Then I start to move. Tonight, I don’t want to be gentle. I’m possessive, and I take her hard. The couch creaks beneath us, accompanied by our ragged breaths and the sounds of our bodies joining.
She meets me thrust for thrust, her hips rising to meet mine, her legs locked around my back, pulling me deeper.
“I missed you,” I groan, the words torn from me.
“Me too,” she says with a breathy moan.
I slide a hand between us, and when I find her clit, I rub tight, fast circles. It doesn’t take long before her moans turn to whimpers.
She sounds so fucking sweet when she’s like this.
Her inner muscles clench around me, at the same time as a white hot detonation sears through me. I pour myself into her, my body shuddering with the force of it.
Moments later, I collapse on top of her, spent, the smell of sex and champagne and her perfume filling the air.
Then she starts to wriggle. “I love it when you’re on top of me like this, but damn, Cole, you’re heavy.”
With a laugh, I slide off her to the remaining space on the couch.
Her hands come up, stroking my damp hair, my back. I finally find the strength to lift my head and look at her. She’s smiling, a soft, sated, beautiful smile.
“Tell me about the game,” she says in a hoarse voice.
Laughter bursts out of me. “That's your idea of pillow talk?”
17
Harper
I sink deeper between Cole's thighs on the couch, letting my head fall back against his chest as his fingers work through my hair. The tension in my temples begins to ease under his gentle massage.
“You're working too late again,” he says, his voice carrying that scolding tone I've grown used to over the past six weeks. “When was the last time you got a full night's sleep?”
“I sleep plenty,” I lie, closing my eyes as his thumbs find the knots at the base of my skull.
“Harper.” There's a warning in his voice.
“Fine. Maybe I've been pushing a little hard lately.” The understatement of the year. Between the Renegades events and the charity auction that's now three days away, I've been running on caffeine and determination.
Six weeks. That's how long we've been doing this dance. Stolen mornings, quiet dinners, nights tangled together in his bed or mine. Six weeks of keeping our relationship completely private, and somehow we've managed it. No one suspects anything, not even my observant team.
“These late hours are not good for you,” Cole says, sounding like a papa bear.
It makes me smile. Before I can argue back, the TV catches my attention. The program cuts to a commercial, then returns with a different segment.
Entertainment Weekly's Rising Stars in Event Planning. I tense, and so does Cole. We were waiting for this.
And there's my face, filling the screen.
“Would you look at that,” Cole says, his hands going still in my hair.
“Don't stop,” I say quickly, needing the comfort of his touch.
He laughs and resumes the massage as my voice fills the living room.
“Event planning is about creating moments that matter,” I say to the interviewer. “Whether it's a corporate gala or a charity auction, people remember how you made them feel.”
I cringe. Did I really sound that earnest? The interview was this morning, squeezed between vendor calls and a site visit for Saturday's auction. I'd barely had time to check my reflection before the cameras rolled.
