“You can have my shirt, too, if you want,” Charlotte says, a smile in her voice.
I twist toward her, my cheeks heating. The room blurs for a minute, and I drop onto my bed to keep from falling over. By the time my eyes can focus again, Charlotte’s already taken the curtains and assembled them, adjusting the fabric until it drapesjust the way she wants it over the large windows and patio doors. The sheer curtains cover most of the windows while the dark blue velvet panels stand as sentinels on either edge, effectively turning the entire exterior wall into a curtained accent piece.
She grins, a knowing gleam in her eyes, and walks toward me, her hips swaying with each step.
“Or I could roll around in your sheets for a bit,” she says. “That might be more effective than just leaving my hoodie down here when we go up for dinner.”
“You didn’t wear a hoodie down here,” I manage to say, my mouth suddenly dry.
She glances down at the plain black tee she wears. “True. Guess that only leaves me rolling, then.”
My breath catches in my throat as need rips through my body like a wildfire in the middle of a dead forest. Apple explodes around us, consuming every other scent that might have been lingering. The laundry detergent, the wood, the styrofoam, all gone under the weight of my own scent.
Charlotte’s eyes widen, and then she’s practically running, falling into me with way more grace than I could ever manage. Her legs are lean as they straddle me, her hands are confident as they twist into my hair. She’sgorgeous.
“Just roll?” I ask breathlessly, trying to make her laugh.
Her eyes sparkle as she grins. “I might be persuaded to do more than that. I could maybe flounce once or twice, too.”
“Hmmm,” I murmur before kissing her once. “I might need a demonstration. Just to make sure I know which one to pick.”
She grins, and then sage cocoons us, blending with my apple until I’m not sure I remember what they felt like separately. Here, in my room, there aren’t any cameras, aren’t people who are obsessed with rich people who don’t even want their money. Here, there’s just us. So I kiss her, cutting off her reply. I kiss her like I wish I could have on that bench in Seattle, how I wouldhave if I were anybody other than Sienna’s disappointment of an only son.
She settles more fully on top of me, her hips cradling against mine. When I finally pull away, she licks her lips, her eyes half-lidded and her chest flushed.
“What if I want something more than rolling or flouncing?” I ask, amusement gone from my voice. Instead, I push up into her, letting her feel the hard line of my dick. Her sage strengthens again.
“I could be persuaded,” she whispers.
I spread my hands along the waistband of her leggings before twisting my fingers into the hem of her shirt. Instead of pulling it off, though, I let my thumbs trace her skin, slowly bringing the hem of the shirt up with my movements. Her breath shudders out of her, an erratic rhythm, and sage emanates from her in steady, near-torturous waves.
“Fuck, you smell so good,” I admit.
Her cheeks flush with sudden embarrassment. I press my lips to the hollow of her throat. She tips her head back, giving me more room. My hands are to her breasts now, her shirt bunched in my grip.
“May I?”
She nods frantically. “Please,” she mutters.
I guide the shirt off her and then drop it behind me, right near my pillows. Her bra is a light brown that nearly matches her skin. I open the front closure without asking and then push the straps off her shoulders. Her brown nipples are peaked, her chest flushed. A strand of her hair falls between the swells as she tilts her chin back down, focusing on where I cup her and let my thumbs run along her sensitive nipples.
Eyes on hers, I lean forward and let my tongue trace one nipple and then the other, keeping my touch feather light, tryingto remember what it’s like to be with a woman. It’s been years—before Marcus—since I’ve touched anyone like this.
“Cole,” she whispers.
Her hands twist into my hair, pulling me closer as she arches into me, silently asking for more. I give it to her, taking her nipple fully into my mouth, sucking slightly before letting my teeth graze the sensitive flesh. She jerks in my lap with a curse. I ease away, giving the same attention to her other breast, scraping the nipple just a bit harder than before.
“Are you persuaded?” I ask, my own voice hoarse with need.
She nods. “Yes,” she says in a rush, “but I’ve never locked before.”
Of course she hasn’t. She hasn’t been with anyone but Marcus since she designated, and he wouldn’t trigger her lock.
“That’s all right,” I say, quickly stripping out of my shirt while she’s still straddling me. “Neither have I.”
Twenty-Seven
COLE
