by Tracy Wolff
His eyes—dark and hyperalert—scanned the backyard, and she knew he didn’t miss anything in the early morning light. But when he strode outside, stark naked, she grabbed a blanket and clambered after him. “Cole, get in here! You can’t go out like that.”
He didn’t even acknowledge that she had spoken, and she knew he wouldn’t until he was well and truly satisfied. Time dragged as he walked his backyard, looking behind every tree and bench.
When he finally came back in, he was grim-faced and intense. Slamming the door behind him, he made sure the shutters were completely closed. Then he turned to face her, fury in every controlled line of his body.
Chapter Eighteen
“Tell me.” Cole’s voice was cold, his eyes colder as he watched her intently.
“It’s nothing.”
“He’s messing with you. That sick son of a bitch is hassling you, and you tell me it’s nothing?” His hands clenched into fists. “Worse, you don’t even tell me at all.”
“It’s not like that.”
“No?” He stalked toward her, every inch the sleek, sinuous jungle cat she’d thought him at their first meeting. And every inch as deadly. “Then what is it like?”
There was a desert in her mouth, and no matter how hard Genevieve tried to form words, nothing came out but a dry, dusty croak. Shaking her head, she backed hastily away. She’d never seen Cole like this before—he was all predator, all strong male animal on the hunt. And though it was nerve-racking in the extreme to be the focus of all that hostile male energy, it was also arousing as hell.
He stopped mere inches from her, his huge body crowding her from every side. “I’m waiting, Genevieve.”
The impatience in his tone set her free, got her back up and her mouth working before she could consider the wisdom of blowing him off. “Back off, Cole! I’m not some plaything to be backed into a corner by the big, hungry cat.”
His eyes swept down her nude, trembling body. “I never said you were. But you will tell me what’s going on.”
“And if I don’t?” She raised her chin, glared at him with narrow eyes.
“That’s not an option.”
Before she could so much as tell him to go to hell, he’d reached out and grabbed her. Yanked her against him. Lowered his mouth to hers in a kiss that was both brand and punishment.
Heat exploded instantly. Hot. Basic. Elemental. It flashed between them, through them, burned them from the inside out and then set fire to the room around them until nothing mattered but the way they made each other feel.
Maybe she should have pushed him away, should have fought against the possession of the gesture. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. As caught up as he was in the conflagration roaring between them, she chose instead to surrender. To let him take her however he wanted to—however he needed to.
Her body went pliant, the fight leaking out of her as she pressed herself as tightly against him as she could get. Her hands grabbed on to his shoulders and hung on, the need to touch him, to feel his strength under her fingers, a compulsion she couldn’t begin to fight.
His arms tightened around her, lifting her onto her tiptoes as his mouth devoured hers. Wild, hungry, desperately searching, he took everything she had to give and demanded more. Demanded everything. And she gave it to him, because she couldn’t not give it to him. To herself. Her need was that basic. That deep.
That primal.
Cole tore his mouth from hers and she whimpered, her hands grabbing his head and trying to force his lips back to hers. “Don’t stop!” she all but sobbed. “Don’t leave me like this.”
His only answer was a growl as he picked her up and threw her onto the bed. “I couldn’t stop if I wanted to,” he said as he climbed on top of her.
His lips closed over her nipple, and she felt the sharp bite of his teeth. She screamed, her back arching as her hands grasped his head and pulled him even closer. He nipped again and again, but unlike the other times, refused to soothe the little hurts with his tongue. Instead, he left them to burn, to throb, to make her hotter still.
“Cole!” It was a plea, a demand, a cry for mercy, but she had pushed him too far—her refusal to let him protect her sending him over an edge he hadn’t known he was balanced on. All he could think of was branding her, possessing her, making her his in a way she could never dispute.
His cock was throbbing, burning, the need for release so urgent he was afraid he’d lose it before he buried himself inside her. But he had to take care of her, had to hang on until he was inside of her.
“I need you, Genevieve. I need you in a way I don’t understand.” He panted the words in between sharp little nibbles on her belly and inner thighs. “I need to hold you, to feel your body under mine.”
“I’m right here!” It was a high-pitched, keening cry, one filled with need and desperation and something he didn’t know how to label. Something he was afraid to label.
“I need you to let me protect you.” He sank his teeth into her thigh, savoring the strangled scream that came from her. “Trust me that much.”
“I’m the cop,” she gasped out, her body trembling wildly beneath his. “I protect myself.”
He thrust two fingers into her, hard, and she screamed. He gritted his teeth, willed back the orgasm that rose in him with each clench of her pussy around his fingers. But she was so hot—so goddamned hot—that he would die if he wasn’t inside her. Soon.
But first, she needed to understand. He knew she was strong and smart and more than capable of taking care of herself—those were the things that had first attracted him to her. But she was also his woman, and if some bastard dared to lay a hand on her, he would annihilate him.
“If some psychopath is after you, I need to know.” He curved his fingers, stroked them over her G-spot at the exact moment he closed his lips around her hot, hard little clit.
Her only response was a broken moan as her breath hitched in her throat.
