by Liz Meldon
Because she was right. Skye had done the work to acquire her degree. He had seen her during various exam seasons. Hell, he had cooked her meals and hired a maid service to clean her apartment for a whole month one year because she was so stressed with everything. He had even cancelled work duties to help her, paying for it the following month by working night and day to make up for his absence. And now here she was, finding her way in the world, and he thought he had a right to steer her in the direction of his choosing.
“Skye… I’m sorry.”
She was also right in that they weren’t together anymore. Nothing had stung more than when the sugar daddy agency informed him that Skye had gracefully exited their contract.
He knew he had to fight for her—actually fight for her. In the past, circumstance had always brought them back together. Now that they were both free agents, Cole needed to roll up his sleeves and get his hands dirty. Metaphorically, of course. Dirty with feelings and messy emotions he’d tried to avoid for years, worried about what said feelings and emotions might do to their safe, easy relationship.
“I should have considered that there is merit in starting from the bottom,” Cole admitted quietly in the silence that followed his apology. “I… I thought you were settling. I thought that by taking another position, you’d have a chance to excel, not realizing you were already doing it on your own. It was, well, rather…”
“Presumptuous of you?” she offered, head tilted slightly to one side. While the fire was gone from her eyes, her entire being looked stiff. Tense. “Yes, it was. You had no right to do what you did. I’m not qualified for the job you told him to give me. I wouldn’t have done well there.”
He scoffed. “You don’t know that.”
“I do, actually,” she snapped, her curtness forcing him to look up. “It might come as a surprise to you, but I know a little something about my industry. And maybe I’m a bit overqualified for this job, but I wasn’t ready for anything else. I had no experience. I want to learn it all, and you don’t get to take that away from me by using your influence to hoist me to the top of the ladder. That’s not fair.”
Cole blinked rapidly, his brain briefly short-circuiting before a quick reboot showed him exactly where he had made a mistake. A huge one. It was a wonder she bothered to come down here at all.
You fucking twat.
“I didn’t think about it like that,” he said, “and I should have.”
When he had, admittedly, bullied that pretentious ass into offering Skye a job, Cole had thought he was doing something that would skyrocket her into a job she loved. Even if his and Finn’s plan failed and he was never able to hold her again, if she could never know just how much he loved her, then Cole wanted Skye to at least be happy. He didn’t want to see all that hard work and sacrifice go to waste while she hawked tickets at a sex museum forty hours a week.
But she was right, of course. It hadn’t been his call to make. Skye needed to learn the ups and downs of her industry. She needed to put in the hard work. She needed to fall on her face and she needed to soar through the ranks respectively. No one could do it for her, least of all Cole.
“Again,” he said, swallowing down the hard lump in his throat, “I’m sorry. Sincerely.”
He expected her to stomp off and call a cab, but she just stood there, her eyes misty and her cheeks flushed. When she caught him staring, she turned her head away, biting down on a wobbly lower lip and sniffling. Trying to read the complicated air between them, Cole flexed his hands in and out of fists, a nervous habit that had once been effective in combating the anxious thoughts. Keep moving. One step ahead of the fear. Seeing her so upset, however, did the trick too. He’d never wanted to make her cry, and seeing it with his own two eyes beat the creeping feelings of inadequacy and terror back. He squared his shoulders and clenched his jaw, brow furrowed.
She needs you to be brave, just this once, you bloody coward.
“Skye, I…” He risked a step forward, but his throat clenched up, choking the words before they could roll off his tongue. Cole swallowed hard, breathing through the tightness of his chest; after all, she hadn’t retreated. That had to mean something. He wrenched his stiff arm away from his side, forcing his fist to open, and ignored the flood of adrenaline coursing through his system. Instead, he concentrated on her, on the tears in her eyes, the heartache on her face—knowing he was the one who’d put it there—and gently cupped her elbow. “I’ve missed you.”
