Page 16 of My Reluctant Valentine

“Everyone knows,” I whispered once we were alone. “They can tell what we were... what you want to...”

“What I want to do to you?” Cole pulled out my chair, his hands lingering on my shoulders. “Baby, everyone in this hotel probably heard how badly I want to fuck you when you were moaning against the wall.”

I squirmed in my seat. “I wasn’t... was I?”

“Mmm-hmm.” He sat across from me, and my mouth went dry as he rolled up his sleeves. From a medical perspective, the way his forearm muscles flexed should not have been this arousing.

“Tell me something, little doctor.” His voice dropped lower. “When you’re alone in bed… reading... do you touch yourself?”

The fork clattered from my suddenly nerveless fingers. “Cole.”

“That’s not an answer.” He reached across the table, catching my chin. “Do you slide those delicate little fingers between your thighs? Make yourself come while imagining it’s someone else’s hands? Or tongue?”

“I...” I could barely meet his eyes. “Sometimes. For... medical reasons. It’s healthy to explore one’s, um, body.”

“No medical terms.” His thumb stroked across my lower lip. “Tell me how you do it. Show me.”

My eyes widened. “Here? At the dinner table?”

“Why not? Food’s getting cold anyway.” He leaned back, spreading his legs slightly. The sight made my core throb. “Touch yourself for me, Ella. Let me see how you pleasure that sweet body when you’re alone.”

I glanced nervously at the windows, though we were too high for anyone to see. “I’ve never... not with someone watching.”

“You’re going to have a lot of firsts tonight, remember baby?”

A whimper escaped me. “The books... they never mentioned dinner could be this...”

“Filthy?” He grinned. “Baby, by the time I’m done with you, those romance novels are going to seem like your medical text.”

He picked up my fallen fork, loading it with pasta. “Now, be a good girl and eat something. Then maybe I’ll let you come against my fingers under this table.”

My breath caught at his words. I’d never been so aroused in my life—the vasocongestion in my pelvic region was... No. No medical terms. Just feel.

I obediently opened my mouth for the pasta. “Good girl.”

No one had ever called me that in such a filthy way. It made me throb.

“When you touch yourself,” he continued, “do you think about being watched? About someone telling you exactly how to make yourself feel good?”

“I...” My voice shook. “Sometimes. Lately. Since meeting you.”

“Tell me about lately.” His intense gaze made me shiver.

“After you dropped me off this morning.” I stared at my plate, unable to meet his eyes. “I… thinking about your hands... I had to… in my office.”

“Did you come?”

I hesitated, my cheeks burning, my core clenching at the memory. Slowly, I nodded. But deep inside, I knew the truth. I had felt good—so good—but I had never truly made myself come. I had never had an orgasm.

Cole’s sharp eyes studied me, his head tilting slightly, as if he knew the truth.

Then, before I could process it, he rose from his chair, taking mine and spinning me around in one smooth, commanding motion. My breath hitched as he dropped to his knees before me, his hands firm on my thighs, steadying me as the world seemed to tilt on its axis.

“Tell me the truth, Ella,” he murmured, his voice a rough caress against my skin. “Have you ever made yourself come? Not just feel good—but come?”

I swallowed hard, heat licking up my spine. “I… I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “I mean, I’ve touched myself. It’s felt amazing, but...” I shifted under his gaze, suddenly shy. “I don’t think I’ve ever really...”

Cole exhaled slowly, his pupils flaring with something dark, determined and dominant. “We’re going to change that right now.”

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