Chapter 27 #2
“It is. Thanks for taking him out. I appreciate it.” He kisses the top of my head. “Do I want to know why your underwear is on the kitchen table?”
I let out an amused chuckle. “They fell out of the dryer and Goose thought it would be fun to run around my apartment with them in his mouth like the devil possessed. I put them there when he finally dropped ’em.”
“Dear God,” he groans, running a hand through his hair. “You want to go back to bed? I know you hate mornings.”
I hold up my mug, meeting his apologetic eyes. “One, I’ve already had two cups of coffee. Two, I’ve had a very productive morning, as a matter of fact. Three, it’s almost noon.”
One would think I’d just told Cole that the world is flat and we’re all figments of someone’s imagination. His gasp is that dramatic. “Jesus. Why didn’t you wake me, My?”
I stand and brush my lips against his. “You looked so precious all snuggled up in my bed.”
“Precious?” He cocks a brow and chuckles. “Don’t think anyone’s called me that before.”
“Well, it’s true.” Warmth filters through me at his proximity. “And you were exhausted last night, so I figured you could use the extra sleep.”
He rubs a hand over his sleep-lined face. “Yeah, I haven’t been sleeping well.”
My chest tightens in sympathy. “Everything okay?”
He pulls me into his arms, and I tuck my head under his chin, reveling in his body heat. I swear the guy’s a damn furnace. “Yeah. Just have a lot going on. And I missed you.”
“I guess I sort of, kind of, maybe, definitely missed you, too.”
The low laugh that escapes him vibrates through me. “Aw, thanks. Now, tell me about your productive morning.”
I can’t stop the smile that splits my face. “I’m tinkering with that short story. The one my teacher encouraged me to expand on.”
“Tinkering?” He pulls back a fraction, assessing me, his sleepy eyes full of warmth.
“Mm-hmm. You know… toying with the idea, exploring my options, dabbling—”
Cole picks me off my feet and tosses me over his shoulder like a sack of sweet potatoes, and all the air is forced from my lungs. “I know what it means, smart-ass.”
He digs his fingers into my side gently, and I squeal at the tickle attack, squirming as he strides for the couch.
“Cole!” I half laugh, half shout. “Put me down.”
He hoists me off his shoulder, but instead of setting me on my feet, he drops onto the couch and maneuvers me so I’m straddling him with our chests pressed together. “There. Now you’re down.”
I rest my hands on his shoulders, catching my breath. “Was that necessary?”
“Yep. Now I can hear you better.”
Though I roll my eyes at his bullshit excuse, a smile still plays on my lips. “As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted, I started mapping out story ideas.”
The corners of his lips creep up. “When can I read it?”
I puff out a deep breath. “I told you it’s not written yet. I literally just started really considering it this morning.”
He shakes his head. “No, the short story. I want to read that.”
“Oh.” Heat floods my face.
Head tilted, he studies me. “Other people have read it, right?”
By “other people,” he means Brian, whom he dislikes for no other reason than that the man exists. “People in my class have, yes.”
“Then don’t you think your own boyfriend should?”
Shoulders slumping, I sigh. “If you tell me you like it, I’m going to think you’re saying that because you’re my boyfriend. And if you tell me you don’t like it, I’ll pretend not to care but I’ll secretly be super upset. See the predicament?”
Cole gazes at me until I start to squirm under the scrutiny. He’s not going to let this go. Shit.
“You also don’t read that much,” I add.
He continues to stare just like Goose did this morning.
“And I don’t know if I can trust your judgment, considering you don’t like New Girl, an objectively funny show.”
When he stays silent, I pull back, arms crossed, and frown. “You’re being rude.”
“I haven’t said anything,” he counters.
“Which is rude.”
His mask finally cracks and he gives me a small grin. “You watch all of my hockey games even though you don’t understand all the nuances and rules, right?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s no different from me reading your work.
” He squeezes my hips to emphasize his point.
“And if I play poorly or have a bad game, that doesn’t mean I’m a bad player, does it?
” Without waiting for a response, he goes on.
“So in the very unlikely event that your story isn’t the best thing I’ve ever read—because honestly, I don’t know if anything will top Alien Lovers of Planet Dexxar—that doesn’t mean it’s bad. ”
Tipping my head back, I let out a resounding groan.
“Fine.” I clamber out of his lap, barely dodging the smack he tries to land on my ass, and stomp to the kitchen table, where I find the story in my aptly titled Creative Writing Class folder.
Once I’ve handed it over, I try to sit next to Cole on the couch, but he pulls me back into the same position.
I can’t say that I mind straddling my extremely sexy boyfriend, but it’s not conducive to reading.
Even so, he holds me in place with one hand while he dives in.
I study every micro-expression on his face as he pores over my words.
The way the right side of his mouth twitches at certain parts or how his brows lift almost imperceptibly at others.
He even chuckles a couple of times. The moment is uncomfortably intimate.
Though I know Cole won’t judge me based on what he’s reading, it’s hard not to feel as though that’s exactly what will happen.
