Then he was pushing against her with his body, walking her backward as he continued to nibble and lick his way down her neck and shoulder. Caught up in the incredible pleasure of his light caresses, she barely noticed that he had walked her across the foyer to the front parlor she used as a living room.
But suddenly, they were in the dimly lit room and he was shifting her, turning her in his arms so that her back was against his chest.
She reached out and flicked on the lamp near the door and he murmured his approval, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the huge, full-length mirror that ran the length of one wall.
Before she knew what was happening, he’d moved them so that they were positioned in front of the mirror. She felt a flicker of nervousness work through her, but she didn’t protest. Tonight—for better or worse—she was in Cole’s hands.
“What do you see?” he murmured as he slipped his T-shirt over her head. His hands went to her breasts, cupped them from behind, and his thumbs played gently over her nipples.
“I see you,” she answered, and it was no less than the truth. Here in the dim light of her living room, she did see him—all of him. The strong, powerful body. The wary eyes. The gentle heart that beat beneath the rough, domineering exterior.
“You are so unbelievably beautiful,” he whispered into her ear. “I can’t believe how beautiful you are.”
She tried to turn, wanting to wrap her arms around him, but he held her fast, one large hand splaying across her pelvis to lock her in place.
“I want you to watch me take you,” he murmured. “I want you to see everything I do to you as you feel it. I want you to watch my hands and lips and body take yours.”
Heat spiraled through her, had her pushing her back more firmly against his chest. His muscles rippled at the strong contact, his cock growing even harder and longer against her back. She reached behind her, cupped his ass through his sodden jeans and held him tightly against her. She needed to feel him, to anchor herself in the press of him against her—otherwise she would simply spin away, her body and heart and soul no longer hers to control.
Nothing in her whole life had ever felt as good as Cole did. The feel of his body behind her, the touch of his hands as they glanced over her body again and again. She grew wetter, hotter, lust building in her with each touch of his fingertips.
She moaned, her hands clenching on his ass as she demanded more from him. But he merely laughed. “Don’t be so impatient, sweetheart,” he murmured against her ear as he slowly slipped her wet pants down her legs. “We’ll get there eventually.”
“I need you now!” It was a whimper, a plea for mercy, and they both knew it.
But Cole had no mercy in him, and as she watched his eyes darken to blackest obsidian, she knew she was in for it. Tonight, now, Cole would be satisfied with nothing but everything she had to give.
He groaned, his breath coming in hot gasps against her cheek for long seconds before he pulled away to yank off his own clothes. “And I need to make you crazy, need to hear you scream my name as you come.”
Her legs trembled, but she locked her knees in place, refusing to give up so easily. Refusing to give in.
Cole chuckled low in his throat, as if he sensed her resolve. “Don’t fight me, Genevieve.”
“Don’t push me, Cole.” She mimicked the half-amused tone of his voice, even as her body throbbed for his possession.
He caught her eyes in the mirror and for endless seconds there was nothing else—just that one hot, elemental connection. She wanted to jerk away, wanted to close her eyes. It was too personal, everything she felt laid open to him in one blinding instant. But his eyes caught her, trapped her, held her spellbound, and all she could see was him. All she wanted was him.
Then he was moving, his hard fingers cupping her aching breast. She jerked, arched into the sensation. And melted as his fingertips swirled around and around her nipple, each circle bringing him closer to the aching bud, though he never touched it.
It was a double shot of sensation, to watch and feel those long, elegant hands touching her. Heat, rapid and all-consuming, built in her, raced down her nerve endings into every part of her body.
“You have the most beautiful breasts,” he said softly as he raised his left hand and cupped her other breast. “Look how pretty they are, Genevieve.”
“Cole.” It was a protest, a plea, and one he had no trouble ignoring.
“You’re skin is such a gorgeous shade of ivory, with just the barest touch of rose. And so soft—you’re so incredibly soft here, like the most expensive silk. And these—”
Finally, his hand glanced across her nipples and she moaned, arching into the contact, every cell in her body focused on that one brief moment of contact.
