Emory cries out, her hands pulling the sheet free from the bed. The elastic band snaps against my hand as I strain against her, gyrations slowing even as my heart thuds harder than ever.
I collapse on top of Emory, spent in more ways than one. Her limbs encircle me, holding me tight as she continues to gasp and groan through the aftermath of ecstasy.
This is the part where I would normally jump up, pull on my pants, and head for the exit. But not this time. I stay right where I am. It scares me to remain. If I stay, I have to admit, if only to myself, that this is more than just a physical tryst.
“Emory,” I whisper in her ear.
“Cole…” she whispers back. “You’re not going to fall asleep, are you?”
I lift my head enough that our eyes can meet.
“No, why?”
“Because,” she says, biting her lower lip. “I want more.”
She kisses my forearm, leaving a trail of softness up to my biceps. Her tongue darts out as she licks the elaborate inked designs on my skin.
“God, your tattoos are so sexy,” she says.
I kiss her, fierce and sudden, like Autumn lightning. Then I roll on my side, cradling her from behind.
She lets out an excited squeal when I get up on my knees and drag her perfectly shaped bottom up by her hips. Emory arches her body for me, peering a sly smile over her shoulder so I know just how much she’s wanting this. Wanting me.
I grip my rock hard member and guide myself past the soft arches of her pussy. Emory leans back into me, and two become one again.
Emory’s hands grip the dislodged and rumpled sheets as I drive my hips like a piston. Our mutual cries of pleasure grow louder, closer together. On impulse, I smack my palm against her ass. She cries out louder, and grinds herself into me with renewed passion and vigor.
So naturally, I have to do it again. And again, until her scream splits the air. The dimly lit bedroom becomes an echo chamber of her passionate cries. I groan, exploding inside her. My fingers dig into the pliant, supple flesh of her hips as my pumping hips slow, then stop.
We spoon on the bed, sweat mingling as it cools. I wrap my arms around her, hand cupping a breast, and press my lips to the back of her neck. God, I never want to let her go.
Not ever.
13
EMORY
Iluxuriate in the bed with Cole. Our breathing has slowed. I can tell he's close to drifting off to sleep. That’s okay. How could I possibly be greedy enough to want more from him tonight?
Except that I am that greedy. I start snuggling up, trying to get a rise out of him. Literally and metaphorically. But his soft snores soon draw a softer chuckle from my lips. I sigh and just content myself with his presence and warmth.
At some point, I drift off myself, into a deeper sleep than I’ve known for some time. If I dream, I don’t remember it.
Cole’s voice awakens me. There’s an edge of panic to it. I come alert, wondering if Julian or his accomplices have somehow surprised us.
But there’s no one here but us, and Cole is still asleep. His eyes are closed, his head jerking to the side. Whatever he’s dreaming, it can’t be pleasant.
All of the medals he earned. Purple Heart, Medal of Honor. Those things probably come with unimaginable trauma and baggage. I don’t know if I should wake him up or not. But his distress continues to grow, and he starts mumbling.
“Jake,” he cries. “Jake, what have you done? Why? WHY?”
“Cole,” I say gently, shaking him. “Cole!”
He sucks in a stuttering breath, and then his eyes open. For a moment, his gaze is wild and unfocused. Then he zooms in on me and his expression changes.
“Are you all right?” I ask.
“I’m fine,” he mumbles in a voice thick with sleep. “What’s up?”