Page 41 of No Words
“Ask me,” I instruct, feeling her trembling on the edge.
“Please,” she gasps, voice breaking. “Please let me come, Cole?”
The formality, the surrender in her voice, pushes me dangerously close to my climax. I maintain my gaze, watching the desperation build.
“Now,” I finally grant permission. “Come for me now.”
She comes seconds later, her body responding to my command as if the words themselves triggered her release. The sight of her writhing, chest heaving beneath me, because of me, following my exact instructions, it’s the most powerful aphrodisiac imaginable.
I maintain control just long enough to watch her face as pleasure overwhelms her, memorizing every detail of her expression. Only then do I allow myself to follow, driving deep and taking her completely as my release pulses through me.
When our breathing steadies, I hold her tightly, tucking her head under my chin. My fingers trace lazy patterns along her spine.
“You’re incredible,” I tell her, pressing my lips to her hair. The need to take care of her after is as strong as the need to claim her was moments ago. “You did so well.”
I feel her melting against me, responding to the praise as strongly as she did to the physical pleasure. Another note filedaway for future exploration, the right words affect her almost as deeply as touch.
For a long moment after, we lay tangled together, breathing hard, skin glistening with sweat. Her body bears the evidence of my possession, marks blooming across her throat, her breasts, her inner thighs. My back stings from her nails, a perfect counterpoint to the satisfaction humming through my veins.
“They’re waiting for us,” I finally say, pulling away reluctantly. “We need to get ready.”
She nods, visibly gathering herself, the capable prosecutor resurfacing beneath the woman who just surrendered to me. The contrast fascinates me, her strength and submission in perfect balance.
I dress and lead her to the main room where the team has rearranged the cabin. Tables dragged aside, windows cleared for shooting positions, the sharp scent of gun oil filling the air. They acknowledge Molly with respectful nods but keep their distance.
“These guys are the best,” I tell her as Jayce brings over a map. “Trust me.”
The next hour passes in steady preparation. I show Molly safe positions, paths out if things go wrong, and what to do in every scenario. All while keeping her close, a hand at her back, fingers brushing her arm, pulling her closer whenever Jayce looks at her a moment too long.
She takes everything in with impressive focus, asking smart questions, even offering insights about Borsellini’s tactics from her months building the case. Killian’s men exchange impressed glances.
“You found yourself quite a woman,” Jensen murmurs as we check supplies.
“I have,” I agree, not correcting his assumption about who found whom. In every way that matters, she’s been mine since I first saw her.
As dawn approaches, I bring Molly to the back porch where we can watch the sky lightening. I stand behind her, arms around her waist, chin resting on the top of her head.
“After today, we’ll never run again,” I promise as she leans back against me. “Either we end this or?—”
“Don’t,” she interrupts, turning to face me. “Don’t even say it.”
I study her in the growing light. The conviction in her eyes, the set of her jaw, the marks on her neck from my mouth. She’s not the same woman who called for help a few days ago. She’s become someone stronger, more certain. Someone who knows exactly what she wants.
“We’re going to win,” she says with quiet conviction. “And then I’m holding you to every promise you’ve made.”
I smile, a genuine smile that feels strange after years of carefully controlled expressions. “Count on it.”
In the doorway, Jayce gives me a nod. It’s time.
I kiss her forehead one last time, then step back, feeling the change come over me. But something fundamental has changed. I’m fighting for her. For us. For a future I never thought I deserved.
11
MOLLY
Cole’s scent clings to my skin when I wake alone. Evidence that last night wasn’t a fantasy stitched together by adrenaline. The body keeps its own record.
Dawn light cuts through the cabin windows, and voices murmur in the main room. I stretch, wincing at the pleasant soreness in my muscles, my skin still tingling where his hands claimed me hours ago. Touching my neck, I feel the marks he left, evidence that last night wasn’t a dream. I slip into Cole’s discarded shirt and pad to the doorway.
