“There is that.” He took a deep breath. “I can put paint on a canvas in a way that sucks people in. That makes them feel right here,” he said, thumping his chest over his heart.
I wanted to say something, but I didn’t know where he was going with this, and I was terrified of knocking him off track. So I simply sat, breathing in his words, and silently praying that when he finished speaking, the message would be something I wanted to hear.
“I can paint love and pain and honor and longing and any goddamn emotion you want to name. But saying it? Showing it? I’m not good at that, baby.”
My heart twisted with the realization that all of those beautiful words had been leading back to me.
“I don’t need eloquence, Cole. I just need you.”
He nodded, as if in understanding. “Here’s the bottom line. I’m fucked up, Kat. But you’re fucked up, too.”
I smirked. “Told you.”
“So you did. So maybe instead of fighting this thing between us, I should embrace it.” He held out his hand, silently calling me to him.
I went, then folded myself into his arms, which was just where I wanted to be.
He kissed my head, then murmured, “Maybe you’re right,” he repeated. “Maybe we should just be fucked up together.”
I tilted my head up to smile at him, feeling lighter than I had in hours. “I told you I was smart.”
“And ballsy, too. If we hadn’t already been in the air, I would have kicked you off this plane.”
“I still don’t know why you’re on this plane,” I admitted, letting him draw me with him back to the couch. He sat, then pulled me down to straddle him. As I did, a wash of happiness came over me, so intense it seemed to sweep away all the pain and fear I’d been feeling.
I’d come to the plane intending to get Cole back. And dammit, that’s just what I’d done.
I hooked my hands around his neck and leaned back so that I could see his face. “Even when you were scared and angry, you still thought of me. You’re going to Los Angeles because of me. Because of my dad.”
“Yes,” he said as he took his finger and slowly traced my lower lip. “I can’t not think of you, Kat. Even if you hadn’t come to me—even if I’d never touched you again—you would still fill my days and my nights and my imagination. I’d sketch you if I couldn’t have you, and I would mourn the loss of you in my arms.”
I blinked, and a tear trickled down my cheek.
He brushed it away. “I need you now, Kat. Here and now and hard. Because I need to know that you’re here and that you’re real—and that you’re really mine.”
“You know I am,” I said, my voice breathy because of all the emotion trapped in my throat. I leaned forward and our mouths collided, teeth banging, tongues warring. I felt overwhelmed, taken by him—and damned if I wasn’t taking right back.
His hand was inside my shirt and mine fumbled at his zipper. I have no idea how he managed it, but somehow my shirt and bra ended up on the floor, and I was straddling him, my hand inside his pants, his erection hot and hard under my hand.
“Christ, I need to be inside you,” he said, as he cupped his hand over my sex, stroking me through my jeans as if we were two horny teenagers in the backseat of a car.
“I want you in my mouth,” I said.
“No.” He shifted his hands so that he was gripping my hips, then yanked my jeans down. “I’m going to fuck you, Kat. I need to be inside you. I need to feel you tight around me.”
I felt my body clench in time with his words, and my breath came shallow and hard. “Whatever you want,” I said, my body melting under the knowledge that however he wanted me, I would happily submit. “Whatever you need.” Frantically, I struggled to get out of my jeans, then my panties, until I was naked and on his lap, my fingers fumbling at his waistband as I tried to shove his jeans down.