He finishes, and as he sets the papers to the side, my body tenses with anticipation.
“I really like it, My. And I’m not just saying that.” His words are genuine, honest.
Even so, I chew on my lower lip. “So says every person who has ever lied.”
He rests his hands on either side of my face, forcing me to meet his eyes. “I haven’t lied to you yet, and I promise I never will.” He moves in closer, his lips only an inch from mine. “So when I say I like it, I mean it.”
Heart thrashing, I crash my lips against his. It’s like striking a match, my body coming alive in an instant. Rather than question my reaction, Cole leans into it, one of his hands sliding into my hair and tilting my head back so he can control the kiss.
As our tongues tangle in a battle of dominance, I run my hands over his broad, muscled chest, lightly scratching my nails against his nipples.
He hisses out a sharp breath, his hips jerking up, pressing his hardened cock against my clothed core.
I grind against him slowly, enjoying each and every groan that slips through his lips.
He peels off my oh-so-sexy sweatpants and sweatshirt and explores each inch of skin he reveals, both with his hands and his mouth, until I’m shaking with need. His movements aren’t the least bit rushed. He worships my body in a way that would have Eros and Aphrodite taking notes.
With agility only a professional athlete could possess, he slips off his briefs and rolls on a condom.
All the while, he keeps me trapped against his body.
Rather than move to my bedroom, he sits back down on the couch and settles me onto his lap with my thighs bracketing his.
He places himself at my entrance, with one hand braced on my hip, and I slowly sink down on him.
The stretch as he fills me has me moaning out his name.
“Fuck,” he groans, wrapping his arm around my waist. “One week without being inside you, and I forgot how tight your pussy is.”
I roll my hips once, then again, building a deep rhythm, head tipped forward to rest on his shoulder.
He splays a hand over my back, at the base of my spine, pressing me closer.
Choppy breaths hit my neck as he nuzzles into the side of my throat.
He follows the move up with soft kisses against the sensitive skin.
“So good for me, baby,” he praises.
Before long, he pushes his hips up to meet mine, no longer content with letting me lead.
As he grips my hips and tugs me down, driving into me, I gasp.
And when he grinds his pelvic bone against my clit with each thrust, incoherent babble slips from my lips.
The spark that’ll light my orgasm flares to life as our bodies rock against one another.
“Feels so good,” I moan.
“Like when I’m this deep, don’t you, baby?” His tone is a low rumble that pushes me closer to the edge.
A deep line of concentration and pleasure graces the spot between his brows as he works me over. He looks gorgeous like this. Desperate and dedicated and delicious.
“God, yes.”
He keeps up the pace, and in seconds, I explode into a thousand tiny pieces, clenching around his cock. I’m still shuddering around him when he groans, long and low, and stiffens as he releases himself.
Cheek pressed to his chest—which is now sticky with sweat—I close my eyes and relish the way he drags his calloused hands up and down my back.
The steady sensation lulls me further into my post-orgasmic bliss.
We stay pressed together, in comfortable silence, for several minutes, neither of us willing to pop the bubble we’re in, neither of us ready to tumble back into the real world.
“That’s what I was planning to do last night,” Cole announces.
“Hmm,” I mumble, my cheek sticking to his chest. “So you really liked the piece? Even though you’d probably never pick up a book about an ex-royal finding love on a reality TV show?”
His answering chuckle vibrates against my skin. “Before you, I probably wouldn’t have set foot in a place that sells books, so I highly doubt I’m your target audience, but all those Bookstagram creators you follow? I’m sure they’d eat that shit right up.”
“Maybe,” I agree. “It’s scary, you know?
I’m excited to write, but I’ve never really done anything for myself before.
I didn’t do extracurriculars in school because I wanted to be home to help Elliott and Ava, and then in college, I worked as much as I could, so I had no time to join clubs.
It feels like I’m fifteen steps behind my peers.
They’ve all got it figured out, but I’m still discovering who I am. ”
“You can’t compare yourself to anyone, baby,” he softly reprimands. “We’re all on our own journey, and it’s never too late to start something.”
Rubbing my brow, I sigh. God, I sound pathetic. “I guess.”
He huffs. “Well, I know. Hamilton didn’t debut until Lin-Manuel Miranda was thirty-five, so I’d say you’re fine.”
I lean back, studying his serene face. “I’m sorry, but how do you know that?”
“You told me Kennedy was a Broadway fanatic, but I didn’t understand the extent of that until I accidentally told her the only show I’d seen was Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.”
I cringe, because that’s her least favorite musical.
“She’s been texting me songs and facts about every show in existence, I think.”
I snort and shake my head. “I told you so.”
“When you become a famous author, I’ll get to say I told you so. And then it’ll be me asking for your autograph instead of the other way around.”
“For the record, I’ve never technically asked for your autograph,” I correct him. “You volunteered, and then I asked how much money I could make if I sold it.”
Cole leans forward and claims my lips in a kiss that leaves me wiggling in his hold. “And look how far we’ve come.”