by Tracy Wolff
But Cole was different. With his hot eyes and hotter body, he brought her more pleasure than she’d ever dreamed possible. He made her crave it—crave him—with a hunger that could not be satisfied.
His free hand fumbled down her back, yanked at her pants until the button popped open and the zipper gave out. Then he was shoving them down her legs, slipping a hand between her thighs to test her readiness.
She knew what he found, knew that the finger he pulled away from her was coated with her juices. So she waited, arms locked above her head, breasts pressed against the wall, pussy wide open and waiting to be filled.
He groaned, slipped the finger that had just been inside her into his mouth and tasted her. One long second passed, then two as she waited for him. Suddenly, he was there, his hard cock shoving into her with one powerful thrust.
She whimpered at the invasion, but pressed back against him and let him ride her to orgasm. It was quick, mind-numbing, a slice of heaven on earth, and as he hurtled her into first one climax and then another, she decided that she would stop fighting. That she would take whatever Cole could give her and just be thankful for the time she had with him.
“Come with me.” His voice was still low, still wicked, as he pulled out of her. He held out a hand in the dim light and she didn’t hesitate to take it. Wherever he wanted to take her tonight, she would follow. Whatever he wanted to do to her, she would embrace it. And pray that it was enough to satisfy the darkness in his soul.
He led her up the stairs to her bedroom, where long, tapered candles in shades of red and pink and black flickered. “Sit on the edge of the bed and finish undressing.” His voice was low, his eyes intense, and she couldn’t help wondering why his demons were riding him so much harder tonight.
She almost worked up the nerve ask him when he pulled a long velvet cord off her nightstand. Her eyes widened as she stared at it, and she couldn’t keep the tremble from her voice as she asked, “What’s that?”
He didn’t answer, just smiled and said, “Do you trust me, Genevieve?”
“Yes,” she answered without hesitation, quickly stripping off her shirt and bra. It was true; she knew he would never deliberately hurt her. And if this was what he needed tonight—to feel in control of her, of something, while his life spun completely out of his command—she would give it to him.
“Tell me if you want to stop, or if I do something you don’t like.”
“You won’t.”
He grinned at her confidence, his cock twitching between them. And then he was wrapping the cord around her—first over and around her chest, directly above her breasts, then below them, where her bra strap usually rested. Stepping back, he twisted the long lengths of rope still in his hand, so that the pressure was a little tighter and she could feel the ropes digging into her skin.
Pulling her arms behind her, he wrapped the silken cord around first one and then the other, so that her shoulders were pressed back and down, her arms hanging, bound, behind her back.
And it felt good—amazingly good. So good that she looked at Cole in surprise and asked, “What is this?”
He smiled wickedly. “A mild form of Japanese rope bondage.” He reached forward and flicked first one of her nipples and then the other. She moaned, arching back a little to give him better access. And felt the bonds constrict pleasurably, her breasts beginning to tighten and throb from the constriction.
She gasped, arched a little more, and nearly came from the sensations cascading through her. “How—” The sensations grew so pleasurable that her voice broke before she could finish the question.
But Cole seemed to understand what she was asking, and answered her slowly while he squeezed her nipples between his thumbs and index fingers. She gasped, trembled, the sensation somehow so much more erotic than it had been before the ropes.
“Japanese bondage isn’t just about the psychological pleasure that comes from being bound for your lover’s satisfaction.” Cole lowered his mouth, teased one red tip with his tongue as she shuddered and cried out. “Although there is that too.”
He took her nipple into his mouth and began to suck, and she couldn’t disagree with him. Though she longed to run her fingers through his hair, to stroke her hands up and down his back, there was something incredibly exciting about sitting here, unable to move, awaiting whatever pleasure he wanted to take from her.
“But the true pleasure comes from the positioning of the ropes themselves. The dom has to make sure they hit particular pleasure points to ensure the ropes are at their most effective.”
He skimmed a finger under first one rope and then the other, massaging each of the points where the ropes touched her body. “Did I get the right points?” he asked teasingly.
Her only answer was her eyes nearly rolling back in her head as pleasure—hot, sweet and out of control—burst inside of her.
“It seems that I did,” he murmured, before ordering, “Stand up,” in his most commanding voice. He watched with dark eyes as she struggled to her feet without the use of her hands and upper body. Every movement pulled the ropes tighter, increasing the pressure and the warm, jetting pleasure she was experiencing.
Her knees trembled, but she locked them in place, determined to handle whatever Cole threw at her. But when he leaned down and took her nipple in his mouth, her control was stretched to the breaking point.
His teeth fastened on her areola, biting and tugging while his tongue soothed the crazy little aches popping up all over her body. He wasn’t gentle with her, didn’t take it easy on her. But then she hadn’t expected him to. He was in pain, his demons completely out of control, and he was desperate to exorcise them.
