“Let go,” he says against my ear, low and certain.“I’ve got you.”
The release crashes through me hard and I bury my face against his throat, biting back a cry that escapes anyway.My whole body shakes with it, clenching around him, and he groans deep in his chest and drives harder, chasing his own release with a single-mindedness that sends a second tremor rolling through me before the first one’s even finished.
Cole buries himself deep and goes rigid, my name from his lips low and strained, his grip tightening like he has no intention of letting go.
We stay tangled and breathing hard in the quiet aftermath.His lips press to my temple before lifting to look down at me, expression completely unguarded.
There’s no triumph, only satisfaction.No regret, only relief.
“You good?”
“Never better.”I run my fingers down his back, tracing the familiar planes of muscle.“What does this mean, though?”
“You mean us?”he asks, his eyes searching mine.“I don’t know but we definitely have some shit to figure out after we get you out of this mess.”
“Yeah… I guess we do.”
Maybe this is what we needed.It was always the unknown that Cole constantly fretted over, but now here it is.We’re both in the thick of it and he’s planted himself by my side despite his fears for me.
Maybe after he confronts this—and hopefully as I come out alive in the end—he’ll see that he can handle the dangers of my job.He’ll see that we can work through it together.
It never occurs to me that this isn’t feasible.It never occurs to me that we had our shot and missed it.This is a second chance and I’m going to grab on to it, and I’m going to ensure he does the same.
CHAPTER 9
Cole
Iwakebeforethesunand for a few seconds, I don’t move.I lie there, staring at the faint gray light filtering through the curtains, listening to the utter quiet enhanced only by Tessa’s deep breathing.
She’s draped over me, one leg thrown across my thigh, her cheek pressed against my chest like it belongs there.Her hair spills across my shoulder, silky against my skin.My arm is wrapped around her back, palm resting at the base of her spine, and I move it slowly, stroking up and down without thinking.
Last night was…
Jesus.
I’ve had five years to forget what it felt like to touch her but turns out… I didn’t forget a damn thing.I would never be able to count all the nights we slept just like this, her body a blanket over mine, and I wonder how I ever thought it was acceptable to let this go.
Was it all pride?Ego?Or just that deep, gut-wrenching fear I didn’t want to deal with, thinking the peace of not having to worry about her was better than the peace of having her lie against me?
Fuck if I know, but I do know last night was better than it had ever been.Deeper.More desperate.Like the pressure that had been building for half a decade finally ruptured.I should have had more control.I’m trained for control, and discipline, and measured responses.
Instead, the second I kissed her, it was like the world narrowed to skin and heat and the gift of having her at least in that moment.
But the warmth of that lasts only a second and then my jaw tightens at those pressing matters that turn my blood cold.Whoever killed Erik Lanning and had the video evidence erased is going to identify Tessa, and it’s only a matter of time.
I let my hand drift, tracing the curve of her hip and letting it ground me to the simple fact that she’s here right now.Breathing.Warm.Alive.
She stirs slightly but doesn’t wake and God, how I’ve missed this.
Not just the sex.Not just the way she fits against me like she was engineered for me and me alone.I’ve missed the sound she makes when she laughs at something stupid.The way she argues like she’s cross-examining a hostile witness.The way she makes a room feel fuller simply by standing in it.
We talked about it the other night on the rooftop and yeah, I’ve dated since Tessa.Good women.Safe women.Women I chose in the hopes they’d make me forget her, but none of them ever changed the air when they walked into a room.None of them ever made my heart race just with a simple smile.
I can admit it, at least to myself, but the last five years have felt flat.Like I’ve been moving through them on autopilot, convincing myself I chose stability when really, I chose loss.
Carefully, I shift her off me and ease out of bed.She murmurs incoherently and rolls onto her stomach, clutching the pillow.
I pull on a pair of sweats and step into the kitchen, grabbing my laptop from the counter.The house is quiet, but that doesn’t mean safe.It only means nothing is happening right this moment.
