by Tracy Wolff
He ripped his finger out of her mouth, slid out of her embrace as he strived to get himself under some kind of control. Taking a deep breath, he reached over and grabbed the bottle with a hand that shook so badly it was all he could do to get the tequila in the glass. He handed it to her, but she set it aside. Hooked her fingers in the front belt loops of his jeans and tugged until his cock was right up against her pussy. “I’m more interested in the salt.”
Shit. Fuck. Damn. He wasn’t going to last. He could feel her heat through her pants, through his jeans. She had barely touched him and already he was going up in flames, his body so far out of his control that he wondered if he’d ever get it back.
And then she put her mouth on him and he knew he didn’t stand a chance. Her tongue—her wicked, wild, wonderful tongue—was everywhere at once. Flicking over his collarbone, sliding up his neck to toy with his earlobe. Moving lower to press into his chest.
“Genevieve, baby, stop.” He moved his hands to her head, clenched his fists in her hair. Tried to pull her off.
But she was having none of it, her hands slipping around his waist as her nails dug into the muscles of his back. The flickers of pain were exquisite, the feel of her clawing him unbelievably sexy.
“Stop,” he gasped again, but even he didn’t know if he meant it anymore. All he knew was that he would die if he wasn’t inside of her soon, would come in his pants like a teenager with his first girlfriend. The humiliation was almost more than he could take, even as the incredible desire, the unbelievable experience of wanting her this much, only pushed him higher.
She lifted her head, looked at him with passion-dazed eyes. Smiled wickedly and murmured, “Oh, I don’t think so,” right before she unbuttoned his fly.
Her hand slipped inside, closing around him firmly enough to have him seeing stars. Eyes crossing, hips thrusting, he pumped against her for a few seconds before reaching down and disentangling himself.
“You don’t want this to be over before it begins, do you?” he muttered in response to her quizzical look.
“I don’t care. I just want to watch you come again.”
He groaned, yanked her off the counter so he could strip her of her pants and pink lace underwear. “I like this,” he said as he sunk to his knees in front of her, twirling the panties around his index finger. “You don’t look like a girl who would go for pink lace.”
She put her hands on his shoulders, arched against him. “Looks can be deceiving.”
“I’ll say.” He stood, shoved his own jeans down and off, so that he was standing there—in the middle of his kitchen—as naked as Genevieve. And she was taking her time looking him over, her eyes eating him up as if he were a bar of Godiva chocolate. For a moment he felt oddly vulnerable, totally exposed, but then she was pressing her body against his, and everything fled but the need to make her feel as good as he did.
Sinking into the nearest chair, he pulled her onto his lap, had her straddle him so that her hot pussy rested directly over his randy, rioting cock. She gasped and wiggled and he slid between her labia, the tip of his cock resting against her clitoris.
It was his turn to gasp, to shudder as her warm heat enfolded him in a new way. And then she was moving, her slick, hot body sliding against him, and he almost forgot how to breathe.
“You feel amazing,” he muttered, his hands digging into her sexy, curvy ass.
“I think it’s you.” She moved forward and backward slowly, so goddamned slowly he wanted to shout, but it was the most incredible feeling he’d ever had—this being in her without being in her, being cradled by her body without the heavy thrusting that would take him all the way inside.
She slid back until the tip of his cock was poised at her entrance, rising on her tiptoes to torment him for a minute with her incredible heat. And then she was moving forward so that his dick rasped at her pussy again.
“You’re killing me, sweetheart.” He stroked his hands up her back, tangled them in the chignon that was just starting to fall out. Tugged and watched with eyes he knew were turning wild as her hair cascaded around her shoulders and down her back.
God, there really was miles of the stuff—soft and sweet-smelling and so sexy it had him arching against her even as he tangled his fists in it and tugged.
“Cole!” Her voice was low, startled and incredibly excited—so excited that he did it again as he rolled his hips against her.
She whimpered, arched, her eyes closing as the pleasure went through her and he couldn’t resist a grin. Or doing it a third time as he realized just how much Genevieve got off on the little licks of pain.
Shifting his hands so that they were at the nape of her neck, he pulled down hard enough to have her tilting her head to the side and opening her eyes. Then he lowered his mouth to hers, sucked her lower lip between his teeth and bit softly.
She cried out, her body shuddering reflexively against his. And she felt so fucking good he wanted to slam inside of her and pound away until orgasm swept through them both.
She opened to him, parted her lips so he could slip inside and explore her. His tongue stroked inside, licked the top of her mouth before stroking down one cheek and then the other. Curling his tongue around hers, he sucked until she was inside him. Relinquishing control for just a moment, he relaxed as she took him as he had taken her.
Genevieve moaned, her tongue tangling with Cole’s as she took her time exploring every part of his mouth. She wanted to go on kissing him forever, never wanted this moment to end as she savored the incredible taste of him. Tequila and lime and the deepest, darkest chocolate.
But he was growing impatient. She could feel it in the muscles bunching under her hands, sense it in the restless movements of his hips beneath her own. So she took one more minute to taste him, to slide her tongue over his teeth and the little piece of skin that connected his upper lip to his gums.
