by Eden Bradley
Janie looked at the mess on her bed that was the pile of clothes she’d tried on and then cast off in her search for the right outfit to wear to dinner. She felt like a teenager.
She’d barely been more than that the last time she’d been with Cole—really been with him. Twenty-one years old when they’d split. But oh, that last time together…even with him being half-buzzed on who knew what, even with her anger and resentment, his touch had been electric.
Shivering, she ran her hands over her bare stomach, up over the sheer pink lace of her bra. Her nipples came up hard, tight and aching.
“This is only dinner. Nothing more than talking,” she said to the empty room. She sighed out a long breath, burying her fingers in her hair. “It is, damn it.”
She looked up at the enormous canvas that hung over her bed, a painting her sister Iris had done of Buddha’s serene face in shades of brown and gold. “Please give me serenity,” she begged quietly.
She pulled in a deep breath, into her belly, blew it out.
Nothing.
Shaking her head, she went back to her closet and began to dig through it once more. There had to be something in there among all her yoga clothes and her breezy Bohemian dresses. She yanked on one of them in frustration and a box fell from the high shelf, spilling old photos onto the floor. She knelt to retrieve them and saw a scattered stack of pictures of her and Cole. With her heart in her throat, she picked the small pile up and began to leaf through them.
They looked so young, both of them dressed like the little rock ’n’ rollers they’d been, and still were, at heart, in jeans and T-shirts and leather jackets. There were snapshots of Cole on his old Harley, and she remembered the rides they’d taken up the Pacific Coast Highway. Parking at the beach and making out like mad on the sand as the sun went down over the sparkling ocean.
There were pictures of the band on stage at The Roxy and Madame Wong’s in Hollywood, back when Cole’s dark hair was still long, his jeans worn tight over his strong thighs. God, he’d had such swagger and style on the stage. He still did, she knew from having seen him on TV.
She flipped through a few more and found a later one—one from the final weeks of their marriage. She could tell he’d been drunk in this one, his eyes sleepy and sensual. He’d tried to hide being loaded from her, but she always knew the truth behind those sleepy eyes.
Could she see through the raging fire of the chemistry between them to see the truth now?
When her cell phone rang, she jumped.
“Jesus. I really need to calm down,” she muttered as she moved through her apartment into the living room. She tracked the ringtone to the coffee table, which was a piece of carved teak from India topped in glass. Madame was half-sitting on the phone, calmly licking one of her paws. Janie gave her a small push, but the enormous cat didn’t budge, just gave her an evil look from the corner of one blue eye. “Fine,” she mumbled, snaking her hand under the cat’s furry weight to retrieve the phone—and smiled when she saw it was her best friend calling.
“Celine, just the person I needed to talk to!”
She and Celine had met five years ago, when Janie was teaching a yoga class in North Hollywood. An art teacher at L.A. City College, Celine was gorgeous—tall, tattooed, a bit of a rebel, and one of the truest friends she’d ever had.
“And I appear as if by magic, ready to do your bidding, sugar. What’s up?”
Janie smiled. “I have a date. Well, sort of a date. Actually, it’s not a date at all.”
“Okayyyy….”
“That made absolutely no sense, did it?”
“Nope,” Celine said cheerfully. “Want to try again?”
Janie blew out a breath. She moved through the French doors, which she’d left open to take advantage of the fresh air and the sweet scent coming from the pair of lemon trees blossoming outside. The old, uneven bricks of the small patio were cool on her bare feet, and the sky was lit with soft purple twilight.
“You remember I told you about my ex?”
“The ex? The lead singer of Ink & Iron with the tattoos and the motorcycles and the throaty voice who dedicates all his heartbreak ballads to you? That ex?”
Janie bit her lip. “Yes. That one.”
“And…?”
“And I’m going to dinner with him in…” she glanced at the clock, “…in about half an hour.”
“Seriously? Should I be worried? Because from what you’ve told me he did a real number on you and you’re still pretty pissed off at him. Especially after…well, your old friend who passed so recently.”
