Page 115 of Cole

Her father had moved to his penthouse in New York. Her parents were officially separated, and her father was in no hurry for a divorce. Given how he’d started his business with Issy’s mother’s money and signed a pretty stingy prenup, that made sense.

“Then we’ll stay here,” I murmured to my little sneak. Her hand was still on my leg, and the back of it brushed against my cock, half hard from her proximity, but put off by the presence of unwanted observers.

She bit her lip and her hand wandered over me again. I narrowed my eyes at her.

‘What are you up to, Goldilocks?”

“Nothing!” she exclaimed. “Why? Is there a problem?” She was the picture of innocence, teasing me when I couldn’t do a damn thing about it. Isabelle seemed to find my possessiveness absolutely adorable. She loved to tease me about being an old grump, or a prude, because I didn’t like anyone to see us so much as kiss in The Clutch, or anywhere else. She didn’t understand how she looked when she swayed into me, or the pretty pink tint on her cheeks just after.

I didn’t want to share that with anyone. Call me old-fashioned. Same as how I never went shirtless in the auto shop anymore.

Every single part of me was reserved for her. It was the very least I could do to show Issy how much I loved and respected her.

She seemed to find teasing me endlessly entertaining, however.

“These people won’t be here forever, sweetheart. Then you’ll answer for your crimes,” I murmured in her ear, and she just laughed.

“I should hope so, Grandpa Bear. That’s half the fun, don’t you know?” With a cheeky smile that nearly gave me a heart attack, she got up, her body shining in the moonlight, wet and delectable, and moved past me to climb out of the tub.

Lily had appeared and beckoned her. I could only watch her disappear around the side of the house.

So, I was Grandpa Bear now?

She was going to pay for that, and I couldn’t fucking wait.

When the last party straggler left, I waved them off before heading back to the deck. Isabelle was lying on a sofa beside the firepit, all wrapped up in a huge sherpa blanket. The fire was still high, and the area was toasty warm.

First, I pulled the blanket open, and stared down at my old lady.

Fuck, she was gorgeous.

The little triangle bikini top was absolutely scandalous. Seeing her wear it around company was an exercise in self-restraint, but I’d never impose the rules I had for myself on her. My Goldilocks could do whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted.

I tugged on the string of her top and it fell away easily. It slipped off, and I waited to see if the damp fabric moving would wake her, but it didn’t seem to.

Her nipples contracted when I licked them, her chest arching into me, even in her drowsy state.

“Mmm, that feels good. Am I dreaming?” she whispered in my ear.

“Yes, you’re dreaming, so just relax,” I told her, and untied her bikini bottoms.

I pulled it out of the way and spent a few seconds drying her damp skin with the blanket, then pressed her legs apart. Her cunt tasted like chlorine, and that indescribable essence that was just her. The most addictive taste I’d ever encountered.

I worked my tongue down her slit and slipped inside her, before moving up to her clit. Her thighs fell farther apart, allowing me access to every single part of her.

I wet my finger in her juices and slid it inside her. She was unbearably tight. Impossibly so. I worked her until she was writhing on the sofa, the blanket forgotten, her skin flushed and pink. I pushed her right to the edge, and her fingers sank into my short hair and pulled.

“Wait, I don’t want to come without you inside me,” she panted.

Fuck me. This woman would be the end of me, and I’d have no regrets.

“Your wish is my command, Goldilocks. Get up for me,” I told her, pushing my jeans down.

She stood up and held onto my arms. The firepit behind her outlined her silhouette in burning gold. Her hair glowed with it.

“Turn around for me and pretend to be a good girl,” I instructed her. She stuck her tongue out at me but complied. I guided her to a chair just beside us, something with a soft cushioned seat and a high wooden back.

“Kneel right there, baby, and bend over and hold on tight,” I murmured, positioning her. She held onto the back, and I pressed her legs together so her ass rose higher into the air.