I do to her.
I drop my head back against the headboard and let the tide drag me, drowning in the weight of her as she settles down back on me. The heat of her as she tightens around me. The goddamn feel of her, because I can’t think of any other goddamn place I’d rather be right now than here.
“Yeah,” I breathe out, rough and ragged. “Just like that.”
She continues to ride me, drawing each movement out as she rises up and then slides back down.
It’s addicting to watch her move. The way her lips part and eyelids fall heavy owns me, as does the sweat misting on her skin. How her eyes stay fixed on mine as if every action is a question makes me even harder.
Does that feel good?
Do you want more?
Tell me what else you need?
“You,” I say, answering her unspoken question. Just you.
She begins moving faster now. Harder. Drawing the pleasure out until it borders on the edge of pain. My hands find her hips, pulling her down, each time harder than the last. I chase that edge, needing her closer, needing—
“Cole,” she cries out, her voice wrecked. One hand moves to dig into my biceps as if she’s begging me for more and trying to keep herself from coming apart.
Both are a yes on my list.
I hook my arms under hers so I can pull down on her shoulders. So I can hold her in place while my hips piston up.
Over and over.
Harder and harder.
I hear the desperate hitch of her breath and feel the contracting of her muscles around me.
And that’s it. I’m fucking done.
I come hard, emptying myself in jagged thrusts, wrung raw and out of control.
There’s nothing left but the shudder of her body against mine, as she buries her face in the side of my neck.
“Christ that was . . . incredible.”
“Mmm.” I can hear her smile in the sound seconds before she presses a kiss to the underside of my jaw. “More than incredible.”
I chuckle and run my fingertips up and down her spine, enjoying the moment and the feel of her completely relaxing against me.
“Trouble.” I nip her shoulder. “You are absolute fucking trouble and I love it.”