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I clawed at the bed, trying to get away one last time before he won. He gripped my hair, winding the length of it around his hand and pulling. I whimpered as he got on top of me.
“Don’t worry, baby.” His breath was hot and rough on my ear. “I can take this off with one hand.”
Cole took his time with the bra. He gave my ass a hard squeeze, curving his thumb to brush against my entrance. He brushed that same hand in a slow path up my spine until it slid under the band of my bra.
He drew the hand away, pinching the clasp of my bra with practiced ease. It gave way, releasing the heavy weight of my breasts against the bed. One rough grapple later, I was turned onto my back.
Cole leaned over me, brushing his nose against mine. “I win,” he said before claiming my mouth in a victorious kiss.
My mind still told me to fight him off, and I shrank into the plush mattress as if trying to avoid his contact. I wasn’t ready to concede.
But he kept up with that sweet pressure against my lips, and I eventually relaxed into it. I answered his slick movements with my own, closing my mouth over his lower lip, tasting the tip of his tongue as it traced my lip. I sighed softly through my nose as he cupped my breast with tender care, his fingers brushing over my nipple.
I started to feel the pang of absence between my legs as my fight-or-flight instinct gave way to desire. I wanted him inside me. His fingers, his cock, something.
I let my legs open to him, moaning at the rough texture of denim as I slid my thigh against his hips by way of invitation. He parted from the kiss just enough to meet my gaze.
“Need me to touch you, baby?” he asked.
I thought touching was only the natural conclusion to this little experiment in wrestling, but we’d never discussed anything after the removal of my clothes. My heart warmed at how careful and attentive Cole always was with me, even after chasing me around the house and literally tearing my clothes off.
“Please,” I murmured.
He nodded, his eyes burning into me as he reached down between my legs with the same hand that had been cupping my breast. He watched my face as he slid one finger into me, then a second one along with it.
I melted into the touch, exhaling shakily and letting out a quiet whimper. He answered that reaction with a slow, delicious rhythm of his fingers sliding in and out of me. Every touch was deliberate, every stroke lingering. This was not a hard and fast finger-bang; this was strategic. He started with a come-hither motion against the curve of my G-spot before spreading his fingers out and doing a slow retreat. Just before his fingers slipped out of me, he thrust them inside me again.
Within minutes, I was a quivering, whimpering mess. Each slow stroke made me cry out louder and louder for him.
“Cole,” I moaned. “God, Cole!”
“That’s it, baby,” he said, unnervingly calm. “Come for me, sweetheart.”
After a few more strokes, I did. My thighs squeezed around his wrist, my hips bucking as he coaxed the last bit of release out of me. I went slack, and he bent down to kiss me again.
This time, the kiss was gentle and loving—a kind transition from the high-intensity experience we’d just had. When he broke the kiss, we sighed dreamily in unison.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if that tub was overflowing by now,” he said with a chuckle. “You put up more of a challenge than I thought you would.”
“Really?” I asked a little breathlessly. “Did you think I’d just lie there like a dead fish?”
“To be entirely honest with you, I wasn’t sure how well you’d take to the whole thing. Especially with...well, you know.”
I did know. He was referencing the number of times I’d been pursued in a very real way. All the same, Cole hadn’t seemed all that concerned about it before we started. No more concerned than usual, anyway.
“I thought we might have to stop and I’d need to calm you down,” he admitted. “I wouldn’t have been at all upset if that happened, but I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect.”
“But you didn’t say anything against it before we started,” I said. “Why didn’t you?”
“Because you brought this up all on your own, and I didn’t want to scare you away from it when I knew I was likely projecting.” He lay down next to me and placed his hand on my stomach. “And I’m glad I didn’t, because I was clearly wrong about what I thought you could handle.”
I nodded, pursing my lips and looking up at the ceiling. I wondered if he realized the irony of trusting my agency in this matter, but not in me wanting to become a shifter. I thought about pointing that out to him, but decided not to. I’d just had a pretty intimate experience with him, and I didn’t want to ruin it by bringing up that subject when we’d already argued about it.
“That was fun,” I said instead.
“Yeah?” he asked. “You liked it?”
I nodded. “It kind of felt like being chased on the playground. Like, it felt dangerous, but also exciting because I knew you wouldn’t hurt me.”
