The bedside clock is a judgy little jerk, asking me what I’m doing eating cheeseburgers at this hour. It should redirect that energy to the menace across the table.
I shift in my Hotel Bellwether robe(my own personal marshmallowy hug)and stare at a plate of lukewarm fries. I press my knees together. It doesn’t help. Nothing helps. Every time I breathe, my muscles twitch with the memory of him.
My entire nervous system is running hot while my mind plays a highlight reel of “The Cole Hartwell Experience: Extended Unrated Cut.”
The bed.
The velvet chair by the window.
Against the wall—twice, because Cole has good ideas too, sometimes.
Four times.
Four distinct, catastrophically ruinous, absolutely-not-going-in-the-incident-report times. Each one has a location. A sound. A specific moment where Ivy Ellison, professional woman-with-a-plan, turned into this other person who made noises she prays weren’t too embarrassing.
Cole Hartwell completely demolished my no-rival rule. I’ll need a search party to find the wreckage.
I shove a fry into my mouth and can’t even taste the salt. Does the highlight reel care? Nope. It’s still playing, full volume, no skip button.
God, the chair.
I throb at the memory. The ocean outside was relentless, waves crashing as he crashed into me. His palms, steady and certain, gripped my hips and pulled me right where he wanted me on his lap. The things he said… the things he commanded. Naughty things that I really,reallyliked. We both knew he shouldn’t be saying them.
“When you grind into me like that, your body is telling me exactly what it needs,” he murmured. “And baby, I never ignore a plea.”
“You’re—”
“Impossible?” His lips curled as his fingers slid lower, finding my clit. “Stop fighting it, Stopwatch. Let me show you how good we are.”
The way he kissed my breasts while his hands guided me up and down on top of him burned away every insecurity I’d ever had about being “too much.” Every touch of his mouth on my skin erased it all.
Then there was the wall.
Fuck.
He didn’t just go down on me. He ruined me. No rushing, no fumbling, only his unhurried tongue working in slow torment.His eyes were dark and determined, like he’d finally discovered his place in the world and it was between my thighs.
I should’ve collapsed. Should’ve begged him to stop.
I did neither.
I haven’t returned the favor yet.Next time, something low and feral in me thinks,I’m going to make him forget every word he knows.
“You’re doing that thing again.”
I blink, dragged back into the present.
Cole sits across from me annihilating a cheeseburger—a testament to the calories we burned together. His robe hangs open enough to be distracting, his hair a mess, his eyes heavy in a way that should not be that attractive at three in the morning.
“What thing?”
“Overthinking.” He gestures with a fry, completely serious. “You get this look like you’re labeling me. Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Put the mental spreadsheet away, Ivy.” He pops the fry into his mouth, “Eat your burger.”
“I am not thinking about you. I’m managing work stuff in my head,” I snap.