Janie paced the small patio. “I know. I know! Which makes this totally stupid. But, Celine, he dropped by my yoga studio today—he walked into one of my classes and stood there waiting for an hour. Well, he actually did the class. I think. I was trying not to look at him, but of course I did. And then we talked in my office and things got a little messy—”
“I need specifics,” Celine interrupted. “‘Messy’ as in screaming and crying ‘messy’, or hot reunion sex on a yoga mat that was great but you already regret it ‘messy’?”
“Not messy like that. Or not much, anyway. Messy emotional. And I agreed to have dinner with him, which is insane and I know it, but not only am I going, but I can’t wait to see him and God, what do I wear?”
There was a long silence on the other end of the phone, then, “Girl, you are in bad shape.”
“Tell me about it. Just…help me figure out what to wear before he gets here, because being naked when he arrives would not be a good thing.”
“Or it could be a very good thing. I’ve seen him, remember.”
“Celine! Are you going to help me or not?”
“Of course. And that’s easy. What do you feel the most powerful in?”
Twenty minutes later Janie was dressed in her favorite pair of low-slung jeans, a sleeveless silk top in a deep shade of gold that brought out the touches of gold in her green eyes and highlighted her long, blond hair. She’d left it down in loose waves like a protective shield around her shoulders. And she wore her favorite pair of worn knee-high brown leather boots. She always felt like she could take on the world when she wore boots. A bit of silver jewelry and she was done. Which left ten minutes for her to obsessively check her lip gloss in the mirror and glance at her watch every thirty seconds.
She plopped down on the dark-green velvet sofa, picked up a magazine from the coffee table and leafed through it without seeing anything.
“This is ridiculous,” she murmured, standing up and bracing her hands on her hips. “And God, I’m talking to myself again.” She looked around the room. “Madame, where are you when I need you? Damn cat.”
When the door buzzer rang she nearly jumped out of her skin. “Jesus!”
She checked her reflection in the mirror next to the front door one more time before smoothing her hands over her hips. “Okay. This is it. No big deal. Just dinner with the man you’ve secretly obsessed over most of your adult life. The one you left because you were smart and thinking clearly, which you are clearly not doing now. Piece of cake.” She paused. “Damn it. I’m doing it again.”
When the buzzer went off once more, she squared her shoulders and opened the door.
Cole was leaning against the doorframe, one arm braced over his head in a relaxed pose only the most confident of men could pull off. He wore a black button-down shirt edged in blue stitching that brought out the icy blue of his eyes, and it was fitted enough that she could see the breadth of his shoulders straining against the fabric. The sleeves fit his biceps perfectly, as if molded there, and the fit of his jeans made her entire body ache with need.
“Hey, Janie girl. You look beautiful.”
She blinked. Focused on his mouth. Oh, that was not any better. Or it was, but…
“Um…you find the place okay?”
“Y
eah, no problem.”
“Good.” She grabbed her purse from the console table next to the door. “I’m ready to go.”
He paused, clearly wanting her to invite him in, but she knew she was doomed if she did that. Cole Kennrick and her, alone in her apartment? A very bad idea.
Or a very good one.
Stop it.
She looked up to find his gaze on hers, a smoldering blue that went right through her like a physical sensation—warm and intense.
“Cole?”
All he did was reach out and run a finger under her chin, but he may as well have put his hand between her thighs. That touch and his steady gaze on hers were working like some kind of wild aphrodisiac. Her legs went weak. Her sex went hot. Her mind went numb. When he stepped forward, she didn’t say a word. When he moved closer, using his big body to press her back, and closed the door behind him, she didn’t resist. She remembered this about him—how could she ever forget?—the way he used his tall, muscled frame to command her, to wrestle her into submission without even a word. But oh, when the words came, they were exactly the right ones to get her to shift gears in her head. To allow her to give herself over.
