“It’s time to come for me, baby. Is your clit hard? Sensitive?”
“God, yes.”
“Then softly at first, harder if you need to. It’s my mouth on you now. My tongue tasting you. My tongue flicking over that sweet nub. Do you know how good you taste? I could eat you all day, all night.”
“Please,” I murmured as my hand teased my clit, faster then slower, as the world seemed to spin and I seemed to float, carried away on the swell of Cole’s deep, caramel voice. The sensation was wonderful—passion and pleasure that had such incredible potential.
I didn’t expect to fulfill that potential, though. But that was okay. Just the journey with Cole was amazing. Just the knowledge that he was the one who made me feel this way, like my skin was sparking with electricity. Like I could fly if just given the chance.
“That’s it, baby. You’re so wet. You’re so hot. Just a little more. Just a little bit higher and then I want you to come for me. Come on, baby. Explode with me right now.”
I cried out, then arched up in surprise and amazement and pure, golden pleasure. The orgasm rocked through me, hard and fast and all the more violent because I wasn’t expecting it and had no defense against it. I tried to breathe, tried to bring my body back down to earth, but all I could do was ride it out until, finally, I found myself curled into a ball on the wooden floor, my arms around my knees, and my body still trembling with the aftershocks of ultimate satisfaction.
“Katrina,” he murmured.
“Cole.” I rolled to my side so that I could see the phone and tried to imagine that it was Cole beside me, touching me, stroking me. That he’d brought me to orgasm—a feat that amazed me—then held me tight. And that he was holding on to me still.
“Hear me, baby,” he said. His tone, more serious than the moment called for, brought me to full attention. “I don’t see what isn’t there, and I don’t paint what I don’t see.”
I frowned, not understanding what we were talking about.
“You say that’s not you on my canvases and sketches, but you’re wrong. You’ve filled my days and occupied my nights. I know you, Katrina Laron, and you’re more innocent than you think. I’ve claimed you, baby, and that makes you mine. But maybe not in the way you think.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I know. But you will. Right now, I just want you to know that I will do whatever it takes to protect you. Even if that means protecting you from me.”
seven
“To husbands and houses,” Sloane said, lifting her Manhattan so that Angie and I could clink glasses with her. “Just a few more weeks, and you’ll each have one.”
Angie shot me a wry glance. “I’m claiming the husband,” she said, making both Sloane and me laugh.
“Not a problem,” I said. “I’m content with the house.” At the moment, I was very content with the house. And with the man. But I didn’t feel the need to share with my friends the fact that I’d just had phone sex in my soon-to-be living room. Especially not since I was still enjoying the glow.
“For now you’re content with a house,” Sloane said. “But soon you’ll want a man for changing lightbulbs and mowing the front yard. That’s just the way the world works.”
“Is that why you’re so keen on Tyler?” Angie teased. “His excellent lightbulb-changing skill?”
“That’s one of the benefits of living in a suite at The Drake,” Sloane said archly. “We don’t have a front yard, and maintenance takes care of the bulbs. Which frees up our schedule nicely for sex.”
And since neither Angie nor I could argue with an answer like that, we all clinked glasses and took yet another sip.
We’d been in Coq d’Or, the historic bar inside The Drake hotel, for over two hours now. I was on my third Manhattan, and was enjoying the kind of pleasant buzz that comes from a mixture of good alcohol and great friends.
Angie propped her elbow on the bar, then rested her chin on her fist as she looked past Sloane to me. “It occurs to me that your house is going to need more than a few fresh lightbulbs and a neatly trimmed yard. I imagine Cole’s pretty handy with a toolkit.” She caught Sloane’s eye, and they both snorted with laughter.
I just shook my head in mock reproach.
“Aren’t you going to tell us what happened?” Sloane asked. “You were both at the gala, and then you both disappeared.”
“A woman doesn’t kiss and tell,” I said archly.
“At least there was kissing,” Angie said.
I held up my hand. “Stop the madness.” I wasn’t inclined to discuss the strange development of my relationship with Cole, but I grinned and let some laughter into my voice, just so that my friends wouldn’t pick up on my hesitancy. “We’re running out of time and we need to talk about the wedding. Just a few more weeks,” I said to Angie. “Are you nervous?”
“About what?” she asked, so sincerely that I knew she wasn’t joking.
“Aren’t brides supposed to be nervous?” I asked.
She lifted a shoulder. “If they are, I’m not sure why they get married. How could I be nervous about spending my life with Evan?”
“I think it’s the wedding more than the husband that stresses out most brides,” Sloane said.
“Fortunately, we both have my mother for that,” Angie said, looking pointedly at me.
“And for which I am completely grateful.” When Angie had asked me to be her maid of honor, I’d told her that I would be happy to take on the role, but if she wanted a sane and stress-free wedding, she probably didn’t want someone as clueless as me handling all the traditional wedding-y things that the bride’s right-hand gal usually took care of.