Smiling grimly at the sound, he swirled his tongue around the little bud, using his fingers to spread her labia so that she was wide open for him. Pink and wet and so goddamned beautiful, she drew him in like nothing ever had, captured his soul when it had been lost for far too long. Made him ache in ways he’d never thought possible.
Because he wanted more of her—he wanted all of her—he moved on from her sweet little clit too soon. But it wasn’t enough for him, the slow lick and swirl. With a groan, he thrust his tongue inside of her, desperate to taste everything she had to offer. Insane with the need to take her in every way imaginable.
She went wild at the first touch of his tongue inside her, bucking and jerking and arching against him as her hands clenched in his hair. They pulled hard, and he saw stars even as he continued his sensual assault on her hot pussy.
Her juices ran over his tongue like honey and he delved deeper, loving the taste of her. It exploded against his tongue—spicy and sweet and so much like Genevieve herself that it made him crazy. Made him desperate to give her the same overwhelming pleasure she gave him just by existing. The same pleasure that burned through all resistance, all excuses. That flamed brighter and brighter with each encounter, until neither of them knew where one left off and the other began.
He pulled her clit into his mouth and rolled it gently between his teeth. She whimpered, tried to reach for him, but he shifted his hips away from her. One touch of those warm hands and he would go up in flames hotter than the ones currently burning through him.
But he wasn’t done yet, nowhere near it. Thrusting his hands under her hips, he lifted her so that she was sitting on him, her beautiful sex positioned directly above his mouth.
He’d wanted to do this since the first time he’d touched her, had wanted her above him so that he could kiss and taste and lick her to orgasm while she moved restlessly against him.
His hands moved around to cup her ass, to stroke and mold and squeeze the sweet flesh before slowly, inexorably, he pushed his thumb in between her soft cheeks
. She tightened around him, her whole body going rigid at the unexpected invasion.
“It’s okay,” he whispered against her sex, loving how she trembled at the vibrations from his breath and the soft little licks of his tongue. “Trust me. I’ll take care of you.”
He sensed her hesitation, her fear of giving him everything. But he was beyond boundaries, beyond separation. He needed Genevieve, had to know she felt the same way about him.
But her muscles were still tight, her body unsure of this new invasion. To relax her, to loosen her up, he licked along her drenched slit, wiggling and pressing his tongue in all the places he’d learned that she liked.
He felt an orgasm hurtle through her, taking her in one spasming, fiery rush, and suddenly she was completely open to him, her body his to do with what he liked.
Working his thumb a little farther into her, he nearly came at the soft, passionate mewl she couldn’t hold back. He could stay like this all day, buried in the incredible sweetness of her. Could go down on her for hours even while desperation and desire hardened his cock almost to the point of madness.
Genevieve whimpered, pressing against Cole because there was no other option. He was driving her crazy, and making it so pleasurable that she didn’t care that she was absolutely, no doubt about it, going completely, around-the-bend crazy. Why else would she lie here, putting up with his macho bullshit, his need to dominate her and bend her to his will?
What she should do is tell him to go to hell and storm out, but she couldn’t move. Her knees were weak from the out-of-control climax that had just whipped through her, and the need for him was building again. Or still—it never really went away anymore, just grew and grew, burning hotter and brighter than anything she’d ever experienced. Taking over everything but her most basic thought processes.
She shouldn’t be enjoying this, shouldn’t actually like him telling her what to do. But he felt so good, made her feel so incredible, that she couldn’t fight him. Not when his mouth was on her pussy and his finger in her ass.
“I need to touch you too,” she gasped, her hands reaching behind her to work their way over his heavily muscled chest to his cock. Wrapping her fingers around him, she slid her palm back and forth over the satiny skin, triumph whipping through her as he groaned and thrust helplessly against her.
He felt so good, better than anything in her life ever had. His mouth on her pussy, his cock in her hand; she wished she could stay like this forever. But even as the thought occurred, she knew it was wrong, knew that she wanted more from him.
She wanted everything he could give her, everything he had inside him. But if she couldn’t have that, she would take all of him she could get.
Turning, careful not to dislodge him from the wicked, wonderful things he was doing to her body, she wiggled her way down the bed, until her lips were level with his cock. And then she took him in her mouth, relishing the salty hardness of him against her tongue.
He groaned against her, the vibrations sending currents of electricity through her whole body, and it took all her concentration to remember where she was, to remember what she was doing.
Tucking the head of his cock against the top of her mouth, she used her tongue to swirl around his hard length, relishing the near yell the move pulled from him.
It took all of her self-control to keep from coming—again—but she somehow managed to hold back the climax. Instead, she concentrated on him and making him as crazy for her as she so obviously was for him.
She took his balls gently in her hand, rubbed his tight sac and relished the tremors that shot through him at the movement. She loved everything about his body—how he tasted and smelled and felt. Pulling him deeper into her mouth—taking him all the way—she savored the wild ocean taste lingering on her tongue.
She’d never done this before, never imagined how unbelievable it could be to take a guy all the way down her throat as he took her with his tongue and teeth and lips. Every nerve ending she had was on fire, electrified by how unbelievably good it felt to let Cole love her.
