Page 61 of Cohen's Control

His lips press soft kisses on the top of my head, along my hairline, then find my lips. From my bag, my phone rings. Cohen ignores it, walking me to the car, opening the door and waiting for me to sit inside. When I do, he leans in, kissing me again, pulling the belt across my lap. With one hand on the hood, still eating up the doorframe, he says, “I’m so glad you’re done now. I missed you.”

“It’s only been a few hours.” Still, I feel the same way. “I missed you, too.”

I watch as he walks around the front of my car, dropping his hand subtly inside my bag. He stands with his back to the driver’s side door, my phone pressed to his ear. I can’t hear his words, but I do hear his tone. Deep, unrelenting, but he’s not loud. A moment later, my phone is back in the bag as he places it in the backseat and gets inside.

I know it was Pete.

He’s called all day. And since Otis has given him the brush off after being used and played, Pete’s been a little frantic this week.

More calls.

And according to the super, more showing up at my apartment, banging on the door, shouting and in general, being the piece of human excrement that he is.

Neither Cohen or I have been there when it’s happened, and I don’t understand how Pete wouldn’t realize midday I would be at work. Or, for that matter, whyheisn’t at work. I can only say I’m grateful filming and promo work has been so busy this week. And in the evenings, I’ve been so wrapped up in Cohen that nothing else exists except us inside one of our apartments.

It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever experienced.

“My place or yours tonight?” I ask as we climb the cement stairs to our apartments, Cohen’s hand at my lower back for support. I won’t fall, but I know his protective and guiding touch is there.

We stand in the landing between the doors, looking back and forth. “Whatever you’d like,” he says, adjusting my bag on his shoulder.

I point to my door. “I really need to shower. Maybe I can do that at my place and then we go back to yours?” I look down at my sweats and up at him. “I haven’t done laundry in a week. I’ll have to put this back on.”

He unlocks the door, and holds it open for me. We head inside and only after I’m a few feet into my dark and cold apartment, do I turn around and face him. “Maybe I can shower at your place?” I know our bathrooms are exactly the same. We have the same apartment. But still, something about this place, especially after knowing Pete’s been here off and on all week, banging on the door.

“What do you need to take back to my place?” he asks, lowering my work bag to the floor, bringing with him my phone and keys. “Toiletries?”

“Yeah,” I say, tapping my chin. “And clean panties. Those for sure I have,” I say with an embarrassed shrug. “But I may have to run down to the laundry room tonight and start a load. I don’t have anything clean to wear after.” I press my palm to my forehead, frustrated with myself for forgetting something so basic.

Cohen lifts my chin with his hand, winking at me. “I got a stackable unit delivered to my place tonight, so I can wash your clothes at my place. Got a few other things delivered, too. Let’s go to my place, I’ll run you a bath, and wash your clothes while you soak.” He kisses me, and warmth blooms in my eyes. He’s so considerate and thoughtful… and calm. I never knew how much I adored calm until Cohen.

With his hand wrapped around mine, he leads me across the hall to his apartment, and when he closes the door behind us, I’m overwhelmed.

I face him. “You cooked,” I breathe, taking in the scent of marinara and spices.

“Arms,” he says, and I lift in response. He peels my hoodie off, then crouches, peeling my sweats off, too. Taking my hand again, he guides me the remaining few steps to the bathroom, and flicks on the light.

Along the counter are blue and purple bottles, one bubble bath, one body wash.Rainfall scented. I pick it up as Cohen starts the bath, then pulls a freshly washed and still warm white towel from the rack above the toilet.

“You shopped,” I say, winking at him as he spots the blue bottle in my hand.

Reaching around my head, he slowly pulls the hair tie loose from my hair, and runs his fingers through my scalp, causing my eyes to flutter shut. Taking your bra off after a long day feels good, but having a head massage after having a ponytail all day feels better.

He bends down, testing the temperature with two thick fingers, and as I watch him swipe through the water, my pussy clenches. I take off my bra and panties while he adds bubble bath to the tub, and when he turns around, a low groan erupts from the depths of him. He shoves a hand through his hair, pushing out a breath.

I press my hand to his chest, over his flannel, and step so close that my nipples rub against him. “Thank you for running the bath for me.”

He holds his hand out, and I place mine in his to hold steady as I step in. Cohen keeps his eyes on the surface of the water, and it's not the hot water I’m sinking into that has me hot. His discipline and the way he respects my body, waits for me to invite him, it’s fucking hot. That’s where I’m at in life; seeing respect and care as hot.

But it is.

“Cohen,” I say to his back as he’s walking out. He stops, and turns partially, gripping the door frame with both hands as he turns his head over his shoulder, looking at me.

“Will you be naked with me again tonight?”

I watch the silhouette of his Adam’s apple slide beneath his collar. “Laundry won’t take too long. The drum is small. I can have a load washed and dried in less than forty-five minutes.”

I swish my hand between the foamy bubbles. “I want to be naked with you all night.”

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