He jerked when she touched it, his entire body going rigid, as if electricity had shot up his spine. And perhaps it had—that piece of skin was incredibly sensitive and totally erotic.
Before she could prepare herself, long before she was ready for her exploration to end, he stood and pushed her against the counter. Grasping her hips, he plunged upward, entering her with an urgency that had her trembling on the edge of orgasm.
“Take me,” he muttered, plunging deep again and again. “Take all of me.”
“God, yes.” Twisting her hands in his hair, she smoothed them over his powerful chest. Clutched at the strong muscles of his back. She wanted to touch him everywhere, wanted to feel every part of him against her as he took her higher than she’d ever gone before.
She jerked against him, desperate to get closer. Desperate to take all of him. Cole growled low in his throat, brought his powerful hands to her hips and held her still as he slammed inside of her with what felt like every ounce of strength he had.
She screamed over and over again. She couldn’t help it, couldn’t control it. His cock was so hard, dragging over sensitive nerve endings, slamming into her all the way to her womb. Turning her on, driving her crazy, making her want more and more of him when he was already giving her everything.
“Cole,” she sobbed, her body spinning wildly out of control. “Please, let me come. Let me—”
He reached down and stroked his thumb over her clit. Once, twice, again and again as he continued to thrust furiously inside of her.
And then he was cursing, pulling her up and off of him so quickly that she had no time to prepare. She locked on to the table with desperate hands to keep from falling. “Why—”
He growled something unintelligible at her as he reached for his jeans. Pulling a condom out of his back pocket, he ripped it open with his teeth and started to roll it on. She stopped him.
“Let me.” His eyes were blacker than she’d ever seen them as he handed her the condom, and her hands were shaking so badly she wasn’t sure she’d even be able to do the job. She knew only that she wanted to touch him, t
o do this intimate thing for him before she took him back into her body.
So with trembling hands, she slipped the condom over his tip and stroked him—hand over hand—as she rolled it on.
“Enough,” he growled, grabbing her hands and pinning them behind her back. “One more touch and I’ll come before I ever get inside you.”
She purred, arched back so that her nipples were in his face. Luxuriated in the feeling of being taken. Wallowed in the strength he wore so effortlessly.
Then he was leaning down, pulling one of her nipples into his mouth. Her knees buckled and she cried out, reaching for him in an effort to stay upright. He caught her effortlessly, lifted her off the floor and continued to suck as he lowered her slowly—so fucking slowly she nearly screamed—onto his raging-hot cock.
He was huge, long and hard and so wide she felt every inch of him against the walls of her pussy as he slid in. He scraped over delicate nerve endings, took her higher and higher with each inexorable jerk of his hips.
She bucked against him, tried to rush him, but he used his free hand to hold her hips still. “I want to touch you,” she gasped, yanking against the tight hold he had on her wrists. Her arms were still pinned behind her and she was completely at his mercy, able to take only whatever it was he chose to give her.
“Not now, sweetheart. I’m too close.” He buried his face in the curve of her neck, bit her shoulder in an effort to establish dominance—as if she didn’t already know who was in control.
But it grated on her—not the bite, but Cole’s need to control every second of their time together. He drove her crazy, took her higher than she’d ever dreamed possible, but that wasn’t enough for her. She wanted, needed, to do the same for him.
With that thought in mind, she pushed her knees into his sides and slowly—oh, so slowly—clenched the muscles of her sex around him. She felt his response in the jerk of his cock, saw it in the clenching of his jaw as he fought to maintain control.
She did it again, squeezing a little bit harder, a little bit longer before she released him.
“Stop it,” he growled, his free hand coming down hard on her ass.
She threw her head back and laughed, even as she tightened the muscles again and again. “Make me.”
“Genevieve.” His voice was low, warning, more animal than human as she continued to caress him with her body. He was getting ready to lose it—she could feel it in the thighs that trembled beneath her own and the hand that clenched more firmly around her wrists.
But she didn’t care. She wanted him to lose it, wanted him to plunge inside of her with all the darkness and passion and emotion he had inside of him. She wanted him as crazy and out of control as she was.
She wanted him every way she could have him.
“Come on, Cole,” she whispered tauntingly. “Fuck me like you mean it.”
He released her hands with a roar, his fingers clenching on her ass to keep her in place as he stood. He took two long strides, slammed her back—hard—against the kitchen wall.
“You asked for it,” he growled, as his hips began to piston against her. Harder, deeper than before, he pounded into her. Again and again he slammed his cock inside her, until she was overwhelmed. Surrounded. Completely taken over by him.
And still he surged inside of her. Desperately. Furiously. Each quick, hard stroke of his dick a branding that told her exactly who owned her body.
Genevieve moaned as she wrapped her arms around him and held his shaking, furious body against her own. She’d wanted to push him, to see him without his infernal control. To show him that she could take whatever he dished out. And she was taking it, but, God, she’d never felt anything this intense before, not even the last time he’d made love to her. She was completely in his thrall.
Overwhelmed.
Taken.
Dominated.
