Page 66 of Muddy Messy Love

Cole’s jaw twitches, but he covers my hand with his. “He never made you come.” His candour incinerates me, and I stare at the rumpled quilt. “Listen to me, nothing is wrong with you,” he says, picking up my chin. His dark gaze bores into mine. “That’s just what happens when you fuck boys instead of men.”

The gritty yet eloquent way he says “fuck” does things to me. Dark, needy things. Fixating on his mouth, I lick my lips. I need to taste him—to swallow the words that claimed me unflawed before they disappear.

I lean in, and Cole captures my mouth, delivering a soft and searing kiss that pools between my legs. Knotting my fingers through his hair, I drag him on top of me and lay us down. Hesettles between my thighs, covering my body with his comforting weight. His arousal grinds against my core through the thin wool of his pants, and I roll my hips, making him groan against my mouth.

The intense ache returns, pulsing its hunger through my pelvis. Zingy and raw, my nerve endings fight to reclaim their peak and beg me to relinquish control—to trust. And soon enough, they win. “I need you inside me,” I whisper. So badly I could scream.

Cole stops to look me square in the eye. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” I tug at his shirt, freeing it from his pants, and fumble to undo the small clear buttons. Cole helps me, then yanks it off and tosses it to the floor, crashing his bare chest skin to skin with mine. He feels warm and safe, like a suit of armour made of sunshine. My hands roam his chest—so smooth and deliciously hard—grazing over his tight tawny nipples. I run my mouth across his collarbone and kiss up the front of his neck. He tastes like warm salted caramel—smells earthy and clean, like a forest after rain—and I die a little inside.

“Let me show you how you should be loved,” he whispers roughly in my ear before biting it hard enough to hurt.

The action floods me with heat. “Please,” I breathe.

His belt buckle jangles as our greedy hands fumble to undo it, and when it finally frees, Cole flashes me a sweet, horny grin that I return. He evokes an ease I’ve never known—a pull to just be me—feelings of friendship and raging lust I never thought could mix.

I undo his button and zipper while he strokes the side of my face with his thumb. “I love these hyper-colour cheeks,” he says. “They tell me more than you’d ever want me to know.”

My cheeks burn hotter, and I cover them with my hands, cursing their traitorous ways. Sitting back on his knees, Cole laughs but tugs down my wrists. “Don’t hide from me. I want tosee everything you are.” His hooded gaze strips me barer than I already am, and all that’s left is surrender.

He slips off his shoes and black socks, then stands to rid his pants, retrieving his wallet and a condom before he does. The small silver square crackles softly in his hand while my heartbeat thumps in my ears.

My sculpture didn’t do him justice. It lacks the sentient lustre of him in the flesh. The sheen silking his smooth olive skin. The ripple of light down his abs. The dusting of hair on his chest. The elegant brawn of his thighs. His calm yet commanding presence.The angle of that lickable V.

Cole’s hardness strains against the fabric of his navy-blue trunks, prodding at the embossed waistband. He’s long and thick—bigger than what I’ve known—and I bite my bottom lip.

“Close your eyes,” he says.

So I do. With my head resting atop my soft pillow, I feel his stare trace the length of my body—blazing into my skin. One of my legs sits bent up at the knee but, with a nudge, topples out to the side. Cool air hits my wetness with a feathery kiss, letting me know just how exposed I am. The bed shifts, and I hear foil crinkle.

Cole covers me with his delectable weight and trails the head of his cock through my juices, causing us to groan. He pushes inside me, swallowing my gasp before releasing one of his own. “Aves,” he says.

“Cole,” I whimper.

No shyness remains, only an incessant drive to bathe in every sensation of him. My breasts heave towards him as he sucks a nipple into his hot mouth. He bites there too, delivering pain-edged bliss, and I moan.

He fucks into me with vigour while I watch the filthy scene above. I encircle his hips with my legs and dig my nails intohis back. My feet bounce against his thighs with each smooth, delicious thrust.

The wave returns, filling me with liquid gold, and my breath hitches. “Oh my God.” The intensity is too much, like I’ll explode into another realm. Is this really how it’s meant to be?

“That’s it.” Cole breathes against my neck. “Let go.”

His words dissolve the last of my resistance, and my head digs into the pillow as my back arches off the bed. I crash over a cliff higher than Angel Falls, exploding like a glitter bomb. My pussy vices his cock, and Cole grumbles strangled words through several more thrusts before groaning his release against my neck. The primal sound vibrates through my body like it’s branding every cell, and in that heavenly second, I’m forever his. Whether he wants me or not.

“Holy hell,” I whisper, trying to catch my breath. “That’s what I’ve been missing?” I get it now—the grand lure of sex. Why people obsess and covet—chase and idolise. Write songs, books, and movies about it. Create art.Ruin lives.

Cole’s sweat-sheened forehead kisses mine as our rapid breaths mingle. “Aves,” he whispers. He pulls back a little to stare at me, tucking away wisps of my hair. “That was…”

He searches for a word that doesn’t exist, and I sink deep into his green eyes, drowning in every emotion swirling through them. “I know,” I say, smiling gently.

Cole drops a tender kiss to my forehead, then slides himself out of me and sits back on his knees. He removes the condom, then climbs off the bed and picks up my melting bundle of ice. “How’s your ankle?”

I’d forgotten. Sitting up, I wriggle my foot. “Barely a twinge.” Jokingly, I arch a brow. “Can orgasms heal injuries?”

Cole chuckles. “Hospitals would be way more fun if they could.” He holds up the ice bundle. “I’ll be right back.” I watch as he descends the stairs and again when he returns, sans thecondom and tea towel but with a bottle of water in one hand. He tips it towards me in a silent offer, but I shake my head and continue to stare, committing every nuance of his potent masculinity to memory.

The mattress dips as he takes a seat off the side to drink. The tattooed jungle flourishes all the way up to his shoulder with feathery leaves, rainbow birds, and more hibiscus flowers. But immersed in the middle, in the centre of his upper arm, stands the focal point of the piece—a stoic and serene tiger.

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