Page 93 of Bad Reputation

A riot of sensation, really.

“The way I keep you is by doing this.” He pressed the heel of his hand against the V at the top of her thighs, and Maggie’s eyes went wide with understanding and heat.

Her palms smacked onto the marble vanity, the brush clattering to the floor. Cole nudged her feet wider apart with his toe. He squeezed the towel into the space she’d made for him. The space where he hoped she was aching for him.

“Cole.”

“That a yes or a no?”

“Yes.”

“I thought so.” In the mirror, he watched his forefinger rub over the towel, feeling for her cleft. He traced it, pressing the fabric, soft and scratchy at once, into her flesh.

Maggie was breathing hard now, and her green eyes were huge. He bit her shoulder. Sucked her flesh until it pinkened. He wanted to leave a mark right there. Something permanent and bright red that everyone could see.

This woman is mine.

But she hadn’t said that, not yet.

So he set about kissing her neck, her ear, her temple, all while he watched himself rub her into oblivion. Working her into a frenzy of feelings, until she was buckling between his hand and his crotch. Until she was crooning. Until she was begging him to fuck her.

Maggie kept her eyes open, holding his gaze. Then she was nodding frantically when her release started. Her lids slammed shut, and her face became a mask of pure ecstasy.

He’d done that, he was doing that, to her. Maggie was so contained, so poised, that the way she absolutely lost control when she came, it made him feel ten feet tall. Like a real-life hero, not the ones he played in Tinseltown.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, God, yes.”

The sweetest melody on earth, right there.

When she collapsed forward onto the counter, he gently pried the towel open, revealing the column of her spine, the flare of her waist. Her body was a miracle. An absolute miracle. He dropped the towel to the floor.

Against the counter, she mumbled, “That was ... holy cow.”

He turned her around before boosting her into his arms and setting her, naked, on the counter.

She looped her arms around his neck with a smile that was a little drunk. “What are you doing now?”

He set about kissing her until they were both breathless. The kind of kissing where nothing is held back, more like fucking than kissing. A grappling, sweaty thing that you did with your whole body. And it would’ve been embarrassing, how desperate he was for her, how needyshe made him, if Maggie hadn’t been clinging to Cole just as hard as he was to her.

His lips skidded down her neck. “I’m going to die if I don’t get your sweet tits in my mouth.”

“No one has ever died from that. And Cole, I—” Whatever else Maggie was going to say turned into a moan, because the woman really, really liked that.

Sadly, with his face buried in her skin, he couldn’t see her expression anymore. But he still had her noises. Her legs wrapping around him, trying to pull him closer. Her fingers in his hair, holding him in place.

When he couldn’t take it any longer, he released her nipple with a pop, and he began digging in a drawer for the condoms he’d stashed there. He didn’t normally make good choices, but when he did, they involved Maggie.

He stripped off his boxers and sheathed himself. “This okay?”

“God, yes, please.”

Cole scooped Maggie up again, turning her toward the vanity. He plunked her feet onto the tile and bent her over the counter. “Watch me fuck you.”

There was that blaze in her eyes again. She liked it when he talked like that to her. She liked it when he gripped her hips and pushed into her, firmly, a little roughly. When he set a pace that was a bit too fast, a bit too hard. Because he could see the pleasure in her hands gripping the vanity, the hunger in how she met every thrust.

“Touch yourself,” he instructed.

She nodded, choppy. Then her fingers were there, on her most sensitive flesh and the place where he entered her, stretched her. Her eyes closed, and now he was the only one watching. The only one who saw his expression: snared and desperate and down for the count.

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