No, he wasn’t easy, but then she didn’t want easy. She wanted something that would take her over, consume her, give her unimaginable ecstasy. Something that would take her mind off what had happened at the station today, until all she thought of was Cole. Until all she wanted was Cole. Arching her back to give him better access, she leaned back slightly and relished the electricity that zipped from her breasts to her core, the crazy tightening of the ropes just making it better.
He moved to her other breast, and she looked down at her well-used nipple curiously. It was a deep, dark red, glistening in the candlelight.
He moved to the underside of her breasts, right above the ropes, and nipped sharply. She screamed, shuddered, as she felt that bite all the way to her toes.
Again and again he licked and sucked and nibbled her breasts—until the mere act of standing took more concentration than she could muster.
Collapsing on the bed, her trembling legs unable to hold her any longer, she leaned back on her bound elbows and watched him through heavy-lidded eyes. She longed to touch him, to feel his muscles ripple under her hands. But at the same time there was something liberating about being bound for his pleasure, unable to move or switch. Unable to do anything but simply lay back and enjoy.
“Close your eyes,” he whispered, licking a trail from her breasts to her navel to her aching sex.
She did as he requested, arching her hips all the while. But he didn’t touch her aching clit, didn’t kiss or caress or lick her where she was most desperate for him. Instead he moved away.
She was tempted to open her eyes, but decided to give it a minute, to see what else her lover had up his sleeve. She wasn’t disappointed. Within moments, he was pouring something deliciously warm over her stomach. She lay still, savoring the hot water as it ran in rivulets down her sides and onto the bed.
He did it again and again—over her breasts, across her belly, down one leg and then the other, and it felt amazingly good. At some point she realized it wasn’t water he was using on her—it dried too quickly and didn’t evaporate. She wanted to look, but fought the urge, knowing it would be better to wait for Cole.
So she relaxed and simply enjoyed the unique feeling. Shuddered as whatever it was coated her nipples, increasing their sensitivity to the point that she could barely lie still.
“Just a little more,” he said soothingly, his mouth claiming hers. His tongue tangling and teasing and taunting hers until she wanted to scream with frustrated desire.
“Open your eyes,” he said, and she did slowly, glancing down at her body curiously.
What she saw there had her breath hitching in her throat, her eyes widening with shocked pleasure. She’d been right—it hadn’t been water he’d been pouring on her at all.
Instead he’d used warm candle wax. Not hot enough to cause pain, but more than warm enough to make her pussy and breasts and clit throb with unrelieved excitement.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, staring at the patterns of red and black and pink on her skin. “Absolutely exquisite.”
She reveled in his admiration, in the absence of pain in his eyes for a minute, and let it soothe away the terrible harshness of her day. But then even his gaze was too much, her body starving for him in a way she’d never before experienced.
Burning up, out of control, she let her eyes tell him exactly how much she wanted him. “Does that mean you’ll fuck me now?” she demanded.
He smiled slightly, his eyes turning darker. “Is that what you want?”
“God, yes. I’m going to implode if you don’t.” Already her sex was clenching rhythmically, hungry for his cock.
He moved his hand down to his hugely aroused cock, wrapped it around the base of it and began stroking up and down. She watched him, transfixed, her breathing shallow, her pussy wet, her mouth aching to wrap around him.
Slowly he pleasured himself, settling on the other side of the bed. “Do you want it?” he asked again, his eyes as hot and hungry as hers.
She licked her lips. “Yes.”
“Then come and get it.” He shuddered, arched into the pleasure he was giving himself. But it was nothing compared to the pleasure they both knew awaited them when he slipped inside her.
Struggling to her knees, she crawled across the bed to him. Threw one leg over his hips and climbed on. Without the use of her hands it was strange, yet somehow even more erotic.
Rising on her knees, she lowered herself onto him slowly. Savored the feel of him slipping between her legs and into the hot recesses of her sex. Her muscles clenched around him, pulled him deeper until he was in her to the hilt and there was nothing more to take.
She felt full, magnificently, sexily stretched by him, until she couldn’t breathe without feeling him inside her. And then she began to move, a soft rocking of her hips that had him groaning and clawing the comforter beneath him.
“Faster, Genevieve,” he said, his hands moving to her hips to guide her.
But she shook him off, refused to be rushed. And continued the slow, languorous rhythm until they were both panting, sweat dripping off of them as their bodies strained for the climax that was tantalizingly out of reach.
“Sweetheart, you’re killing me.” He gasped the words between harsh, shuddering breaths. “You have to go faster. You have to—”
She raised her hips until he was almost out of her, then slammed down on him. He groaned, arched his hips and she did it again. And again. Until there was no Cole and no Genevieve, no suspension and no killer. Until there was nothing but two bodies moving as one and an ecstasy that spun wildly out of control.
Chapter Twenty-two
“Are you ever going to tell me the truth, Cole?” Genevieve stared at him across her kitchen island, a glass of white wine in her hand and an outraged look on her face.