She hadn’t wanted to talk about the power play, but it was happening. It was too much a part of who Cole was—so naturally dominant despite his laid-back persona—and too much a part of who they were together. Submissive and Dominant. Absolute trust. Absolute vulnerability.
There were alarm bells going off in her head. She ignored them as he leaned in and kissed her.
Really kissed her—not like that brief brush of lips at her yoga studio. This time it started with a soft press of his beautiful, lush mouth to hers. Then again, and again. His hand wrapped around the back of her head, holding her closer so he could kiss her harder, and she was damned if she wasn’t the first one to open her mouth and invite him in.
She really was in trouble then. His tongue slipped in, hot and wet and sweet, and began to explore. Except it wasn’t some slow exploration—it was more as if he would die if he couldn’t kiss her, taste her, drink her in. And she was kissing him back every bit as hungrily.
His hands slid down to her waist. She dropped her purse to the floor as her arms went around his neck and she breathed him in. Oh yes, it was Cole, all right. Like pure sex to her. He yanked her in tight and she gasped, but the sound was lost in his kiss—he was swallowing her up, or she was melting into him. She wasn’t sure. Didn’t matter. All that mattered was his mouth on hers, his arms holding her tight, the crush of her breasts against the firm wall of his chest. Oh, and the hard ridge of his arousal pressing against her belly.
Her nipples were just as hard, almost grating against the lace of her bra. She wanted out of it now. Had she ever been this turned on in her life?
Only with him.
She kissed him harder, with everything she had. She’d had no idea how badly she needed this, needed him.
When he lifted her and turned, pressing her back against the door, she let out a moan. She’d always loved the way he handled her—as if she weighed nothing, yet knowing she wasn’t fragile, that she could take some roughness.
She liked it rough.
He grabbed both her wrists in one of his big hands and raised them over her head, held them against the wood door. Pressing against her with his hips, essentially trapping her with his body, he pulled back to demand, his tone harsh with desire, “Janie. You know me. You know what I am. I have to ask you for your consent. Say yes. Or tell me to stop right now.”
“Cole…”
“Tell me. Tell me to stop. Or tell me yes.”
“God, Cole…yes.”
He pressed her harder against the door, his breath warm on her cheek. “Say it again,” he ordered.
“Yes.”
His free hand went to her breast, his thumb brushing her nipple through the silk and the lace. She moaned.
“Again,” he said.
“Yes.”
He bent to nip at her lower lip, and she groaned. He slid a hand down and cupped her wet sex hard through her jeans.
“Say it like you mean it, Janie girl.”
“Damn it! Yes, Cole. Please. Come on.”
She arched into his hand, desire making her shake all over, and heard a low, rough chuckle from him before he took her mouth once more. No more games—it was hard and savage now. Lips, teeth and tongues, their bodies writhing. He paused only long enough to ram into her with his hips, shoving her farther up the door.
“Ah!” she gasped against his mouth.
He only lowered his head and kissed her neck, licking and biting, sending shivers through her system, like tiny sparks of light and heat. She needed him so badly it hurt, a hard ache between her thighs.
“Christ, you taste so good,” he murmured, pausing to slide her blouse over her head. Then, “Jesus, baby. Fucking beautiful. Need you naked. Now.”
He tore at her bra and it was on the floor in seconds, then he bent to unzip her boots and pull them off. All she could do was hang onto him, her hands braced on his broad shoulders—she could feel them flex under her hands.
“Shirt, Cole,” she murmured, and he stood long enough to pull it over his head. Underneath he was all hard, muscular man and beautiful ink—her favorite combination. And ink had never looked so good on any other man.
She reached out and smoothed her hands over his chest, his arms, down over his stomach. Lower.
“Fuck, Janie,” he growled, pushing her up against the door again, then yanking her jeans down over her legs, leaving her in nothing but her pink lace panties. “Oh, baby,” he said, an expression of awe on his face.
That was the last thing she heard as he took her breasts in his hands. He cupped them, squeezed, rubbed his thumbs over the nipples, and she cried out as pleasure shot through her.