“These are incredible. Sweet, responsive—” Again he ran a finger across her nipple; again she arched against the contact, seeking more. “And so damn sexy I could spend my life right here, loving them.
“Can I do that, Genevieve?” His breath was hot against her cheek, his words even hotter. “Can I suck these gorgeous nipples for hours? Can I slide my cock between your breasts and into that hot little mouth of yours? Can I come in your mouth, on your breasts? On your stomach? In that hot little ass of yours?”
“Cole!”
His breathing was coming heavier, his big body shuddering against hers as his words wound their way around them both, chaining them more and more tightly together. “Can I, Genevieve? I need to be in every part of you, need to know that I’ve marked you, branded you. Claimed this hot little body of yours until all you feel is me.”
His fingers tugged on her nipples and she screamed as fire whipped through her. “Until all you know is me.”
“Yes,” she gasped, her head thrashing back and forth against his chest as she tried to get closer to him. She wanted to take him every way she could, needed him in every part of her.
He leaned down, bit her neck, and she whimpered, her body going into sensory overload. But he didn’t give her time to process her feelings. Instead, he kept moving, his tongue and lips and teeth trailing hot kisses over her shoulders and upper back even as his fingers continued to squeeze and flick and rub against her sensitized nipples.
It was too much, the heat rushing through her body. The lust clenching at her womb. Her eyes drifted closed as she savored everything Cole could do to her body with such little effort.
“Look at me!” he barked, and her eyes flew open, electricity sizzling along her nerve endings.
“You don’t own me!” she shot at him, resentment that he could stay so cool while she was so turned on suddenly rampant within her.
But he merely laughed and slid a hand down her stomach to her sex. And shoved two long fingers roughly inside of her. “Don’t I?” he asked, as she cried out, her body bucking wildly against his as need—raw and overwhelming—stripped away everything but the desire to be underneath this man as he took her any and every way he wanted to.
“Don’t do this to me,” she whimpered, even while she moved her hips restlessly against him, seeking more. “Don’t make me give you everything.”
“I want everything.” He circled his thumb around her clit and hurtled her into an orgasm so intense her knees collapsed beneath her. She would have fallen, but he caught her, held her up with one powerful arm against her belly. “I need everything.”
“Why?” Once again, she met his eyes in the mirror, saw the heat and lust reflected in his.
“Because I’m giving you everything I can.” His teeth sank into her shoulder and she shuddered, her body erupting again.
She couldn’t take it—it was just too much. Watching him and hearing him and feeling him—she couldn’t think, couldn’t catch her breath, couldn’t do anything but experience.
Ripping herself out of his arms, she turned and sank to her knees in front of him. “Genevieve!” His voice was low, warning, but she paid no attention to it. She couldn’t; all her concentration suddenly focused on the lon
g, hard cock in front of her. Leaning forward, she stroked her tongue up and around his huge length.
Cole’s breath slammed out of him, his hands tangling in Genevieve’s hair of their own volition. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, wasn’t how he’d planned it. But it felt so good, so fucking good, as she ran her tongue over his testicles before taking them into her mouth and sucking gently.
“Fuck, Genevieve.” His hands tightened in her hair and he tried to pull her away, but she wrapped her arms around his upper thighs and hung on. And then he couldn’t fight anymore, didn’t want to fight, as the most incredible pleasure of his life slammed through him.
He glanced into the mirror and nearly came at his first sight of Genevieve’s naked back. It was incredible, intense, more arousing than he thought possible to be able to watch her from the back and the front as she took him.
When she finally pulled back, giving his balls one last kiss, he didn’t know whether to give thanks or howl in disappointment. But she wasn’t done—not by a long shot. Now her hot, gorgeous mouth was swallowing him whole.
