30. Cole
COLE
Two hours.
I’ve waited for two hours. First downstairs, then up here as soon as she sent me the room number.
That’s nothing.
I’d wait all night for her.
All day.
The second I hear the elevator doors whoosh open, I lift my eyes from my pocket copy of Tender Is the Night .
At last. She’s here.
I put the book in the back pocket of my pants.
This woman is all I need.
And I hope she wants the same thing I do.
But I won’t know till I ask.
My heart hammers as I take in the sight of her.
Her hair is wild, curling over her shoulders. Her blue eyes are no longer cool, like they were when she left my office. They’re open, vulnerable. Her lips curve into the slightest smile.
A smile that’s like an admission.
And it eases some of the worry in me.
She walks to me. I walk to her. We reach each other.
The air is charged. With hope. With possibility.
I wait for her to go first. Because I sense that’s what she needs. To know I’m here for her, but that I’ll give her the space to speak.
She parts her lips and licks them. Then she whispers, “I trust you.”
That was not what I expected her to say.
Not at all.
There she goes again, surprising me. That’s her style. Her MO. And I absolutely love it.
I surprise myself when I say, “Good. I want you to. That matters to me more than anything.”
It surprises me because I didn’t expect this with her.
All I wanted was pleasure, touch, contact.
And I got so much more than I bargained for.
She cups my cheeks, holding my face. “And I trust myself with you. So, come inside.”
Relief flows through me. She’s here with me, and we can figure this out.
“I thought you’d never ask,” I say, but before she can let go, I lean in, brush my lips to hers, and taste her.
I taste her sweetness and her power.
Her confidence and her submission.
Her desire and her faith.
And it goes to my head.
When I let go, my hand travels down her arm, and I take her hand in mine. It feels so right. And with her, I don’t feel that crush of ambition, that tightening drive to win it all, own it all, prove everything.
With her, I feel like myself. I am good enough. I am the man she wants.
We go inside. I’ve never been here before. I take a moment to drink it in—the plush feel of her hotel home.
The rich colors—burgundy and sapphire.
The framed photos of her parents, her sister, her friends. The shot she mentioned of her family reading at the beach. Another picture of her sitting on a park bench with her father, smiling, happy.
Then I’ve seen enough, because all I want to see is her.
“Talk to me,” I say, as she sets down her purse and her phone on a sleek marble table, then guides me to the soft gray couch. “Tell me why you left so quickly.”
She sits next to me, kicks off her shoes, and tucks her feet under her. A woman in repose. She draws a deep inhale, then lets it out. “Because I didn’t know who I was,” she says, her voice stripped bare.
I tilt my head, about to speak, to tell her who she is—strong, passionate, brilliant.
But she stops me, setting a hand on my chest. “And I needed to collect myself. My thoughts. My feelings. I needed to get away from my own emotions. And my desires. For you, and for you with Daniel,” she says, and I love that she understands there is no Daniel without me, that what she shares with the three of us is intrinsically tied to the two of us —to her and to me.
To the pairing that has surprised me.
To the connection I never expected.
“And I had to be alone for a bit. To think. I went to the park near the house where I grew up.”
“The one where your father used to read to you?”
A soft smile curves her lips. “Yes. You remember.”
“Of course I remember. It’s important to you. It was a memory you shared with me. It matters to me.”
Her hand travels down my chest, but it’s not a sexual move. It’s more intimate. It’s about contact. About the need to touch. To feel this connection we’re experiencing.
“I had to think about how to be this woman who wants these depraved, filthy things.”
I arch a brow. “Are they depraved though?”
She lets out the tiniest laugh. Scoots a little closer. “That’s what I had to get away from you to figure out. They’re depraved . . . and they’re not. They’re filthy . . . and they’re not.”
“Sounds like you, sweetheart,” I say.
Her fingers tap-dance along my shirt, her eyes twinkling now. “And sounds like you.”
“Absolutely,” I agree.
“And then I went to see my friend Eliza. I needed to talk it out. And I realized, too, that there are things I want. Things I haven’t told you about,” she says, swallowing, her eyes a little nervous now, but she keeps her chin raised, staying strong.
“You don’t mean in bed, I trust?” I ask, reaching for her other hand, sliding my fingers through hers.
“I don’t mean in bed,” she confirms. “I mean in life.”
“Tell me,” I say, and I’m not shut down.
I’m not in hibernation.
I was that man. I was closed off. I kept my heart in a safe. But in a little over a week, she’s unlocked it, and I don’t want to shut that door again.
“Tell me, and I’ll give them to you,” I say again.
“How do you know you will if you don’t know what they are?” she asks, a little playful.
And fuck it, I can’t resist.
I let go of her hands, cup her cheeks, and lock my eyes with hers.
“Because I am crazy for you, and I can’t stay away from you.
I can’t resist you, and I don’t want this to stop.
Whatever is happening, I want it to keep happening—and I mean you and me.
You know that, right? This is about you and me. The way I feel is for the two of us.”
Her eyes glint with happiness and hope. “Yes, this thing that’s happening is us. And it’s about trust and possibility. And I don’t want it to stop either. That’s what I wanted to say to you. But you went first.” She puts on an over-the-top pout.
I sweep out an arm dramatically. “The floor is yours.”
She rises up on her knees, inches closer to me, and parks her hands on my shoulders.
“I want to be with you. In public. And I don’t mean risqué sex, though I do like that,” she says, a little raspy and a lot sexy.
“But I mean, together. Like, I want you to hold my hand and take me to a party. I want your arm around me at an event. I want you to walk through my hotel, meet me in the bar, and kiss me in public. Then leave with me. So everyone knows we’re together.
Everyone knows we’re competitors and lovers.
That by day, we vie for business, and at night, no one can get between us,” she says, then gives me the naughtiest look as she nibbles on the corner of her lips. “Unless we let them into bed with us.”
Pleasure zaps through my body, chased by love, by passion, by want .
“You are filthy and beautiful, and I want to fuck you and make love to you, and let the whole damn city know you belong to me. That you’re mine.
That this brilliant for brilliant woman is with me.
And whatever we do behind closed doors belongs to us. ”
She gives a coquettish shrug. “As long as we don’t get caught.”
“You want to get caught,” I say, roaming my hands up her arms, into her hair, tugging it back.
“Maybe I do,” she purrs, showing off her gorgeous neck.
I slide my lips along the column of her throat, savoring her taste, her scent.
“Maybe you will,” I say, then I haul her onto my lap, hike up her skirt, and adjust her legs so they wrap around my waist. “Now that we’ve inked that deal, how about we fuck again? Just you and me.”
Her blue eyes shine with wild desire. “And can we go bare? I’m on protection, and I’m clean.”
“I’m clean too.”
“Good. Now take off all your clothes, because I can’t wait to ride you. And I want you to tell me all the things you’ll do to me now that we’re together.”
Her confidence is so fucking sexy. “Get naked, and I will.”
She’s in nothing in seconds flat, lowering herself onto me. As she fucks me, I whisper in her ear, detailing all the filthy, beautiful, depraved things I intend to do with my woman.
She pants out yes after yes after yes .
Well, it is lady’s choice, after all.