Page 71 of Muddy Messy Love

“Do you?”

“Well, no. But even if I did, I’d still catch the tram. City traffic is too nuts for me.”

Cole comes closer, resting his water on the granite next to me. “Are you always this difficult?”

I swallow but look him square in the eye. “If you mean to control? Yeah. The whole freedom thing is pretty important to me, as you might imagine.”

He cages me against the island, bracing his hands either side of my hips. His minty breath feathers my face, and his racy smile trembles my knees. “So much sass, young lady. I’m trying to protect you—not control you.” He kisses the shell of my ear, sending shivers down my spine, then drags his nose up my neck. “Have you christened this bench yet?”

“I think you know the answer to that,” I whisper.

Cole lifts my waist and plants me on the cold granite, then settles between my straddled legs. “Good.”

The brass pendant light hovers just above my head, gilding his dark-rum-coloured hair, and his hardness presses against my crutch, sending flurries through my pelvis. I marvel at how perfectly we fit. How well standard kitchen benchtop height would accommodate sex. Is it deliberate? A tried and tested design choice? Eighty to a hundred centimetres will work, but ninety is optimal fucking height, so we’ll go with that? Maybe. Or maybe at six foot one, Cole’s the perfect height.

Yesterday morning returns to me, triggering a grin. “I never got to pass on your hello to Mike, by the way. Sorry about that.”

Cole laughs at the ceiling and rubs the outsides of my thighs, generating heat through the stretchy fabric. “You should have seen his face. I’d forfeit my partnership to see that again.”

His satisfaction is tangible, but I teasingly scold him. “Are you happy with yourself?”

“Very.” He nods. “That was an efficient way to deliver a message Mike needed to hear.” The green in Cole’s eyes seems to intensify as his humour fades away. “You’re mine, Aves.”

Silence floats between us, and I fidget with his lapels. “Does that mean you’re mine too…? Exclusively?” I have to ask. I’ve been burnt before, and I’m not setting myself up again.

“I don’t share,” Cole gently says, “and I wouldn’t expect you to either.”

I lean forward to press my lips to his, catching his top one between my teeth to gently bite and suck. I inhale his clean, earthy scent beneath the faded cologne and savour the scratch of his stubble—the pleasant taste of his mouth. He cups the back of my neck, dives in harder, and groans. I’ll never tire of kissing him. Even decades from now.

Cole rests his forehead against mine, and I bite my bottom lip. “I still don’t think the kids needed to witness that display.”

He shakes with a quiet chuckle. “They were occupied. And besides, there’s nothing wrong with a little kiss.”

“Alittlekiss?” I laugh, but he trails his fingers up the inside of my thigh, brushing over my sex before dipping into the waistband of my yoga pants.

His eyes darken as he slips his hand inside my knickers, eliciting a gasp. My head tilts back, my breath hitching, as his fingers enter me—sliding in and out. Rubbing that swoon-worthy spot I love so much. Aftershocks of Thursday night have rippled through me ever since, and I’m wet. Really fucking wet. I yank his head towards mine and devour his mouth like he is life essence itself.

“That’s it,” he says, and the gruffness alone amps up my impending orgasm.

“Oh God.” I’m a breathy, needy mess on the cusp of obliteration, and I’m dying to feel it again. To ensure it wasn’t a fluke—a one-night-only event I’ll never again know.

But Cole’s movements slow just as I need him to keep pace, then his warm breath tickles my ear. “Will you show me your studio?”

“What?” I ask at the top of a gasping breath.

“You heard me.”

Heat swirls through my body, and I moan. So close. If he could just—

“Answer me,” he says.

I shake my head, finding a semblance of rational thought. “No.”

But the second the breathy word leaves my lips, his fingers and body weight vanish. My eyes pop open as I leave the blissful fog, and I take in his stance. The slight tilt of his head. His calm yet defiant expression. That teasing, lopsided smirk.

“Are you serious?” I hiss. “You’re blackmailing me?”

“Coercing at most,” he corrects.

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