“Ah, God!”
He did it again, and again and again while she writhed against the door, her hands wrapped behind his warm neck.
“Stay still,” he ordered, and she tried, but when he bent to take one nipple into his hot, wet mouth she nearly came.
He held her down with one hand on her hip as he sucked her nipple, held it between his teeth and teased the tip with his tongue.
“Ah…Cole…please…”
She was soaking wet, her clit throbbing in time with his tongue on her nipple. She tried to pull his head closer, but he grabbed her hands in one of his and held them tight enough to hurt. Just a little. Just enough. She felt his command as thoroughly as she ever had. And she loved it.
She was already panting and on the edge of coming when he let go of her hands and went down on his knees, tearing at her panties. The lace let go with a ripping sound, but she didn’t care. She needed him to touch her there. He pulled again at the fabric, but it held. He moved in with his teeth, nipping at her flesh, and in moments the shredded fabric fell to the floor. His hand went back to her hip as he dove in.
For several endless moments he did nothing more than kiss her, so delicately she thought she might scream. Then his hot tongue darted out against her hard clit and the first shock of orgasm skittered over her skin, swarmed deep into her belly, her sex.
He paused and she heard his sharp, panting breath.
“Ask for it, baby,” he told her.
“Please, Cole. Don’t tease. Just make me come.”
“Ah, that’s my girl.”
He moved in and sucked her clit into his mouth, sucked hard and fast, and she was coming so damn hard she was crying out, her hips arching. She was still coming when he pushed two fingers inside her aching pussy, and stars flashed in her head, pleasure like the heat of a thousand tiny, burning suns, her body on fire. Burning for him.
“Again,” he ordered, his fingers burrowing deeper, harder, his mouth going back to work, sucking, licking, even his teeth grating the tip of her clit. In moments
she was coming again, pleasure stabbing into her, her pussy throbbing, her legs so weak she would have fallen had he not held her up with one strong hand on her hip, while the other thrust inside her.
“Ah, God!”
She came so hard she was shaking, was still shaking even as the climax leveled off.
Cole pulled his fingers from her and slid up her body, still using his own to press her tight against the door, making the wood dig into her back. Didn’t matter. All she knew was his now-naked body against hers, his thick, lovely cock pressing against her stomach, then slipping between her thighs as he lifted her.
“So beautiful, baby, the way you come. Every damn thing about you.”
He kissed her neck as he wrapped his hands under her ass and pulled her higher. Her legs went around his waist.
“I need to be inside you. Oh, yeah…” The tip of his cock slid in her juices and he growled, “Fuck. Janie. Tell me you have condoms.”
“Bedroom,” she told him—it was all she could manage to say with her climax still shuddering through her, her body opening for him.
He carried her through the apartment and threw her down on the bed. “Where? Get them.”
She rolled over to open the drawer of her nightstand, fumbled in there until she found the box. When she turned back to him, he took the small foil pouch from her and tore it open with his teeth. Watching as he rolled it down onto his hard cock made her swallow in anticipation.
“Cole. I need to touch you.”
“Shh. Not now.” He pushed her onto her back and used his knees to kick her thighs apart. Sliding his hands under her ass, he lifted her hips. “Look at me, baby girl.”
She couldn’t have looked anywhere else. His gaze was on hers, like pale blue fire as he slipped the tip inside her.
“Oh…”
Desire was a blazing heat as he held himself there for one long moment. His gaze still locked on hers, he sank into her.
Filled by his heavy flesh… God, she’d forgotten how good it felt. How good he felt.
There were no more words between them as he began a hard, punishing pace. She leaned up to lick his salty neck. He bent to bite into her shoulder. His hips ground into her and pleasure lanced like a sweet-edged knife. They held onto each other, pleasure seeking pleasure, flesh seeking flesh. And once more orgasm hovered at that keen, lovely edge. She held her breath, clinging to his muscled arms, her nails digging in. And waited for him.