His confession makes my heart stutter and my thighs clench, but before I can respond, his mouth is on mine again. Thiskiss is different—just as hungry, but deeper. Slower. Like he's savouring me, memorising the taste and feel of me.
One of his hands slides from my waist to my hip, his thumb stroking the curve through the silky fabric of my dress, while the other threads through my hair, tilting my head back so he can kiss me more thoroughly. I melt into him, my fingers tangling in his hair, my body arching against his.
The wall is cool against my back, but everywhere Cole touches feels like fire. When his mouth leaves mine to press hot kisses down my throat, I let my head fall back with a moan.
“This dress,” he murmurs against my collarbone, his breath hot on my skin. “Do you have any idea what you do to me in this dress?” His hand traces up my side, fingers skimming the edge of my breast through the fabric, and my nipples tighten in response.
“Cole—” His name comes out as half-plea, half-prayer as his lips find that spot where my neck meets my shoulder.
“You've been driving me insane.” Gentle but firm, his teeth graze my skin, sending electricity racing through my veins. “Walking through that market with your hand in mine. Smiling up at me like I hung the fucking stars. Looking at me with those big blue eyes like I'm something special.” He pulls back to look at me, his hands cupping my face with such tenderness it makes my chest ache. His thumbs stroke my cheekbones, and the contrast between the gentleness of his touch and the raw hunger in his eyes makes me dizzy.
“You make me lose control, Sweetheart.” His voice is rough, almost raw. “And I never lose control.” The intensity in his words, the way he's looking at me like he wants to consume me, sends heat flooding through my entire body.
I grab the front of his shirt and pull him back to me, kissing him with everything I'm feeling. Everything this man elicits within me. Everything I can't put into words. His answeringgroan vibrates through both our bodies as his arms come around me, one hand splaying across my lower back while the other cups the back of my head.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard. His forehead rests against mine, and I can feel his heart hammering against my chest.
“What about dinner?” I ask, though my voice lacks any real conviction. My fingers are entwined in his shirt, my body still pressed flush against his, and the idea of leaving this room right now seems impossible.
His eyes darken further, pupils blown wide with desire.
“Fuck dinner,” he growls. “I'd rather stay right here with you.”
A laugh bubbles out of me, breathy and delighted. “That's quite the statement from Mr. Plans-Everything-Weeks-In-Advance.”
“You truly are a terrible influence on me,” he murmurs, but he's smiling as he says it. That devastating smile that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners.
Then his expression grows more serious, more intense. “Tell me you want this too. Tell me you want to stay here with me.”
The question hangs between us, loaded with promise and possibility. This is it—the moment where we decide if today was just an extension of last night, or if it's the beginning of something more.
But when I look into his eyes, I already know my answer.
“I want this,” I whisper, my hands sliding up to cup his face. “I wantyou.”
Something in his expression shifts—relief and hunger and something that looks almost like reverence blending together.
“Thank fuck,” he breathes, and then his mouth is on mine again, his hands sliding down my sides, skimming the curves of my waist and hips, and leaving fire in their wake.
When his fingers find the hem of my dress, I feel him hesitate for just a moment—a silent question. My answer is to reach for the buttons of his shirt.
My fingers tremble as I work the buttons of his shirt, and my heart pounds with the electric anticipation humming between us. One by one, the buttons slip free, exposing the taut muscles of his intricately tattooed chest, a light scattering of dark hair leading down to the toned V of his hips. His skin radiates warmth under my touch as I spread the fabric wide before my palms glide over the defined ridges of his abs, feeling them flex beneath my exploration.
Cole's answering groan vibrates low in his throat, sending a shiver down to my toes. The hotel room's air vibrates with our shared urgency while the city lights filter through the curtains, casting shadows over his broad shoulders.
My heart gallops, every nerve alight with this intense pull between us that makes me feel alive, wanted, and utterly connected to him.
His hands match my desperation when they dive under the hem of my dress to skim up my thighs, and bunch the fabric higher with rough, deliberate tugs. Cool air kisses my exposed skin, but it's nothing compared to the heat of his fingertips brushing the lace edge of my panties. I press closer, my curves moulding to his solid frame as I feel the rigid heat of his thick cock straining against my thigh through his pants.
“Fucking Christ, Sweetheart, you're so damn soft,” he murmurs, his gravelly whisper caressing my jaw before his teeth nip at my neck, scraping just enough that I gasp. The sting blooms into pleasure, making me arch into him as my body responds to the sheer intensity of his touch.
Emboldened by his hunger, I shove his shirt off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor. My hands roam greedily over the powerful lines of his back, tracing the intricate tattoos that coverhis arms and torso—hidden masterpieces in black ink, only visible now as I draw him flush against me.
“Don't stop, Cole,please,” I breathe, my voice thick with need. “I need your hands on me.”
“Oh, I'm just getting started, baby,” he growls, and in one fluid move, he hooks his fingers into my panties and yanks them down my legs. The fabric tickles my skin before I kick it aside, leaving me bare and exposed with my silky dress hiked up around my waist.
Without hesitation, his hand cups my pussy, fingers parting my slick folds to plunge into the wetness that's been soaking for him since we kissed me at the rink. A moan is ripped from my lips, raw and unrestrained, as his thumb presses hard against my clit, rubbing in slow, teasing circles that make electricity zap along my spine.
