Total pages in book: 183
Estimated words: 174715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 874(@200wpm)___ 699(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 174715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 874(@200wpm)___ 699(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
“I don’t want anyone else, Cole. I just want you. And I—”
His mouth crashes down on mine, his tongue pressing past my teeth, stroking me until I’m mindless. We are all over each other, touching and kissing, and I barely register the moment he lifts me.
“Damn it, woman, you are going to be the death of me,” he groans, and then somehow, he’s inside me. Oh God. Yes. He’s inside me, stretching me, filling me—hard and thick and—his arms wrap my waist and he steps back, away from the wall, my legs instinctively wrapping his waist. And then he’s pulling me down on top of him, and driving into me again, all in one fierce move, and I should fear I’ll fall, but I don’t. I never feel fear with Cole. I never feel regret unless I walk away. His fingers spread between my shoulder blades, his powerful body, thrusting, pumping, his hot gaze raking over my breasts, and I’m lost. The only time I’m lost and still found is with Cole. The only person who has ever made me feel like I won’t fall is Cole.
I hold onto him, I push against him, I let go, and just feel this man, and need this man. I don’t want this to end and yet, I don’t just need him. I need the way his gaze rakes hotly over my breasts. I need what every rough thrust, every touch promises. It comes at me with a hard pump of his hips, and a stroke of his cock that drives me over the edge. I cry out and stiffen, tumbling over the edge, release quaking my entire body, my sex clenching. Cole lets out a low, rough, groan that is so damn sexy, I feel that sound in every part of my body, and I watch the hard edges of his face distort and shift, ease with fierce masculine beauty, until his body begins to relax.
He pulls me close and just holds me for long seconds, still standing, holding my weight and his. Slowly, he lowers me, burying his face in my neck, as I do his chest. And now we’re in those moments after the passion when words matter. When what we say next will either keep us together or push us apart.
Chapter thirty-two
Lori
Cole walks me backward, presses me against the wall, and does a hot, quick inspection of my naked body. “You forgot to replace the panties I tore off you.”
“I didn’t forget,” I say. “I wasn’t letting you ruin yet another pair.”
“I’ll buy you new ones,” he declares.
“I’ll buy my own. I’m a Merrick Scholarship recipient, remember?”
His hand comes down on the wall and he leans in close. “I remember everything about you, Lori Havens,” he says, his voice low, rough, “to the point of complete obsession. Which is why I blame you for our tardiness.” He straightens. “We need to leave.” He picks up my clothes and hands them to me. “Which is why you can help me pack. Get dressed and come to my bedroom.” He issues that command and then walks away, disappearing into the apartment. I pat my hot cheeks, fairly certain that I’m blushing from that exchange, when I was just crushing my naked body against his without a blush in sight. I push off the wall, and I’m also smiling as I start dressing. A man that makes a girl smile gets extra white knight bonus points.
I tug everything back in the proper places, and head down the hallway, the dark wood beneath my feet carried into the main living room, where a gray couch and chairs frame a fireplace that seems to float in the glass of floor-to-ceiling windows. I pause, taking in the rich masculine style that screams power and money, my gaze drawn to an archway to the right that seems to lead to a den or library with rows of books on shelves. I wonder about the titles of those books and what they say about Cole Brooks.
“You coming?” I glance up to find Cole leaning over the steel railing of a second level.
My eyes meet his, a probe in the depth of his stare, a question in the air he has yet to ask. What am I thinking about his life, his world, his home? How does that affect us? “It’s perfectly you,” I say. “And that’s a compliment.”
His eyes warm with my reply, but his reaction, his very need for answers, tells me that I have not said everything I need to say to him. I rush toward the elegant winding steel staircase in the far corner of the room, and quickly make the climb. The minute I reach the top level, I cut right, and bring one hell of a hot man, now dressed in black jeans, boots, and a black T-shirt, into view.