He’d had all day to think about how to tell her, but now that the time was here, the words just wouldn’t come. Finally deciding to just start at the beginning, he murmured, “I wasn’t completely honest about why I’m in New Orleans—why I needed your help.”
“No kidding.” The glass of wine froze halfway to her lips. “I’ve only been asking you about your agenda since the first day we met. Forgive me if I have a hard time believing you’re ready to just clear the air.”
He shrugged. “I don’t have much of a choice, seeing as how we’re becoming interconnected in this thing.”
“Interconnected, huh?” She took another sip of the crisp, cool wine. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”
“Stop it, Genevieve.” His voice was dark, his eyes darker. “I want to talk about what’s going on, about how I’m afraid I might have something to do with it.”
“So talk. If you’re the reason these things have been happening to me, then I’m all ears.”
So wrapped up in the memories of his past—and the misery that came with them—he almost didn’t catch the significance of what Genevieve had said. But then something clicked and sent fury and fear slamming through him. “What’s that supposed to mean? Exactly what has been happening to you—besides the flowers?”
“I thought you were going to tell me.”
“Don’t do that.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Do what, exactly?”
“Don’t push me on this, Genevieve.” He crossed the kitchen, grabbed her upper arms and pulled her against his chest—so that he could feel her heart beat and know that she was alive. And that she was going to stay that way, no matter what he had to do.
But her hands shoved against his chest, and the look on her face was angrier than he had ever seen. “No, you don’t push me. Not after everything I’ve given you and everything I’ve done to get you to tell me the truth.”
He clenched his teeth, fighting the urge to shake her until she did exactly what he wanted of her. But she was giving as good as she got, and he could tell there was no backup in his little hard-ass tonight. She was all bristling femininity and outraged pride—and he could either go with it or get pulled under.
Gritting his teeth, determined to get through it as quickly as possible, he spit out, “Seven years ago, my sister was murdered. Her name was Samantha Diaz.”
The fight seemed to drain out of her as she reached for his hand. “Thank you for telling me that.”
“That’s it?” he asked, shocked. “That’s all you have to say?”
“I’m so sorry for your loss, Cole, and for what you had to see today. But I already knew. I’ve known almost from the beginning.”
Pain, raw and elemental, slammed through him. “How?”
“Your police report. It mentions Samantha.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because I was using you! I wanted to get you to reopen Samantha’s case, to look into it.”
“I already have.” Her eyes were the deep, mysterious blue of the ocean as she told him what he’d waited so desperately long to hear.
He felt tears burning behind his eyes, but refused to shed them. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was waiting for you to trust me enough to tell me about her, to tell me that you were really here to find her killer. But after what happened today, I figured we had to get it in the open. I had to force you to tell me, or somehow find a way to tell you that I already knew.”
“You know, when the studio talked to me about doing this documentary, I thought maybe it was a sign. If I could come down here and find out who the best detective was, and somehow get him—or her—to look at the case file, maybe we’d find something the other cops had missed. Maybe we’d find out who’d killed Samantha.”
“So why did you lie to me? Again and again and again? For a while, I was really afraid you were a murderer—or at least in league with one. This—” It was her turn to shake her head. “This wouldn’t have even raised my radar.”
“I didn’t know if you’d help me; my faith in the NOPD was pretty much nonexistent. And then by the time I’d figured out how different you were from the rest, you’d come to mean too much to me. I was afraid you’d be so offended by the lies that I’d never see you again.
“I’m sorry.” He spread his hands. “I was wr
ong.”
“Yes, you were.” She stared at him for long minutes, then walked around the island and wrapped her arms around him. “I’m so sorry, Cole. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through—losing your sister in such a brutal fashion.”
Her sadness for him was nearly palpable, her sorrow for Samantha just as obvious. But she still wasn’t getting it, still wasn’t understanding what he was saying. “I let her go. I convinced our mom and her dad to let her come down here on her own. I ignored my mom when she told me something was wrong with Sam, that I needed to come down and check it out.”
“You didn’t know.”
“Do you think that makes it any better? Especially now, when I feel like I’m set to relive it all over again?” His hands clamped convulsively on her shoulders.
But she shrugged him off, shoved at him until he dropped his arms and she could stand. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“He sent you flowers, Genevieve. I’ve been researching violent crime long enough to know what it means when a serial killer gets fixated on someone. Then the murder like Samantha’s—it’s because of me.”
She stared at him for long moments, her bottom lip clenched between her teeth as if she were debating how much to say. It pissed him off. “Tell me.”
“He’s been fixated on me for a while, Cole. It’s not your doing. This was just one of his newest ideas to get my attention.”
The blood rushed from his head so quickly that for a second he was afraid he might actually pass out. “What does that mean? Fixated on you for a while?” He reached for her, but she shrugged him off. “Genevieve?” He made sure his voice was as hard as he was, made sure she knew that one way or the other, she was telling him the truth.
“He’s done a number of things to get my attention—threats, presents. He’s been after me since I figured out what was going on.”