Page 67 of A Photo Finish
His words wind me. My chest empties, hollow and throbbing with the weight of his confession. Both my hands creep up over my chest, my fingers wrapping around the base of my throat to stem the growing flow of nausea.He missed me. I broke him.
“You broke me first,” I whisper. But the admission feels loud in the quiet room. Like I shouted it at him.
His smile is pained as he looks up at the ceiling. “You’re not broken. You’re perfect. And I’m a shitty fucking patchwork quilt. I’ve spent years picking up the tattered pieces of myself, every life event, every heartbreak, and slowly stitched it all back together. But I’m not good at sewing, Violet.” His eyes find mine across the room. Raw and anguished. All I want to do is wrap my arms around him, but I’m stunned into stillness with his next words. “And now the edges are starting to fray. I’m coming apart at the goddamn seams, and you’re the one holding the thread that could undo it all.”
Cole groans and runs a hand through his already disheveled hair, agitation and heartbreak lining every limb. “Don’t you get it?” His eyes are wide and pleading now as he shakes his head. “You have the power to completely unravel me, and Ihatefeeling like that.”
I can feel my pulse jumping in my throat as I stare back at him, swallowing audibly under the weight of the responsibility I’m feeling. “I promise not to unravel you, Cole. It wasn’t easy for me either. You hurt me. Being that vulnerable . . . I need to know what this is between us, once and for all.”
His chest rumbles, but the tone is different. And when his eyes pin me in place, he says, “I’m not good at talking. I think I should just show you.”
And with that, he grips the back of his shirt and pulls it off over his head, his smoky gray eyes not leaving mine for a single beat. His thumbs hook into the waistband of his boxers, his eyes still homed in on mine.
“What are you doing?” I pant out, suddenly feeling breathless and completely immobile. Entirely unable to look away from his body in the warm glow of the darkened room.
“Evening the playing field. You need to know what this is between us? It’s fucking everything.”
My breath catches in my chest as he pulls his boxers down. My lips part on a sigh, and I stare at him like a total voyeur. Dumbstruck.Is this really happening?Watching him undress before me. My mind is blank. I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience.
He kicks the boxers off, and I watch his cock swell under my gaze. Thick, and long, and veined, and growing harder every second I spend staring at it.
“Staring is rude, Violet.”
My head snaps up to his face, and I bite down on my bottom lip, feeling my body pulse and my pussy go slick. “Sorry.”
A predatory smirk flits across his mouth. “No, you’re not.”
He’s right, of course. I’ve never been less sorry in my life.
“Tell me what to do next.”
“What?” My heart beats in every limb, right into the tips of my fingers. They itch to touch him.
“You read the messages.” His voice is like gravel. “I told you I’d reciprocate. Tell me.”
I feel like my throat could close on me. Like I could choke on all the things I want to say to him. How the hell am I supposed to do this? This man—this Adonis—naked before me. His length is rock hard and jutting out in my direction now.
Knowing what I know, watching him undress in front of me, it’s the ultimate in vulnerability. The ultimate in trust.
I take a step closer, tongue darting out to wet my lips. “Fist it.”
His hand wraps around the thick base of his shaft as he says, “Fist what?”
I have a hard time dragging my eyes up to his face. “Your cock.” Excitement coils at the base of my spine at my boldness. I’ve thought a lot of dirty things about Cole over the last couple years but saying them out loud feels foreign.
I take another step, wanting to get a closer look. He’s so well-endowed. It matches everything else about his body. Strong and thick and tempting. My voice comes out as a hoarse whisper, “Now stroke it. I want to watch you stroke your cock.”
His hand slides slowly over the silky skin of his cock, and he looks down briefly, causing one lock of dark hair to flop down over his forehead. He looks disheveled and completely at my mercy. Utterly delicious. My heart aches in perfect unison with that spot between my legs.
When he looks back up, eyes meeting mine, I know I’m a goner. His cheeks are pink, his eyes are wild, his body is tense, and all I want to do is touch him. To make him feel good.
“Cole,” his name spills from my lips like a prayer.
And then I shrug my cardigan off and let it pool on the floor around my feet along with the rest of my inhibitions.
20
Cole
