Chapter 14 #3
"I'll take you shopping," he growls. “Later. Right now all I fucking care about is tasting you."
He grabs me by the ass and lifts, rotates, and tosses me onto his bed, scattering piles of stuff and sending the shoebox of love letters to the floor.
Before I can react, he's pounced on me, and my thighs are resting on his broad shoulders and his scratchy beard is tickling my skin and his lips are fused to my pussy and his tongue is inside me and I'm whimpering and my hips are thrusting helplessly—he has me on the cusp of climax within seconds. He’s always had that power over me.
My body has always responded to his this way—quickly, easily, and intensely.
And it's only him. Eddie is the only other man I've ever been with, granted, but still.
Only Cole can make me come this hard, this fast, this easily.
Like I am now:
Screaming. Thrashing. My thighs squeeze around his skull fit to crush it like a peanut shell, and his arms curl around my quaking thighs, and his hand grips me and pulls me apart, fighting my body's need to clench closed.
I give him all my strength because I know he can take it, and he does.
He pins me to the mattress and his big body braces over me and my thighs are hooked over his shoulders and he's prying my legs apart and he's thrashing my pulsing clit with his eager nimble tongue and I'm coming and I'm coming and I'm coming—I'm climaxing so hard I'm seeing double, spasming all over, screaming his name at the top of my lungs.
All from his mouth.
Fuck, I need him.
Finally, I can take no more.
I use my superior lower-body strength to twist him to his back. Even then, I know he's letting me—I have no chance of overpowering him in any circumstance. I grab his wrists and shove them over his head, pinning them to the pillow.
"Don't fucking move," I snap.
“Okay," he mutters.
"Swear."
"I won't move a muscle. I promise."
And he doesn't. He barely dares to breathe as I strip his jeans off and then his underwear. His huge cock lies flat against his belly, thick and flushed, dark with the flow of blood, the tip already leaking.
I crawl over his body, straddling him. Brace my hands on his hard, heavy chest, hold his eyes.
Cover his mouth with my hand when he opens his mouth to speak.
My thighs frame his hips, my ass rests on his belly.
My tits drape against his chest, and my hair tickles his shoulders, curtains around his face.
The leaking tip of his cock nuzzles my slit—I'm leaking need, drenched with desire.
"Do you want me?" I ask, breathing it.
"No," he growls, and my heart rips in two for a split second. "I fucking need you."
My eyes fill with tears, and a sob catches in my throat.
I touch my forehead to his. Breathe for a moment or two, mentally and emotionally preparing for what I know is going to be an earth-shattering, life-changing experience.
I grab his wrists in my one hand—sort of, as much as I can; I can't span even one of his wrists with my fingers, let alone both.
I rest my weight on my grip on his wrists, reach between us with my other hand. Grasp his hot cock.
Smear his essence against my slit, hissing at the feel of it. Whimper in anticipation.
I'm panting, each breath a shrill gasp.
"Lace," he rasps, his voice muffled by my palm. "I don't have any condoms."
"I got tested after everything that happened with my ex," I tell him. “I’m clean. And I trust that you are."
"But—" he starts.
I bend down and silence him with a kiss. "I need you, Cole. I don't care about anything else. I need this with you."
All I can feel is need, pounding and wild and desperate, irrational and all-consuming. He makes me feel wanted. Desired. Needed. When I'm with him, I feel seen. I feel more like myself than I have…well, since I left.
I don't want to lose this moment. I need him inside me. I need us back. I need—I just need, and Cole is the only answer.
I reach down and grasp his cock and line him up at my entrance; he winces, hisses, and his eyes close, brow furrowing.
"Cole," I start.
And then, all of a sudden, I'm beneath him. My hands are pinned just like I had his—except he can pinion both of my wrists firmly in one big hand. His other cups my cheek, and I see pain and conflict in his eyes, need and arousal.
"No," I whisper.
"We can't, Sweet Thing." his voice is a raw, ragged whisper.
"You gotta know this is fucking killing me.
After this morning, and now this?" He shakes his head; I hate the burn of tears in my eyes, the sting of rejection that I know is false; I just can't erase it.
"But I'm not gonna put you at risk. I'm not gonna start whatever this is or isn't or could be with us…
" he squeezes his eyes shut, grimacing. His eyes snap open and rake down my naked body, splayed out beneath him. "Fucking goddammit."
He rolls away from me and off the bed in a single abrupt, aggressive movement—getting away from me as fast as possible.
He's across the small room in a single stride, hands gripping the door frame.
His broad back ripples with tensed muscle; his taut, hard, round ass is flexed, tensed, the cheeks concave.
I hear wood creak under his crushing grip.
"We were stupid and irresponsible once," he whispers.
"I know better, Lace. I should have known better, and I did know better.
I fucked you without a condom—" his teeth clack together.
"No, we—we made love without a condom. I knew the risks, and I thought it didn’t matter.
It would happen to us. And it did. It did.
And it cost me you. It cost us our lives together.
I cost you—fucking everything, Lacey. Fucking everything.
Your friends. Our relationship. Our future together.
Your career. Your whole fucking life. You thought—you thought you had to deal with it on your own.
You know somethin', Lace? That's what hurts the most, sometimes, out of everything.
That you didn't trust me. But fuck. I get it.
You were young and panicking. I just…my decision to let us have sex without protection—that one time—cost you your whole fucking life.
Put you in a shitty, abusive, loveless marriage for ten fucking years with a sick, awful fucking monster who doesn't deserve to so much as smell your feet. "
"Cole!" I protest, half-laughing, half-sobbing.
He shakes his head, and I keep silent. Let him get it out.
"I won't do that again, Lacey. Maybe…maybe someday we can—" he shakes his head. "I can't even go there in my mind,” He sounds so damned…tortured.
I leave the bed in a rush, trip and stumble up behind him, halt just out of reach, trembling fingers hovering a hair's breadth above his back.
I don't know if he can sense or feel my almost-touch, but he growls a wordless warning. "Don't touch me, Lace," he snarls. "Control's on a razor's edge."
"I don't want your control, Cole, I want you," I whisper.
"Not like this," he rasps. "I won't."
I tentatively rest my palms on his giant shoulders. "Cole. Me getting pregnant wasn't your fault."
He barks a laugh. "If you think that, then we need to have a little explainer on human reproduction."
“You know what I mean. I was there too, you know. I made the choice just like you. I knew the risks, same as you. And it's my body I was risking. My life. So stop hogging all the blame."
He shakes his head. "I knew better."
I rest my cheek against his back. "Cole, honey. Do you need absolution? I forgive you—if that’s what it will take to get you to stop blaming yourself."
Another heavy shake of his head. "There is no absolution, Lacey. There is no forgiveness."
"Cole," I breathe. "Why do you always insist on carrying the weight of everything on your shoulders?" I slide my hands around to cup his powerful chest. "You aren't responsible for everyone and everything."
His head hangs—he has no answer for that.
I caress his chest, his shoulders, his back. "You're so tense." I let my touch drift down to his belly. "Let me help."
He grabs my wrist, halting my hand's downward progress.
"It's not about that, Lace. I can handle the discomfort from not finishing.
I need you. Your hands, your mouth—I love how you can make me feel with those.
It's fuckin' incredible. But it's not about that.
It's not about whether I come or not, baby. "
"Then what is it about?" I ask. "Help me understand."