She continued to avoid his gaze, and he moved from her elbow to her hair when the wind dragged a few thick tresses across her face. Before he could sweep them back, Skye caught him, the physical contact sending a shockwave straight to his heart. Rather than throw his hand away, however, she merely held it, her misty hazel eyes darting to meet his gaze. Then, slowly, she threaded her fingers through his, and they lowered their clasped hands between them.
God, he really had missed her. Cole had been trying to ignore just how much he missed her over this last month. Sure, they only ever saw each other in person a few times a year, generally during the busier “social” seasons, but they used to speak at length at least once a week via some device or other. No matter what his mental state, she had always managed to brighten his life—not just his mood, his whole fucking world.
How could he have let her go?
But was he making a mistake now? Taking soft, controlled breaths, he did his best to gauge her reaction, searching for signs in her face to tell him what to do. Let go. Move closer. Say something. Say nothing.
Her grip tightened around his hand. Cole inched closer, wanting nothing more than to bury his nose in her hair and breathe her in. To kiss her into sweet oblivion. But he couldn’t quiet the fear. In that moment, they stood in silence, nothing but the wind and the distant crashing waves to serenade their reunion. However, his head was the loudest it had been in weeks, conflicting voices shouting for him to let her go, to drag her against him, to apologize again and again until he was blue in the face, to stop being such a colossal fucking idiot—
She leaned in and brushed her lips over his—and suddenly, there were just the waves, the wind, and Skye.
Cole had never felt more at peace in his life.
19
Spill Your Guts, Sir
They stumbled through the front door in constant contact, as if the universe would swallow them up should they dare let go. Hands fisted in his shirt, Skye dragged Cole into the mercifully air-conditioned beach house, her eyes ablaze with a different sort of fire, and he found himself fumbling over the jingling keys stuck in the lock. In the end, he left them behind, slamming the door and surrendering to the kiss, to the feel of her hot mouth over his, the tentative sweep of her tongue across his lower lip. A growl escaped him, his arm snapped around her waist, and he dragged her closer, using her gasp to plunder her mouth.
It really was a crime that they hadn’t kissed sooner. Skye had always made him brave, but kissing her—it was like she made him superhuman. Her lips, plump and supple, were made for every kind of kiss: stolen, fleeting, passionate, desperate. Cole had wanted to try all of them for the last four years. Sometimes, he’d find himself staring at those lips while she talked, while she laughed, so hopelessly in love that it frightened him. And it had. The sheer weight of his love for her had startled him from the beginning.
But Skye had needed to focus on school. She didn’t need sex and love to distract her, so Cole had settled instead for a wonderful friendship. If all he could ever have was her friendship, he’d still die a happy man. Yet now that he could touch her again, drag her lithe, toned figure so impossibly close to him again, he knew he couldn’t settle. Not anymore. And from the way she kissed him, sucking at his lower lip, mouth lifted in that stunning sort of smile he had come to worship, Cole wondered if she felt it too. The pull between them. The gravity. He had always thought they fit so perfectly together, whether they were standing before a wall of screaming press at a movie premiere or seated on opposite ends of
the couch reading, their toes touching in the middle, they just fit.
Holding her now… It felt like coming home.
Much to his surprise, Skye went for his clothing first, slipping her delicate fingers under the belted waistline of his trousers and tugging. Her intent was clear; even if he couldn’t see the inferno in her eyes, he felt it in the way she moved. Her courage emboldened him, and he felt himself come alive at her touch.
Groaning, he tore his mouth from hers and trailed it along her jaw, relishing her taste, her smell—if he wasn’t mistaken, she was wearing the Chanel perfume he’d bought her last Christmas. A hint of teeth over the edge of her jawline, catching the delicate skin by surprise and making her gasp. Gently, carefully, he raked those teeth down the column of her throat, savoring the way she shuddered, her hands fumbling over his belt briefly before she regained control and yanked it open.
