“And in my case?” I don’t know why I can’t stop poking. You’d think I would learn to shut up.
Cole cocks an eyebrow at me. “In your case, I’m making an exception.”
We turn down a shady street lined with elegant mid-century apartment buildings, and I find myself doing some calculations in my head. “So, uh — you must be a pretty successful artist?”
“Iam, actually,” Cole replies, a little stiffly. “But you know Mom and Dad — always trying to buy me to make up for not actually giving a shit about me. Technically, it’s their apartment, but I’m not gonna turn it down.”
Cole stops to usher me into a stately brick building with an arched doorway made of wrought iron and glass, and when he greets the doorman, I notice that he drops the annoyance in his voice, all sunshine and smiles where it counts. Then he’s pushing me towards the elevator, one hand on the small of my back, and I shiver at the touch, at once possessive and intimate.
“Cole —”
I turn to face him in the elevator, but I barely have a chance to let a single word escape my lips before he’s on top of me, his mouth covering mine as he crowds me against the wall. He’s wild, a whimper escaping his throat as he threads his fingers into my curls, yanking my head back hard enough to make my eyes water. But I’m feeling just as feral, a wave ofsomethingcresting inside me, and so I grab his hips, reversing our positions so that he’s the one with his back against the mirror, lifting him up on his tiptoes with the force of my kisses.
DING.
The elevator door opens, and Cole grabs both of my hands, yanking me down the hall. When we reach his door, he fumbles in his pocket for his keys, and I can’t help crowding in behind him, my lips at the nape of his neck, thrusting gently against his ass as my hands skate over the ribbed material of his tank top.
“Fuck, I’m never going to get this door open if you keep doing that —” he gasps.
“I could fuck you right here in this hallway if youwant —”
The keys slip from his fingers, and I crouch down to retrieve them. As I right myself, I slip between him and the door, keeping my back to the painted wood as I drag my open lips up over the rough fabric of his jeans, dampening his shirt as I slide upward, until I’m kissing him once more, one arm draped around his shoulders while the other slips the keys back into his hand. Behind me, I can feel a faint jingling, and then I’m stumbling backwards into the apartment as the door swings inward, Cole’s arm looping around my waist to keep me from falling.
“Try not to crack your head open, I just had these floors redone —” he growls, and I snort.
“Nice to know where I rank with you —”
I know this is insane, that we shouldn’t be doing this, that there’s no way this doesn’t end in disaster. But the truth is that I’ve been a little bit gone on Cole ever since I first laid eyes on him when I was seventeen, long before I understood what any of it meant. And as he’s kicking the door shut behind us, pinning me against the far wall, nearly bending me backwards as he mouths the side of my neck, I can’t remember what the problem is, why this is a bad idea. All I can think about is how he feelsjust the same— that maybe his hair is a little longer, maybe he’s a little sturdier than he was when we were teens, maybe his cologne is a little more expensive — but that it’s stillhim, and that he feels like coming homein a way that should scare me, thatwouldscare me if I wasn’t thinking about how good it was going to feel to pin him to the bed and fuck him.
I feel teeth on my throat, and my eyes fly open, my hand clutching his hair.
“Wait!I teach college students —”
Cole pulls back to study my face, his eyes heavy-lidded, a half-smile lifting a corner of his mouth. Then, with purpose, he lifts a hand, unbuttoning two buttons of my navy blue shirt and dragging my collar and undershirt aside to expose my shoulder. When he leans down again, pointedly fastening his lips over my bare skin and sucking a bruise there, I shut my eyes once more, my cock twitching in my jeans as I let him take me apart.
He’s on the move, pulling me away from the wall and beginning to steer me through the apartment, and as I look around me, I have the faint impression of a comfortable living room with original molding, a small but newly refitted kitchen, walls covered with Cole’s work — paintings and collages and drawings.
“This is a nice apartment,” I mutter, and he cackles.
“Do you want a fucking tour?”
“Absolutely fucking not —”
“Good, becausethisis the important room.” He shoves me through the door of his bedroom and shuts the door behind us. It’s not a particularly large room, but it has muted olive walls and a king-sized bed with asoft comforter printed all over with broad green leaves. Cole is eyeing me hungrily, shrugging out of his pink button-down shirt and then stripping his white tank top over his head, leaving him in nothing but his low-slung jeans. The bedside lamp is casting a soft glow over his willowy contours, the breadth of his shoulders and the hollow of his belly, and I’m pretty sure I’m already dead.
“You’re so goddamn pretty, JesusfuckingChrist —”
I’m walking towards him, grabbing him by the belt loops and dragging him forward so that I can kiss him roughly. His hands are scrabbling down the front of my chest, undoing my buttons one by one, and I let him push my shirt to the floor. But when he grabs the bottom hem of my undershirt, I balk.
“Is it okay if I leave it on — I mean, I don’t look like you —”
Cole studies my face, and for a moment his eyes flicker — whether it’s hurt or disappointment or sadness is hard to tell. But then he nods curtly, and pushes me back toward the bed until I’m collapsing onto the covers, pulling him down with me.
We’re both fumbling, trading kisses as we wriggle out of our jeans and underwear, and soon I have him spread out bare beneath me, his hair fanning across the pillow, my hand cupping his jaw as I kiss him. And I can almost make myself believe that no time has passed, that we’re back in my bedroom at home, thateverything is fine, that we still have our road in front of us, unblemished and free. But then —
“How do you want me?” I brush my thumb along Cole’s cheek and he freezes, his eyes blue saucers.
“Um —” He rolls away from me, pushing himself up on his knees and grasping the headboard.
