I close my eyes, shuddering, letting that memory wash over me. Cole seems to sense my body’s reaction. His fingers around my wrist tighten, his mouth latches on my earlobe and sucks it as his other hand leaves my breast and slides down my body, under my dress and cups me between my legs. He moves his finger back and forth before pushing my underwear aside and slipping a digit inside me. I moan just as his hand leaves my wrist and circles my neck, his thumb pressing along the vein. He groans, thrusting his fingers deeper into me while his mouth leaves my ear and he drops his forehead on my shoulder, his breathing ragged.
Does this turn him on? Forcing me to submit to him? And the big question is, why on earth is it turning me on? Why am I fighting this? My pre-prison Cole had been gentle, yet demanding. This post-prison Cole is nowhere near gentle and a whole lot of demanding to the point of ruthless. And God, I love it. Maybe I’m still suffering from the dry spell I’ve been in for nine years. The last person to ever touch me intimately was Cole. It has always been him. I lift my forehead from the wall and try to turn around, wanting to tell him this. Wanting to do something to calm him the hell down. He spreads my feet slightly apart with one of his. Shoves a hand under my dress. Thrusts another finger inside me and I get even wetter. He sweeps my hair over one shoulder, which has come undone after all of Cole’s manhandling, before he sinks his face into my neck and traces his tongue upward, bringing goose bumps to life all over my skin. He pulls his fingers out of me abruptly, swings me around to face him and his mouth is on mine even before I can draw in my breath. I don’t fight him. I give in, circling my hands around his neck while raising to the tip of my toes to return the kiss. Now his hands are running all over my body again, touching me as if we’ve never been apart. They remember every part of me, what made me sigh, what made me writhe in pleasure, and his mouth still remembers how to play with mine. He pulls back, his chest rising and falling in exertion, and looks at me with dark eyes. Gone is the tortured look he was wearing when he arrived here. In its place a lust so furious and dark, it reminds me of the way the sky looks right before the storm descends.
With his gaze still on mine, he hooks his fingers around my panties and yanks them down.
Shit. I’m so confused. Why am I so conflicted? I want what he’s about to give me, but I wanted it on my terms, and not his. He taps my ankle for me to lift my leg. I stare down at him.
He sighs. “We both know you will do it sooner or later. I prefer sooner. Lift your legs or I will do it for you.”
I want a release badly. After years of loneliness, emptiness, I need him to fill me. Take away the ache and pain, the loss in me. Sometimes feeling lonely is not because you don’t have friends, or someone to snuggle with. Sometimes feeling lonely is when you don’t have someone who can touch you in places you’ve never been touched before. Places only the person who owns your soul can reach, fill you, calm you.
“You love it when I talk to you like this. You are breathless and your * is dripping for me. And when my fingers were inside you, you clamped down on them so hard I felt it in my dick. This is my last warning. Lift your legs.”
I do as I’m told. Cole bunches the white cotton panties in his hands and brings them to his nose. He inhales them deeply before shoving them into his pocket.
Oh. My. God.
That is the most arousing thing I’ve ever seen. My face is a thousand shades of hot as I gape at this man in front of me.
He grabs my hips again and he slides me down his body. His eyes flicker to the door then back to my lips.
“Go lock the door.”
Yes, Sir.
I stumble toward the door and flip the lock shut. When I shift around to face him and gasp to find him standing close, so close the bulge in his pants rubs against my stomach. He grasps my hand and drags me to the bed. Then he turns me around, pressing his hand on the small of my back and urges me to bend forward. Cool air brushes over my backside as my skirt is thrown over my back. The sound of the zipper being lowered zings through the air and my breath hitches in anticipation. I look over my shoulder, making sure he can see my lips.
“Crap. Condoms. And don’t you dare tell me you’ll pull out.”
His ears and cheeks turn pink. “Are you on birth control?”
I nod. I’d started taking the pills right after the birth of Cora and Joce. I love my daughters and will do anything for them. But I wasn’t going to be caught unprepared again. Birth control pills became my religion.
“I don’t have a girlfriend. I haven’t had sex in five years,” he confesses unabashedly.
“What? Your—” My gaze moves down to see his crotch, his erection long and hard, pointing toward his stomach, “—Batman hasn’t had action all these years?”
His lips twitch. His big hands move down to take himself in his hands, running his palm up and down in firm strokes.
Jesus.
“Are you still calling my cock, Batman?” He shrugs. “I’m clean. I got tested after leaving prison and right after my last relationship. I like to get a handle on things.”
As soon as I nod my head, he bounds forward. I’m on my back in two seconds flat and his erection is teasing my opening. He slams into me without warning and I scream, my body overloaded with bliss and slight discomfort. He grabs my arms and slides them above my head, and then drops his forehead to mine. Our hot breaths mingle, our bodies coiled, waiting for release.