Cole returned the favor by undoing the stylishly loose satin bow at the neckline of her blouse with his teeth, then unceremoniously dragging the garment over her head. Her coppery waves fluttered down around her, the flyaways like a halo. Skye Eloise Summers. A veritable angel in his eyes, tinged with a sultry side that made his knees weak and his cock hard. Suddenly shy, she brushed her hair out of her face, cheeks pink and eyes downcast—but the slight quirk of her lips suggested she wasn’t the doting submissive she appeared to be.
He watched, curious, as she went for his pants again, this time grazing his steadily hardening shaft as she unzipped them and yanked them down. With trembling fingers, she unbuttoned his dress shirt too, her stare wandering the broad expanse of his relatively hairless chest with blatant interest. Cole rolled his shoulders back when she pushed the shirt off, exposing himself, shedding the armor of business attire.
And that was precisely what it had always been to him. He purchased the finest pieces, tailored them to perfection, spared no expense, because he wore them to battle each and every day. They not only protected him from the so-called sharks of his world, but they trapped his fears inside. True and valuable armor. Yet with Skye, they belonged on the floor, forgotten.
With Skye, Cole never needed them.
His eyes flitted down to her skirt briefly, an unspoken request passing between them. Slowly, Skye twisted around and undid the zipper at the back, instantly loosening the waistline. She then pinched the fabric around her hips and slowly, teasingly, wiggled side to side until the skirt was nothing but a puddle of fabric around her feet. A mischievous gleam twinkled in her eye, but as she reached for the now impossible-to-ignore tent in his briefs, Cole caught her wrist and dragged her toward him, holding his captured prize between them.
Molten desire replaced the mischief in those hazel orbs, and he delighted in her soft, shuddering breath as their eyes met, his lidded and controlled, hers bright and wide. The tremor in her lip. Her racing pulse. It put him at ease, just as it had the first time they made love, that his brand of fucking didn’t frighten her.
Despite his anxiety, his fears, Cole had always been a bit bossy in bed—but only with the right woman. Years ago, a psychiatrist had deduced that it stemmed from his need to aggressively give affection after years of it being denied to him in his childhood. Being in control was an effective tactic to manage his anxiety too, and the psychiatrist had suggested that this, paired with his obsessive need to ensure other people were comfortable and cared for, led to his sexual preferences.
Cole hadn’t given much thought to the theory. He liked what he liked, but he would never force it on anyone. After all, it took him being extremely comfortable with the woman in question for that side to come out and play. The few one-night stands he’d had over the years had resulted in pretty standard, vanilla sex. With Skye, Cole knew how he wanted to worship her—like a goddess who deserved nothing but pleasure.
Still gripping her wrist, he took a step forward, and she countered with a measured step back. Their little dance carried them across the small foyer, until Skye reached the four steps that led up to the rest of the house. He thought she’d remember, but her heel caught on the first step and down she went—until Cole caught her.
“Oh!” she giggled, one hand braced on his shoulder while the other covered her mouth. Grinning, Cole slowly lowered her to the small tiled staircase, then nudged her hand aside and captured her lips once more. A soft moan caught in her throat, and she arched up to greet him as he slowly eased down to join her. Only he had no intention of sitting on the stairs, taking her right then and there—as much as he might have wanted to. Instead, he lifted her up two more steps, then snagged her panties and dragged them down her legs. Skye watched, transfixed, her lower lip caught between her teeth, until the cotton passed her ankles and disappeared over Cole’s shoulder.
He waited a moment, hands smoothing up her legs and curling under her knees, to give her a chance to catch up. To pull away. To put a gentle stop to where this was headed. But she didn’t. Instead, Skye leaned back, her elbows propped up on the step behind her, and cocked her head to the side in the most stunning display of come hither Cole had ever seen.
Not needing to be told twice, Cole kissed each knee, then showered her freckled thighs with affection. Tongue. Teeth. Lips. Leave no stone unturned. When he reached the crest of her sex, he found her glistening. Trembling only a little.
