Page 68 of Death Match

I pressed my lips together, even with his hand against my mouth. I hadn’t expected to actually make that noise out loud, but it couldn’t be helped. Not with him hitting the right spot, and causing colors to explode in front of my eyes. I just wanted more of him, all of him, in any way I could have him.

Swallowing down my next outcry, he thrust inside me again. A combination of pain and pleasure rocketed through me every time he hit my inner wall. It wasn’t long before he brought me to that special high, and I was spiraling into pure ecstasy.

As I came undone, I screamed against his palm, the sound muffled but still obvious. He fucked me through it, his own moan saying he was pleased he’d gotten me there.

His fingers tangled in my hair and pulled my head back to the side. I hissed in pain as he tugged, but I liked it. I craved it. He captured my mouth for a hungry kiss, which I eagerly welcomed.

A few more deep thrusts, and I was gasping against his lips.

He tensed against me as his own release came, and when his body and his hold on me finally eased, I struggled to fill my lungs with air again. Everything tingled in the most delicious way.

Carefully, I turned to face him in the tight space. “Well, that was…”

“Amazing,” he finished for me, redoing his fly. His lips curved into a satisfied smirk, and I was sure the look on my face mirrored his.

“I was going to say a pleasant surprise, but yes. That, too.”

I was about to pull up my pants when he handed me over the pile of napkins he’d stolen from our table and cocked a brow, telling me this little rendezvous had been planned for a while.

“Told you these could come in handy,” he said, pleased with himself.

I snorted a laugh and snatched them from him, making quick work of cleaning myself up and readjusting my clothes. Cole took the balled-up napkins from me and chucked them in the trash bins nearby.

“And would you look at that. Convenience.”

“You just think of everything, don’t you?” I asked. “A real gentleman.”

Chuckling, he stepped out of the alcove and held out a hand to help me. When I stepped out, he stepped closer to me and touched my shoulders. Still concealed behind the many crates and bins, his gaze searched my face for a long moment, and he said nothing.

My anxiety stirred awake. What was with the sudden seriousness?

“What is it?” I asked him, confused by his shift.

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and his red-rimmed blue eyes latched onto me. “Olive juice,” he said.

I blanched. Had I heard him right? “Wait, what did you say?”

“Olive juice,” he repeated and laughed. “I know how you feel about the ‘L’ word, and I get it. I’m the same way. So, I figured this could be our way of saying it…without all the pressure that comes along.”

Pausing, I tried to decipher what he was saying.

Olive juice?

As I said it over and over in my head, I heard the closeness to the three words I usually dreaded to hear and say.

Olive juice…I love you…

I love you…

Cole was telling me he loved me.

I blinked, shocked. Instead of the panic that normally came with thinking of those words and the heaviness, I was lighter than air. Floating. I felt… okay. I feltloved.

“I know this isn’t the most romantic place to say it,” he went on, and that’s when I realized I hadn’t said anything for a bit.

I smiled and pressed my lips against his. After sharing a sweeter and more innocent kiss than we were used to, I whispered, “No, no. It’s perfect.”

And it really was.

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