11. Lili #2
My legs shifted restlessly and I felt the stickiness between my thighs. My belly was hot and coiled. I’d never been this turned on, ever.
More than anything, I wanted to strip my clothes off and join him. I wanted to touch him, feel my hands on that big cock. Feel his hands all over me. My throat was so tight I could barely breathe, my skin prickled.
Cole groaned. “That’s it, sunshine. Take my cock. Lick it, suck it.”
I sucked in a wild breath.
“Fuck, Lili. Lili.” His back arched, his hips punching forward.
More than anything, I wanted to watch him come.
But I made myself back up. I snatched up who knew what from the bags of clothes Cole had bought me and hustled back to the living room.
I stood by the couch, shaking with need.
And with the newfound knowledge that, for all his protests, Cole Black wanted me.
I watched with avid interest as Cole turned off the highway and onto a dusty road.
We were outside Las Vegas, surrounded by sparse desert.
A small sign stood at the side of the road.
It read Darkwolf Tactical in block letters, with a logo underneath it of a wolf, staring straight ahead, like it was watching and waiting to attack.
We’d been driving out through the desert for almost thirty minutes.
Cole hadn’t said much, but had turned on the radio.
Some rock song was playing. I’d alternated between looking at the desert landscape and sneaking glances at Cole.
The desert, while very brown and dry, was a place that I’d always found fascinating.
If you looked closer, you could see signs of life hidden in plain sight.
It was the opposite of Las Vegas, which was all in-your-face gloss and flash.
I glanced at Cole’s profile. I just liked things that were less obvious.
And I could look at Cole for hours.
Every time I looked at him, I noticed something new. He’d put a small silver earring in one ear today, and I kept glancing at it. I’d seen men who just couldn’t pull off an earring, but Cole could.
A large, beige building rose out of the sandy landscape ahead. It was a boxy warehouse structure. Beside it was what looked like a half-constructed two-story concrete building that had never been finished. It had several metal staircases, and the area around it was dotted with several rusted cars.
“That’s my outdoor training area and shoot house.” Cole jerked a chin at the half-finished building. “I have an indoor one inside the warehouse.”
“Shoot house?”
“Specialized training facility for close quarters combat and room-clearing exercises. I have teams practice breaching the buildings and rescuing hostages or neutralizing the enemy.”
“Wow.”
He glanced at me.
“I think it’s cool to have your own business. And teaching people to be better soldiers, that’s an admirable job.”
“They’re mercenaries, Lili.”
“But not trigger-happy ones you read about, right? Who abuse their power. You wouldn’t train assholes.”
He made a sound. “I try not to. Most of my clients are reputable outfits.”
He parked under a carport attached to the main building. Then he took out a set of keys and unlocked the heavy-duty lock on the warehouse door. I smoothed down my long, gray skirt. It was A-line, made of thick fabric that was super comfy, and I’d paired it with a long, white T-shirt.
The air inside the warehouse was warm and stuffy. Cole took some time opening up some roller doors, and letting the cooler air in. I studied the space with interest.
The centerpiece of the cavernous space was what looked like a giant version of some sort of two-story maze a mouse would run through.
Plywood walls formed a labyrinth of corridors and rooms. It had stairwells and windows, and I glimpsed plain tables, chairs, and sofas in the rooms. There were many doors, both open and closed, as well as a number of other obstacles scattered throughout.
“It’s like a giant obstacle course.”
His lips quirked. “Something like that. This is my indoor shoot house. When I train teams in close quarters combat, I teach them situational awareness, how to make quick decisions, and safe room-entry principles.”
That sounded intense and badass.
He led me to a set of metal stairs that led to a small upper area overlooking the entire warehouse.
“Office and kitchenette. You can hang out up here. The guys are decent, but a little rough around the edges, so I want you to steer clear.” He pushed open the door.
It was a sizable office space, with the kitchenette tucked away at the back. As I took in the actual workspace, however, I sucked in a breath.
“Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Told you it was a mess.”
There was an ancient computer on a rickety metal desk, that looked like it should have been put out of its misery a decade ago. Receipts, invoices, and other pieces of paperwork were piled haphazardly around.
“A mess? Cole, this is Armageddon. How do you get your taxes done?”
He shrugged a shoulder. “Painfully. I hate paperwork, and I’m not fond of computers, either.”
No, he struck me more as a man of action.
I set my laptop bag down on the chair—which looked like it was being held together by duct tape and hope—since that was the only free spot. There was a lonely filing cabinet in one corner, with a dead plant on top of it.
The sound of several cars pulling up made Cole look out the window.
“Go,” I told him.
“You sure you’ll be okay up here?”
“I’ll be fine. Go do your obstacle course.”
His lips twitched again, then he walked out. I followed, standing in the doorway, and watched him head down the stairs.
Well, okay, I was watching his ass in his cargo pants. It was very firm and muscular. I’d only got a side-on glimpse of it earlier in the shower.
Which brought that memory to the front of my head in clear, thorough detail. I dragged in a breath and turned.
Finally, there was something I could do for him—and that was clean and organize his office.
I started sorting through all the paper first. Wow, there was a lot of it.
Male voices echoed downstairs, followed by a few low chuckles. I moved to the window near the desk that overlooked the warehouse below.
Cole stood with five men of differing sizes, who were all wearing similar outfits to him—cargo pants, T-shirts, and boots. Some were black or green, others had a camouflage pattern. A few of the men dropped large duffel bags of gear down on the concrete floor.
As Cole spoke, all the men listened intently. He was pointing at various things in the obstacle course, no doubt letting them know how the training would proceed.
Wandering back to the desk, I dropped into the chair. It creaked alarmingly but thankfully held. Cole must not sit in it because I was sure it wouldn’t hold up to his muscular body.
Turning back to the wasteland of paperwork, I got to work.
Soon, I’d pushed the sleeves of my long-sleeved T-shirt to my elbows, and was finally making progress sorting out the mess of paper. I’d re-organized the filing cabinet and was busy filing things in order.
Finally, I could see the desk.
Shouts and banging sounds from the warehouse made me jolt. I hurried to the window.
Cole and the men were racing up the stairwells and into the fake building. They were all wearing vests. Through a window, I caught a glimpse of Cole, holding a gun. He ducked, then ran, whipping the gun up to fire.
More shouts, and I saw one man stumble and grip the armband wrapped around his bicep. He rose, cursing.
“Damn, felt that shock.”
Cole stopped. “That’s the point. The stress vests are more realistic than paint balls for training. Try to move quicker next time, Rogers.” He shifted closer, still talking, and I guessed sharing advice. The other man listened and nodded.