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“You did what you had to do to survive,” he tells me, the same thing he said to me earlier. “We all have to do things we wouldn’t normally have to do to survive.”
A deeper meaning is behind those words, so I ask, “What do you mean?”
He thinks for a minute, debating whether to tell me or not. I see the minute he decides to tell me. His face tightens, and a dark look flashes in his eyes, worrying me.
“Did Mum tell you about my childhood before they adopted me?”
I lean against the fridge, feeling saddened already and he hasn’t even told me anything yet. “Not really. She just mentioned it wasn’t good.”
“It wasn’t. My mum was a drug addict, my dad long gone. She cared more about getting her next fix than her own child. I know I was only five, but I remember stuff that I wish I didn’t. I ate out of dustbins just so I wouldn’t starve to death.
“When that started making me sick, I started eating the other kids’ lunches at school. I knew it was the only way I would get a decent meal. We all have to do things we wish we didn’t have to do so we can survive. Does it make us bad people? No. What happened with Logan isn’t the same, I know, but I know the conflict and war you have going on inside that head of yours. Like I knew back then that I needed to eat to live, even if it was scraps, you knew that you needed to fight back so you could live.”
I’m stunned. I knew it was bad, but picturing a little Cole at five years old, starving to the point he had to eat dirty food and steal… I shake my head, my eyes watering at the pain that little boy must have gone through. Even with everything he’s lived through, he’s still managed to turn out perfect. He isn’t bitter or angry. He just carries on moving forward, taking each day as it comes. It makes me see him in a new light, as a new person. It also explains why last week, he paid for some homeless man’s lunch.
We were all ready to leave McDonalds when Cole went back up to the counter and ordered a bunch of meals. We all thought he was crazy since he ate so much already. But then we got outside, and he handed it to the homeless man sitting in a doorway of an old charity shop. He didn’t even stick around for a thank you; he just kept going like it didn’t mean anything. It did though. I could tell it meant a lot to the homeless man to get a warm meal when he began crying, choking out a raspy thank you.
My heart melted more for Cole. I knew I was falling for him, and every day that passes, I fall even harder.
“I… I don’t know what to say. I can’t even begin to imagine what that must have been like for you,” I whisper, and gasp when he steps in front of me, placing his hands on my hips.
“You don’t need to. I’m only telling you this because I know what it’s like to let things fester. You did what you needed to do and you shouldn’t feel bad for that,” he whispers back, his hand lifting and running through my hair. I nuzzle my face into his palm, my eyes closed, savouring the feel of him.
“What are we?” I blurt out, changing the whole conversation in a one-eighty.
He gives me a slow, seductive smile, his hand cupping my jaw, before leaning down. His nose brushes along mine before his lips become a whisper over mine. My body is aware of him, all of him, and how each muscle ripples when I place my hands on his shoulders so I can steady myself.
Yep! That’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it.
I take a large gulp, as I clench my thighs together. I take in his handsome face, the line of his cut jaw, the way his chin dips in a little, and when I gaze a little higher, my heart accelerating, I take in his full, luscious lips. His bottom lip is fuller than the top, the top lip bow-shaped, lips most girls would pay good money for. His tongue snakes out, wetting his bottom lip across where his cut is, and I sigh, feeling hypnotised.
Everything about him is flawless, not just his chiselled looks and tanned, smooth skin or how cut his abdomen is.
As I study his appearance, I find myself gazing into his half-lidded, clear as crystal eyes. His burning irises search mine, anchoring me. I’m so lost in them that I don’t hear him speak. I notice, from the corner of my eye, his lips move, entrancing me.
“What?” I ask, shaking my head, forgetting I even asked him a question because I became so lost in him.
“You’re mine,” he announces. “I said you’re mine.”
I grin widely, my heart fluttering like crazy. Anyone looking at us from the outside would think he just told me Santa is real, but from those two words, I feel like he can move the universe. I’ve never felt so special, so wanted, in all my life.
“And you’re mine?” I ask, the question slipping from my lips before I can think better of it. I lick my bottom lip nervously, and his eyes darken when they catch the movement.
“Always,” he whispers, before his lips crash down on mine. I gasp into his mouth, and he uses that as an invitation to slip his tongue inside, massaging it against mine in rough, hard strokes. Needing more, I grip his neck and pull him closer, my back slamming against the fridge. We’re both breathing heavily but neither of us part for air, only catching a little before going back for more.
Grinding my hips against his, he growls low and deep. I swallow the sound, feeling more turned on than I ever have before.
His hand on my hip slips slowly down to my thigh, kneading the flesh he can feel through my fishnet tights. I mewl against his mouth, arching my back, and when he raises my leg so he can step closer, I welcome the pressure, needing more from him. He lifts me effortlessly, pinning me to the fridge, his hard-on evident and pressed against my core. I feel like I’m going to explode, my skin feeling on fire.
“We should slow down,” he pants against my mouth, his fresh, minty breath blowing softly against my lips.
“No! No, we shouldn’t,” I whisper back, needing him more right now than I’ve ever needed anything or anyone in my life.
“Low,” he groans, grinding his hips against mine. A low moan escapes my mouth.
“Oh God, more,” I breathe out, my voice raspy.
He lifts me away from the fridge and carries me down the hall to my bedroom, kicking the door shut behind us.
