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Releasing her breast, he tugged at the hem of her tee. She helped him, and then they both worked to slide the top over her head.
Cole’s gaze settled on her chest, and she tried not to squirm. She’d always been self-conscious about her size.
“You’re even more beautiful than I remembered,” he breathed.
Then he bent his head and drew one tight bud into his mouth, bra and all, sucking her as if enraptured.
Oh. Oh. Oh. She didn’t think she was going to last. She needed Cole now. She ached for him, already halfway to release even though he’d only put his mouth on her.
When he lifted his head, he blew against her breast, and if possible, her nipple grew tighter against its thin and wet covering. Marisa nearly came out of her skin.
Cole unclasped her bra and pulled it off her. He ducked his head and took her breast deep into his mouth, laving her with his tongue and then swirling it around her nipple.
Marisa pulled his head close. Sal had never given her body this level of attentiveness while Cole acted as if he had all the time in the world. Fifteen years ago she’d held Cole to her breast like this. But now he was all man—strong, capable and sure of himself. The scar across his cheek was pulled taught, and the stubble on his face was a gentle abrasion against her skin.
She gripped his head as he transferred his attention to her other breast. Her head fell back, and her eyes fluttered closed. With the world shut out, only Cole and his touch existed, with an even greater intensity than before.
Cole lifted his head, and his breath hissed out. “What do you want, Marisa?”
She opened her eyes to meet his. “You know.”
“I want to hear you say it.”
“You. I want you.”
A look of satisfaction crossed his face. “Some things don’t change, sweet pea. I can’t keep my hands off you, either.”
In response, she guided his hands back to her breasts, where they could both feel her racing heart.
“Marisa, Marisa,” he mutt
ered.
He was all appreciation, and it was like a salve to her soul. She’d never felt like a goddess before, domestic or otherwise.
He gave her a gentle nudge, and she slid off the back edge of the sofa and onto the seat cushions, her legs dangling off one arm. Her mules hit the carpet with one muffled thud after another.
Cole pushed up her apron and then pulled off her biker shorts with one fluid movement. He stroked up her thigh, his calluses a shivery roughness against her skin—reminding her that he had a physical job as well as an office one.
“Ah, Marisa.” Pushing aside her underwear, he pressed his thumb against her most sensitive spot while his finger probed and then slipped inside her.
She gasped. “What are you doing?”
“What does it seem like I’m doing?” he murmured, his thumb sweeping and pressing in a rhythm that made her tighten unbearably. “I’m going to make you breathless, sweet pea.”
“Make me?”
It was the last thing she said before she gave herself up to sensation. Within moments she convulsed around him, her hips bucking. It was an orgasm born of a forbidden longing that had been brewing for fifteen years.
When she subsided, she realized Cole had satisfied her, but not himself. Her gaze connected with his, and she took in the intense expression stamped there.
“Yes,” he said huskily. “It’s going to be even better than before.”
Better than before.
Marisa heard a knock at the front door, but in her sexual haze, it took her a moment to react. Then she froze.
Cole stilled, as well, apparently having heard the same thing.