Fuck, he was going to lose it, his cum boiling up inside of him. What was it about Genevieve, about this cop with the serious eyes and fuck-me mouth, that ripped his control to such shreds?
He didn’t know, and in that moment didn’t care. He was held in thrall by Genevieve and her hotter-than-hell mouth.
His teeth clenched, his jaw locked as the moist, sexy heat of her mouth drew him in deep. Her tongue ran in circles around his throbbing cock—up and down and around until he was clinging to control by his fingertips.
He looked down, watched as she slid him back and forth between those cherry-red lips of hers. Her eyes were closed, her long, golden lashes resting on her cheeks as she tucked the head of his cock against the roof of her mouth and slid him down her throat.
“Look at me!” His voice was low, guttural, more animal than human. But she understood what he was saying and those beautiful blue eyes flew open. He stared into their cobalt depths as she took him—as he fucked her mouth and she fucked him up—and wondered if he would ever be the same.
But then the pleasure exploded through him, sweeping up from his balls to the base of his cock, taking him by surprise as she sucked a little harder, her tongue wiggling over the sensitive spot on the underside of his cock.
“Fuck!” It was a groan, a plea, a prayer, but his big, bad cop had no mercy in her soul. She took him deeper, her hands clenching on his ass as she worked her throat convulsively.
And then he was coming, spurting inside of her, his cum jetting furiously into her mouth. She took it all, swallowed it down, consumed him and left him so damned shaky he nearly fell on her.
And still he burned.
Pulling her up by the hair, he spun her around, shoved her—stomach down—onto the couch. She moved to her knees, wiggling that sweet ass of hers, and it was as if his orgasm of a moment before had never happened.
With a growl, he launched himself at her, slamming himself into her hot pussy again and again. She screamed, pushed back against him. Her fingers tangled in the cushions, her head thrashed from side to side and her vaginal muscles gripped him in fits and spasms that had him seeing stars.
“Genevieve!” he called her name as the orgasm rose sharply in him.
“Cole!” Her voice—her goddamned peaches-and-cream voice—was low, breathless, hotter than hell. And then she was screaming his name, her pussy clenching around him as her climax hit, the waves milking him despite his best efforts to hold on.
With a cry—of thanks, of need, of bone-wrenching fear at being so vulnerable—he came, emptying himself inside of her. Giving her everything he had in one bone-crushing, mind-numbing, soul-searing orgasm.
And when it was over, when he held Genevieve’s trembling body against his own, he couldn’t help the feeling that things would never be the same.
What had he done?
What had he let her do?
Chapter Seven
Hours later, they lay in an exhausted heap on her bedroom floor, having fallen out of the bed sometime in the middle of their last encounter—though Cole had no recollection of the fall.
How was it possible, he wondered, for him to have come so many times and still not be sated? He wanted Genevieve not just sexually, but all the way deep inside of him in a place he barely acknowledged anymore. A place he thought he’d killed off when Samantha had died.
He’d found it tonight when he’d been skulking in the shadows, hanging around the police station, hoping for a glimpse of Genevieve. He’d thought about going in, had even started up the steps a time or two, but he hadn’t been able to do it. Every time he thought of going down the hall to homicide, he broke out in a cold sweat. There was no way he’d actually make it down the hall without freaking out—the memories were still too powerful.
So he’d lurked in the shadows, getting angrier and angrier at her the longer he waited. He’d been angry that she’d walked out on him without so much as a phone number, furious that she hadn’t felt the same way as he had about the one night they’d spent together.
He’d been thinking about the previous night when she’d finally come out of the station, remembering what it had felt like to taste her while his hands cupped her breasts. He’d been aroused, uncomfortable, and more than ready for action.
Which was just one of the many reasons he’d lost it when he’d finally gotten her in his arms. Thank God she hadn’t seemed to mind.
Genevieve sighed and wiggled against him. His cock hardened—though he would have sworn it was impossible only minutes before—and he lowered his mouth to the purple bruises that covered her shoulders.
