Cole’s arms were tight around me, my back pressed to his front, my ass nestled tight against him. I felt warm and safe and satisfied, but something wasn’t quite right.
It took me a moment to realize that I was hearing Cole’s voice. Low and worried, telling me that it was okay, that I was fine.
The concern in his voice confused me—until I realized that slow tears were rolling down my cheeks, and when I drew in a startled breath, I tasted salt water.
“No,” I whispered. He’d untied my hands, and now I shifted so that I could lift a hand and wipe away the tears. “No, I’m fine. I’m more than fine.” I rolled over in his arms, saw the unease in his eyes, and wanted to cry for real. “They’re not bad tears,” I promised, then pressed my lips gently to his. “I feel wonderful. You’re wonderful.”
His brow furrowed, as if he was debating whether or not to believe me, and the raw emotion I saw there was so sweet and genuine it made me smile. More than that, it made me laugh, then lean in and press a wet, salty kiss to his lips.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
Now the concern just looked like confusion. “For what?”
For caring. For being here. For everything.
I didn’t say any of that, though. Instead I just brushed another kiss over his lips, drew in a breath, and gathered the courage to tell him the one thing that I had never shared with another living soul.
“I haven’t—you know—with a guy in, well, never.”
That wasn’t entirely accurate, but I wasn’t ready to tell him the entire truth.
“Slept with?”
“Come,” I said, as my cheeks burned. I focused on his shoulder. On the ink work on that stunning dragon wing. Because I damn sure couldn’t meet his eyes. “You know. Climaxed. Had an orgasm.” I lifted a shoulder as if this were no big deal and I wasn’t utterly and completely mortified.
But I still didn’t look at him.
“Tell me,” he said, in a voice as gentle as a breeze.
“I just did.”
“Tell me why not.”
I shrugged, then looked away so as not to let him see the lie on my face. “It’s just the way I’m wired.”
He was silent for a moment, his huge hand gently stroking my hair. And despite the awkwardness, in that moment I felt cherished. And when he finally spoke, I felt desired. “Whatever men you’ve slept with have been missing out. You’re beautiful when you come.”
“You’re going to make me cry again.” My smile was tremulous but completely genuine. “I think that may be the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.”
He chuckled. “If that’s the case, I’ll have to do better. You deserve more romance than that.”
My chest tightened, and I grappled for words. I couldn’t find them, though. No combination of sounds could adequately express what was in my heart. Because how could I tell him that he filled me up? That there was so much more to him than what I’d seen over the years.
He was a mix of hard lines and angles, of soft colors and tenderness. He was like some of the art that hung in his gallery—a blend of so many elements that you’re surprised you like it because it almost seems like too much. And yet it all makes up the whole, and if you took any part away, the entire image would fall apart.
“You’re staring,” he said to me, his eyes narrow and mocking.
I grinned, feeling foolishly giddy. “Maybe I like looking at you.”
“That makes two of us,” he said. “Turn around.”
I did, and he pulled me close again, spooning against me as we lay on the thick, warm rug.
He traced his finger over my bare hip, then along my waist. The sensation made me tremble, and I sighed as my body fired under his ministrations. Slowly, deliberately, he stroked the curve of my breast, then teased my nipples until both were tight and hard and begging to be touched.