She was lost in the fire of his possession, explosion after explosion ripping through her as the most unbelievable orgasm of her life tore through her—one that put those she’d experienced four days ago to shame.
Heat poured from her cunt, into her stomach and breasts. Down her legs, up her chest, into her arms and fingers. Radiant, incandescent flames that she couldn’t control, only experience. She called his name, her hands tangling in his hair, her legs clenching tightly around his waist.
“Genevieve!” Cole’s groan was low, hoarse, his body jerking spasmodically against hers as he emptied himself inside of her in long, jetting streams. His shudders set off another explosion and she was screaming, wailing, burying her face against the heavy muscles of his chest as her body spun onto a whole different plane, one where the pleasure went on and on and on.
They stayed that way for a long time, her back against the wall, Cole’s heavy body crushing hers as he leaned against her. His mouth trailed kisses down her neck, over her chest, between her breasts, little nibbles that had her shivering in reaction despite the climaxes that had just seized her.
But he couldn’t seem to stop touching her, and she understood, felt the same way. Her hands smoothed over his back, down his arms. Her fingers clenched in the cool silkiness of his hair. She never wanted him to let her go, never wanted her feet to touch the floor again.
Because when they did, all this would be over. She would once again be the homicide detective, and he would be the man afraid to trust her with his secrets.
Chapter Twelve
“I’m starved,” Genevieve said more than an hour later, as she stirred against him in bed and pulled away to sit up. “It’s almost eight o’clock.”
Cole turned to face her, and then almost wished he hadn’t. She was wearing an old button-down shirt of his that came almost to her knees, and looking far sexier than the attire warranted. Of course, he’d think she looked sexy in a nun’s habit, so maybe he wasn’t the best judge.
“Cole?” she prompted again, as she realized his attention was on something other than her stomach.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” he said with a nod toward the kitchen. “Come with me while I fix something. I’m hungry too.”
“I am not going into that room with you,” she snapped. “In fact, I think you should be banned from kitchens worldwide.”
He couldn’t stop the proud grin that came to his mouth as he thought about just what he and Genevieve had been up to in his kitchen little more than an hour before. It had been almost as hot as what they’d done in her kitchen a few days ago.
His dick throbbed, reminding him that thinking about Genevieve and sex was a very bad idea if the lady wanted to get fed. It guaranteed that 90 percent of the blood that was supposed to be in his brain rushed somewhere else.
He got up, then extended a hand to her. “Come on. I promise. I’ll keep my fingers to myself.”
She snorted. “It’s not your fingers I’m worried about.” But she took his hand, allowed him to lead her into the kitchen.
“You want something to drink?” he asked, opening the fridge.
“No more tequila.”
He raised an eyebrow, deliberately let his gaze run over her breasts. Took great delight in seeing her nipples harden through the thin cotton. “Now, that, sweetheart, is a damned shame. Patrón’s never tasted so sweet.”
“I bet.”
He opened a bottle of white wine, poured her a glass. Let his fingers brush against hers when he handed it to her—not because he was trying to make her nervous, but because he couldn’t resist the urge to touch her.
His cock grew hard, a condition that was becoming embarrassingly familiar around her.
“So,” she said, after taking a sip of wine. “Tell me about your documentary.”
He glanced at her as he pulled a couple chicken breasts and some vegetables out of the fridge. “What do you want to know?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “How’s it going?”
“It’s going.” He set the food on the counter, began rinsing a tomato. Glanced up to find her staring at him with a look that was
half-frustrated, half-confused.
“Are you really going to cook that?”
“I was planning on it. Not being a huge fan of salmonella and all.”
“You can cook?”
“You tell me—after dinner.”
“You’re distracting me.”
“Actually, you’re distracting yourself. I’m just along for the ride.”
He’s right, Genevieve thought with abject frustration. She was distracted, so far off her game she couldn’t help wondering if she’d ever get it back. But how the hell was she supposed to concentrate when he walked around looking so infuriatingly hot all the time? It was taking all her self-control not to jump him right here in the kitchen. Again.
Ugh. Since when did she have a thing against nice, comfortable bedroom sex? Already she could feel new bruises blooming on her back, souvenirs from when she’d pushed Cole past reason and he’d pushed her back against the wall. Literally.
Just the memory had heat spreading between her thighs, and she squeezed her legs shut in an effort to alleviate the ache. A quick glance at Cole as he sliced and diced told her just how aware of her predicament he was. And that he would be more than happy to help her out with it.
Through sheer strength of will, she forced her mind back to the topic at hand. She knew he had his secrets about his sister, just as she knew he would only tell her about Samantha when—and if—he was ready to. But still, she couldn’t help pushing. It couldn’t be healthy for him to be carrying all that around with him all the time.
“So.” She forced herself back on task. “The documentary.”
He popped a piece of zucchini into his mouth, chewed thoughtfully. “It’s taking longer than I thought to get everything together. But I think I figured some stuff out the last couple days—got the beginning cemented in my head.”
“Well, that’s good, right?”
“Yeah.” He paused in his slicing and dicing for a minute, stared at her with unreadable eyes. “Have you given any more thought to what we talked about a few days ago?”