Sneaking his tongue out, he swirled it from one bruise to the next, playing connect the dots with the small hickeys. Slowly, he traced them, moving from her shoulder to her neck to the soft, sweet skin of her breasts. She was covered in the little love bites, no part of her body completely unblemished by his need to brand. To claim.
He’d never felt this possessive before, had never needed to mark a woman so obviously. Part of him was ashamed of his lapse in control, frightened of this desperate need she brought forth so effortlessly from him.
Because he was confused—his instincts demanding that he both dominate and comfort, he took his time soothing the little marks, sliding from one to the next with soft strokes of his tongue. Not an apology, exactly, but an acknowledgment of what he’d done. What he’d been driven to do.
Genevieve started trembling before he’d finished with her right breast, her fingers tangling in his hair. He relished the small pain, tilted his head so that she could grab more. Pull harder. And she did, her actions sending pinpricks of ecstasy cascading through his body.
Shifting a little, he turned her so that he could reach the other bites and bruises. Let his lips trail from her breast down her stomach to her sweet pussy, which was already dripping honey for him.
“Cole, no more.” Her voice was hoarse, the hands clutching his hair tighter than they had been just moments before.
“Just one more, sweetheart.” He licked lazily up the center of her, let his tongue linger on her responsive little clit. She arched against him, her hands tightening even more. With a flick of his tongue and a thrust of his fingers he sent her careening over the edge again, her cries only making him hungrier.
He could do this all night, all day, he thought as he buried his face in her, took her up again. He loved how she smelled, how she tasted—sweet and spicy and so delicious he swore he could live off her alone.
“Cole!” Genevieve’s breath broke and she shuddered against him, her body giving him all the encouragement he could ever need.
Easing to his back, he pulled her slender body over his, relishing the feel of her in his arms. He knew he shouldn’t feel like this, not just because it was too soon but because caring for her would probably lead to heartbreak—but he couldn’t help it. With a sigh, he lifted her so that she was sitting above him, her l
egs falling open on either side of his jaw. And set about making her come … again.
It was becoming an obsession, this desire to see her climax. This need to make her respond to him. But as he thrust his tongue inside of her—a place he’d already been more times than he could count—she trembled and arched away from him.
Surprised by her reaction—after she’d spent so many hours letting him do whatever he pleased to her—he frowned and slid her down his chest in an effort to see her eyes. But she turned her face away, and though she was sitting on him, her hot pussy poised over his very aroused cock, she suddenly felt far away.
Sitting up, he reached to cup her cheek with a hand that was shaking more than a little. His fingers came away wet and panic raced through him. Grabbing her chin between his thumb and index finger he tried to get her to turn her head to look at him.
But she refused, kept her face steadfastly turned away, and that’s when he knew for certain. It wasn’t sweat pouring down her face. She was crying.
Genevieve was crying.
Fuck! What had he done to her? Had he somehow hurt her? But he’d felt her response in the hardness of her nipples, in the hands clenching his shoulders, in the rhythmic contractions of her pussy as she’d come again and again. Yes, he’d been rough, but she’d seemed to enjoy it as much as he had.
Springing to his feet, he lifted her in his arms and settled her on the bed. Watched as she curled into the fetal position away from him, tremors shaking her slender body.
Furious, shocked, desperate to understand what he’d done, he settled on the bed beside her. Then, because he couldn’t not touch her, he softly stroked a hand over her hair.
But she was struggling, sobbing, her hands clenching into fists as strangled sounds came from her parted lips. Glancing up, he saw her eyes, glazed with pleasure, delirious with it, but also frightened. Wary. He was pushing her too hard, taking everything she had to offer, giving her incredible pleasure in return.
But it wasn’t enough. She needed more from him, needed something he wasn’t sure he still knew how to give. In those moments when she was utterly lost in her body’s response, when the pleasure all but overwhelmed her, she needed tenderness. He only prayed he still had it in him to give it to her.