When he increased the pressure of his tongue, sweeping it faster and harder against her clit, she gasped and moved her hips faster and faster against him. He did the same, his body instinctively tuned to the rhythm of hers. Moans and strangled screams filled the air, and she was so lost in sensation—drowning in it, really—that she didn’t know which of them had made the noises.
He thrust two fingers inside of her, and it was too much. His fingers in her sex, his tongue on her clit, his thumb pressing slowly into her from behind—she was no longer in control of her body. He had claimed her, taken her over, made her his in a way she’d never before imagined.
Sensation rose sharply within her, orgasm threatening with each flick of his tongue. But she was determined to take him with her, desperate to give him the same ecstasy he so generously gave to her.
Reaching under his balls, she touched his most sensitive spot. Pressed her fingers firmly against it at the same time she ran her tongue over and around his cock. He exploded, and with a shout that was her name poured himself into her mouth in long, uncontrolled bursts that sent her hurtling into her own climax.
It was the longest, most intense orgasm of her life, and as he emptied himself into her, his hips thrusting repeatedly against her mouth, she hoped it was the same for Cole. No matter how dominating or controlling he was, he’d given her more in a week than all the other men in her life had given her put together. It was just one more thing to be grateful for.
When the tremors finally stopped and her body was once again her own, she collapsed on the bed. Cole groaned, but shifted so that his head was buried in her breasts, his hands tangled with hers.
She wasn’t sure what had happened here between them, knew nothing had been decided in their fight, but still she couldn’t let him go. It was as if this latest lovemaking had bonded them together, made them one person instead of two. And she vowed, in the quiet aftermath, that whatever he asked of her, she would be as honest as she knew how to be.
But he didn’t say a word for a long time, just held her and worshipped her with soft brushes of his mouth and tongue and fingers against her skin. And when he finally moved, rolling to the side of the bed, she protested with clenched arms around his middle.
He merely laughed, then pulled out a long, black velvet jeweler’s case. “I still want to talk about what happened earlier—”
“Cole—”
He stopped her with a hand over her mouth and a tongue in her ear. “Argue with me later. For now, I just want to know if you like it.” He flipped open the box lid, showed her the most stunning piece of jewelry she’d ever seen. Made of twisted lengths of platinum, it was shorter than the average necklace, but, she knew, more than adequate to fit around her slender neck. Attached to it was a gleaming sapphire the size of a robin’s egg.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, touching it with delicate fingers. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”
“It made me think of you.” He lifted the ropelike chain from the box and said, “Here, let me put it on you.”
She lifted her hair out of the way and waited, heart trembling in her chest as he fitted the chain around her neck and worked the clasp. He was so close, his masculine power so potent, that she was all but overwhelmed by him. He dropped a kiss on her neck, trailed his tongue along her nape, and she shuddered, desire rising, sharp and unbelievable.
“Let me see.” His voice was husky, and when he turned her to face him, she saw evidence of his own arousal in his dark ebony eyes, eyes that grew even darker as he looked at his chain around her neck.
And that’s when she knew: It was more than a gift, more than a beautiful memento of their time together. She touched the necklace with trembling fingers, felt the ropelike quality of the platinum. It was a brand, a mark of possession, a claiming of her that could not be denied.
“Cole …” Her voice trailed off as she realized she had no idea what to say. Finally, unabl
e to think of anything that was as profound as the look in his eyes as he watched her, she settled for a soft “Thank you. I love it.”
“Don’t thank me. I like seeing you in something that I bought you.”
Unbelievably, she blushed. “I like wearing something that you gave me.” Closing her eyes, she rested her head against his chest, tried to savor these last few moments she had with him. The day was starting—she could hear traffic picking up on St. Charles, could see the sun getting brighter behind the closed shutters. Soon she’d have to head to work and face everything she’d been so desperate to forget.
His hands tangled in her hair, massaged her scalp for long moments. Relaxed and more sleepy than she had a right to be, she murmured, “I never thanked you for the flowers. They were beautiful.”
She felt him stiffen under her, his chest going rigid beneath her ear. “I didn’t send you flowers.”
Alarm exploded in her as she shoved into a sitting position. “The roses weren’t from you?”
“No.” He shook his head slowly, his eyes dark with concern and concentration. “I would have sent honeysuckle.”
“Shit.” Her mind was already racing, drawing conclusions that made her more than uneasy. “Then I have a very big problem.”
Chapter Nineteen
Genevieve hit the station door at a dead run. On some level, she was conscious of Cole pounding down the hallway beside her, but she was totally focused on getting to her desk—and the flowers. Never had the squad room seemed so far away.
Maybe she was jumping to conclusions, but she was afraid that that just wasn’t the case. Cole was the only one who should have sent her flowers—if he hadn’t done it, then there was a mistake. Or the killer had upped the ante in the sick and twisted game he was playing with her.
Based on everything he’d pulled so far, she had the very sick feeling that it was the latter.
“Hey, Delacroix, where’s the fire?” asked Bryce, one of the vice cops she traded information with, as she nearly mowed him over.
