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I didn’t care.
I wanted to feel her come.
I wanted to taste it.
To hear it.
I wanted the inside of her thighs so wet that my scruff was sliding over it.
“Cooper!”
I licked harder, driving my finger into the deepest part of her, and when I felt her clit harden and the slight rock of her hips, telling me she was on the verge, I upped everything I was doing.
The speed.
The intensity.
And my ears were suddenly filled with the sounds of, “Ahhh,” as she screamed. Her legs caved inward; her stomach shuddered even though it was covered in her jacket. “Cooper! Fuck!”
I could feel the ripples.
The peak that she reached.
And I could taste the cum as it dripped out of her.
Fuck me, it was everything I’d wanted, the flavor I was after, the sounds I needed, the sight I’d been dying to see.
Rowan Cole.
She was perfect.
And she was mine.
As her body began to recover, easing through the final waves, I slowed my movements, licking until there was only stillness.
I moved back several inches, taking in her whole face and the satisfaction that filled it. “I guess I need to call us a car.” I smiled right before I ran my tongue over my lips to get every drop of her off them. “Unless you want me to do that again …”
She didn’t reply.
She just directed my face right back into her pussy, and the second my tongue swiped her, she immediately moaned again.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Rowan
It was one thing to see the dynamic of the Spade brothers, their different personalities on display when they interacted with one another, conversations that were full of sarcasm and humor and dominance. Cooper always stood out. The combination of his looks and power was electrifying to watch. But it was something entirely different to observe Cooper lead a discussion with the vendors who were interested in opening within what would now be our Lake Louise and downtown Banff hotels. He had such a way with words, a type of charm that was impossible to ignore.
And the Westons, like me, were positively captivated by him.
Since we’d made the official decision to move forward with the two properties, instead of gambling on the one, we were looking to fill the commercial spots within each hotel. Cooper and I had spent the last two weeks meeting with different vendors.
According to my man, we’d saved the best for last.
The Weston family—owners of Charred, the nationwide high-end steak house, and Musik, their newly launched club that had opened in Macon’s Kauai hotel—were sitting around our new conference room table. Considering they already had steak houses in many of the Spade hotels, they were a shoo-in.
But for the last thirty minutes, while discussing the details of the steak house, they’d been debating which of the two properties should house the restaurant. So far, there was no solution. Walker, Colson, Beck, Hart, and Eden—the five founders and siblings—couldn’t come to a decision.
Cooper hadn’t been able to help either.
