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“I planned to instead steadily chip away at your defenses and subtly position myself more fully into your life until, before you knew it, you were utterly gone for me.”
My smile widened, my chest light and warm. “Gone for you?”
“Yeah. But then goddamn Ryland turned up and tried putting a ring on your finger,” he added, his words vibrating with a repressed growl. “There was no chance I wasn’t going to spell out for him that you’re mine in every sense of the word. I could tell that you wasn’t sure if I meant it.” He stretched out one of my curls, his gaze diving deep into mine. “I could also tell that you wanted me to mean it.”
“You weren’t supposed to be able to tell,” I mumbled.
He chuckled. “Most of the time, you’re not easy to read. But there are moments when your walls fall for just a few seconds, and then everything you’re feeling is plain to see on your face.” He dipped his head. “And such a beautiful face it is.”
He kissed me soft and slow and wet. I sank into it. Melted into him. Relished the heat of relief and joy that radiated in my chest.
He broke the kiss, his pupils blown. “I originally wanted to fuck you in your bed tonight, but your family is here, so how about we spend the night at my place?”
“I thought you had plans for this evening.”
“I canceled them so I could stay with you today while you recovered from your migraine hangover.”
“I’m fully recovered now.”
“I see that. But I’d still rather spend the rest of my day with you than go ahead with my previous plans. So, you up for coming home with me? We can talk more while there.”
I smiled. “I’d like that.”
“Good answer. Let’s go.”
Chapter Eleven
It turned out that Cole did in fact live in one of Redwater’s swanky mansions as I’d suspected. Like Inaya’s place, the estate had high walls, gorgeous landscaping, and plenty of land. The exterior of the house itself—if such a grand building could be called a house—was all style and opulence and tall glass windows.
As he gave me a tour of the inside, I realized it was just as stylish—not to mention spacious. His bedroom was particularly lavish, but not in an in-your-face way. It had a subtle, minimalistic luxuriousness. It was also incredibly masculine with the dark woods, neutral colors, and straight lines.
As I glanced around the room, I felt him come up behind me. He snaked his arms around my waist and buried his face in my neck. I leaned back a little, giving him some of my weight, and placed my hand over one of his. “When you said that your home was a little too big for one person, you downplayed the matter.”
He pressed a kiss to my throat. “Hmm.”
“I like it. It suits you.” It was impressively built and larger than life, much like its owner.
“Hmm.” He closed his teeth around my earlobe and gave it a little tug.
“You’re not even listening to me, are you?”
“Sure I am. But you see, my mind keeps flashing back to when Ryland was down on one knee in front of you, thinking to steal you from me. It’s making me feel very primitive.” He bit down on my neck.
My core heated. “So there’s a reason you left your bedroom until last when you gave me a tour?”
He turned me in his arms to face him and lowered his head, his gaze hot. “If you’re asking if my plan is for us to stay here awhile, the answer is yes.”
He closed his mouth over mine and swept his tongue inside. No teasing. No preamble. No easing into it. He just went ahead and ravished my mouth, taking it in a bruising, hungry kiss that set my nerve-endings on fire.
His hands tugged and yanked at my clothes, stripping me fast and roughly. I impatiently pulled at his own clothes, shedding them just as quickly. Our hands were bold and greedy as they roamed and squeezed and shaped whatever naked flesh they could reach.
Kissing him again, I curled my fingers tight around his cock—so hot and hard and thick—and gave it a quick pump. He cursed into my mouth and herded me backwards, until my calves collided with something. The plush chair near the bed, I realized as I briefly glanced behind me.
“Sit.”
That one word exuded so much authority that I felt my mindset instantly shift. The need to cling to control slipped away. The natural drive to be in charge of myself switched off its metaphorical engine. The activity going on in my mind leveled off as all my concerns and questions lost their hold on me. The man in front of me—his thoughts, his wants, his needs, his mood—became my entire focus.
I carefully sat, watching those huge pools of blue flare in approval.
