Page 69 of Dirty Rich Cinderella Story

“More,” I whisper. “I do. I want more, so much more.”

His mouth closes down on mine, a crash of passion and demand that is everything I need, and I doneed. I didn’t want to, but I do, and I don’t fight it. I tug at his shirt and he tugs at mine. It’s a matter of seconds and I’m shirtless, braless, and pressed against the wall, and I’ve brilliantly managed to get his shirt off. Or maybe he just took it off. I don’t care. He’s closer to naked, and so am I. His fingers tangle in my hair, rough, erotic, and I think of that spanking; of me laying naked across his lap, right at the same moment that he’s tugging at my nipple, and I moan into his mouth.

He responds with a low guttural sound, impatiently working the snap and zipper on my jeans. “Why didn’t I do this while you were still in the damn dress?” he growls, nipping my lip as if punishing me for changing clothes, and then kissing away the pain, until I’m left panting when he’s going down on a knee. His mouth settles on my belly with a lick of his tongue following, where he lingers just long enough to drive me insane. I want his hand, his mouth. I want him inside me.

His hands finally move, sliding under the denim of my jeans, and impatience in his touch again as he drags them down, wraps his arms around my hips and lifts me, freeing my feet. The minute I’m back on the ground, his hands grip my ankles and he licks my clit, sending a wave of sensation through my body, before he’s back on his feet, and I really don’t know how it happens, but his pants are shoved down, and he’s rolling on a condom. Smart, I decide, since I can’t remember how long it takes to be safe on the pill. I didn’t care. I was in a sex-free zone I’m no longer in. Cole cups my backside with one hand, and his fingers of his other hand tighten in my hair. “I don’t share, sweetheart. All or nothing, means it’s all me. That’s where we’re at or there is nothing beyond this fuck.”

“I don’t want anyone else, Cole. I just want you. And I—”

His mouth crashes down on mine, his tongue pressing past my teeth, stroking me until I’m mindless. We are all over each other, touching and kissing, and I barely register the moment he lifts me.

“Damn it, woman, you are going to be the death of me,” he groans, and then somehow, he’s inside me. Oh God. Yes. He’s inside me, stretching me, filling me—hard and thick and—his arms wrap my waist and he steps back, away from the wall, my legs instinctively wrapping his waist. And then he’s pulling me down on top of him, and driving into me again, all in one fierce move, and I should fear I’ll fall, but I don’t. I never feel fear with Cole. I never feel regret unless I walk away. His fingers spread between my shoulder blades, his powerful body, thrusting, pumping, his hot gaze raking over my breasts, and I’m lost. The only time I’m lost and still found is with Cole. The only person who has ever made me feel like I won’t fall is Cole.

I hold onto him, I push against him, I let go, and just feel this man, and need this man. I don’t want this to end and yet, I don’t just need him. I need the way his gaze rakes hotly over my breasts. I need what every rough thrust, every touch promises. It comes at me with a hard pump of his hips, and a stroke of his cock that drives me over the edge. I cry out and stiffen, tumbling over the edge, release quaking my entire body, my sex clenching. Cole lets out a low, rough, groan that is so damn sexy, I feel that sound in every part of my body, and I watch the hard edges of his face distort and shift, ease with fierce masculine beauty, until his body begins to relax.

He pulls me close and just holds me for long seconds, still standing, holding my weight and his. Slowly, he lowers me, burying his face in my neck, as I do his chest. And now we’re in those moments after the passion when words matter. When what we say next will either keep us together or push us apart.

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