He swallowed hard, his eyes darting up to hers as he swept his tongue over her folds. She hissed his name, her head tipping back with palpable delight, and he knew he had to up the ante. Smirking, he circled her swollen bud, then engulfed it with his hot mouth, savoring each moan, each whimper, each spasm of the woman before him.
Worried that this position might put strain on her back, Cole hoisted her legs over his shoulders and took the brunt of her weight. When she started to protest, her hand threading through his hair, he returned to the task at hand: making her scream.
If Cole was forced to compliment himself, he would praise his attention to detail and his thoroughness in getting the job done right. While some men may have been content to simply get the task over with, Cole wanted, needed, perfection. Skye deserved that much after everything he had put her through. So, he listened to when her breath hitched, when she moaned, when she whispered his name. He learned by how hard she tugged at his hair, the way her legs shifted about on his shoulders so that he could taste her deeper. He adapted his technique, perfecting it slowly but meticulously through trial and error, making a quick study of how Skye liked to be pampered. She preferred her clit to be circled, not pressed on or swept over. He wanted this down to a science for next time, so that when she climaxed then, it would be better, faster, and more potent than today.
She came shortly after he switched things around, circling her clit with his tongue and massaging her inner walls with two fingers. The position let him watch her come undone, let him savor every nuance as she quivered and cried out breathlessly, her body tightening around him and his slowly thrusting fingers until she sagged down. A sheen of perspiration coated her figure, and she blushed from her cheekbones down to the valley of her breasts. Carefully, Cole eased away from her, masking his wince; his cock was ready to explode at this point, so desperate for her that it was suddenly difficult to think straight.
“Thank you,” she murmured, a hand on her forehead as she stared down at him. In that light, she appeared utterly relaxed, totally at ease, and Cole rocked back on his heels, grinning.
“Anytime.”
They appraised one another briefly, the easy comfort shifting the longer they sat there to something more urgent. He noticed it in the way her breath quickened, in the embers pulsing where her fire had once been, the flames doused, perhaps, but certainly not extinguished. Swallowing hard, committing her taste to memory, Cole stood and offered a hand. Skye accepted, sliding her elegant hand into his and grasping it with more conviction than he had expected. He helped her upright, steadying her for a moment, then, with what he hoped was an easy smile of his own, he ducked down and hoisted her over his shoulder.
“Cole!” she scream-giggled, swatting at his back as he straightened out. “Put me down!”
“No, not yet,” he told her, brightening at the sound of her happiness—even if only temporary, given everything else. But that was all happening outside. As soon as he had shut the door behind them, their problems had taken a backseat. For now, he wanted to bask in her, to enjoy her, and, if she let him, Cole just wanted to love her.
Engaging in a little playful back-and-forth, he carried her through his Coral Bay home, straight down to his bedroom overlooking the ocean. She quieted as they crossed the threshold, propping herself up with her hands on the swell of his lower back. Gently, he lowered her onto his meticulously made bed, and as she crawled back, he got rid of those damn restricting briefs and shoes. Skye unclasped her bra and tossed it aside, and he noticed her gulp as he took her in.
Slowly, he clambered onto the bed, and as he crawled forward, she lay back—the beginnings of yet another dance. Cole started at her ankles, kissing his way up her body until he reached her lips, which he claimed with vigor. She sighed beneath him, caressing his cheek, fingertips ghosting across his recently shaven skin. Catching her wrist before it reached his hair, he pinned it to the bed. In turn, she locked her legs behind him, her enticing heat beckoning him closer.
His eyes closed when she grasped his cock with her free hand and steered him into her. Although every fiber of his being wanted to plunge in and just take her, Cole practiced patience, filling her slowly. Their kiss weakened as she gasped, their hips colliding with a startling sense of finality that made his chest tight. Ignoring the fear, he cradled her head in one hand, the other still holding her wrist down, and pumped in and out of her slowly. Sweetly. Gently—relishing every second, just in case it was their last.
