by Cass Kincaid
If I thought I had a choice at this very moment, I am mistaken. Because the wicked determination and need to control my body as he sees fit is burning brightly in his eyes. The gaze he pins me with leaves no room for negotiation.
Cohen is going to make me shatter beneath his touch, and he’s going to do it how and when he wants to.
Which, judging by the furious circles he’s rubbing against my swollen clit, I’d say he wants me to scream his name as soon as possible.
“Come on, Vi. What’s the matter?” he taunts me, seeing my eyes flutter as I struggle to control my body’s reaction to him. “You’re wet, baby. So goddamn wet. Don’t you want to come?”
Without warning, he slides his finger downward, deeper into the slippery folds of my pussy, disappearing inside me.
A desperate moan falls from my lips, and I struggle to jerk my head away from him, unable to handle the searing dominance in his eyes.
But his grip tightens slightly, and his eyes narrow. “Look at me, Vienna,” he commands. “Look at me, and come.”
I whimper. God, I’ve never wanted to come as badly as I do right now—as desperately as I need to—but I hold on, feeling the telltale tightening and clenching as my inner walls constrict around Cohen’s finger.
His eyebrow arches, the corner of his mouth turning up slyly. “Ah, that’s how we’re playing it?” He leans closer, and I think he’s going to kiss me.
But he doesn’t. Instead, I can feel the heat of his breath as he whispers, “I said come, Vienna.”
He pulls his finger from within me, only to slide another one in with it, burying them deeply as his thumb comes to rest on my swollen bud.
I gasp, faltering as my knees buckle under the scorching, consuming sensation that pulses through me. Every synapse firing in my brain is overwhelmed with the burning desire that’s boiling my blood, aching for me to give in to the fast, relentless thrusting of Cohen’s fingers as they coax my release closer and closer to the edge.
Cohen leans one hip against me, pinning me against the vanity, holding me upright, impaling me again and again with his long, adept fingers. “I won’t ask you again,” he hisses.
His thumb presses down on my clit and begins to flick it aggressively, in time with each in and out motion of his fingers. He’s through waiting, through allowing me to resist the agonizing desire that’s built up so tightly.
His sensual assault is too much, too fast. It’s consuming, and I’m unable to focus on anything but the sensation of his hands and the way the heat of his skin mingles with the slick, drenched heat of my own.
“Cohen!” I can’t contain it, and my orgasm rips through me. His hand clamps over my mouth, but his fingers don’t stop, milking every wave of release and aftershock from the deepest depths of my core.
Painstakingly slowly, his fingers retreat from inside me, and his eyes cool and soften to one of muted satisfaction and pride. “You look so gorgeous when your body’s clenched around me.”
“And you look like the cat that just ate the canary.” I push him away gently. “Do you think anyone heard us?”
“Even if they didn’t, there’s no mistaking that blush that’s in your cheeks, Vi. You wear the just-fucked look like a rockstar.”
I turn around to look into the mirror. He’s right, but that’s not what I’m focused on. It’s him, in all his smug glory. “You’re pretty happy with yourself right now, aren’t you?” I ask wryly.
“There isn’t anything I love more than making that sexy little body of yours bend to my will.” He slips his hands around my waist, hugging himself to me from behind.
I can feel his hardness pressed up against me. Purposely, I grind my ass back against it. “Bend to your will, huh?” I grind harder against him as I smooth out my hair, staring at him through the mirror. “Serves you right being left turned on like that, then.”
Amusement alights in Cohen’s eyes. “Oh, Vi, I can wait till we get home tonight, don’t you worry about that.” He leans in close, his lips pressed seductively against my ear. “The thing is, can you?”
“I turn around abruptly in his arms, eyeing him. “You don’t think I can resist you and the sexuality you seem to exude?”
“I think I like being able to control how you react to that sexuality I exude. Your words, not mine.”
It’s my turn to show amusement as I stand there, staring up at the man that I’ve loved for so many years I’ve lost count. There’s a glint of humor in my eyes this time, and I purse my lips together to contain my reaction to his confession. “You’re definitely cocky, Cohen Bradley.”
“No. Just definitely sure, Vienna Anderson.” He grins. “Or, better yet, future Mrs. Vienna Bradley.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“Oh, are you wielding veiled threats, baby?” He leans down and kisses me, smirking just as obnoxiously as he did before our impromptu rendezvous.
“Not at all.” I turn around to face the mirror again, winking at him through it before getting prepared to head downstairs to the ridiculous party that awaits us. “I’m making very clear promises. There’s nothing veiled about them.”
CHAPTER THREE
Cohen
I totally understand Vienna’s frustrations with the way my mother has taken over the engagement party as though it’s her own and turned it into something ten times bigger than we ever wanted. It’s more than I ever wanted to have to go through, too, and my mother knows neither of us are big on crowds.
The thing is, I know damn well that my mother is just getting started. If we both think this party is insane, just wait till she gets her hands on the actual wedding. I’ve warned Vi about that and said I will try my damnedest to keep her at bay, but things are going to blow wide open sooner or later. It’s only a matter of time.
Maybe that’s why Vienna’s smiles and gestures all seem forced now. She must be worried about this happening all over again in a few months.
But, damn it, could she at least pretend to be enjoying herself?
The tension in her shoulders had been obvious upstairs in my house earlier, and she’d looked to be strung about as tightly as a violin string. I won’t lie, I made her come with my bare hands for the stress relief just as much as for my love of watching her shudder and tremble with need beneath my touch.
The tension has resumed its place in her shoulders again, however, and short of sneaking her into one of the bathroom stalls in this community centre and fucking her up against the wall until she can barely walk, I’m not sure how to rid her of it at this moment.
Barry Edson, or Old Man Edson as we’ve always known him, is shaking her hand beside me, and Vienna is putting on that fake smile that even a blind man could see through.
“Thanks for coming,” she says flatly to him.
I reach out and pat Old Man Edson on the shoulder. “Yeah, thanks, Mr. Edson. We’re so glad you could make it. Say hi to Margaret for us, okay?”
He shuffles off. I steal the chance to duck my head down and whisper, “What’s wrong?”
Vienna turns and looks up at me like I’ve grown two heads. “Two and a half hours of my smile screwed on, repeating the same things over and over again while wearing very, very uncomfortable shoes. That’s what’s wrong.”
“Kick your shoes off.” I keep my arm securely around her waist. “No one will even notice.”
“You’re missing the point.”
“And you’re looking downright miserable.”
Vienna has never been one to say anything negative, or even put on anything but a happy face. So, while her lackluster reaction to this party might, in fact, not be that noticeable to anyone else, to someone like me who knows her better than she knows herself, she may as well be wearing a neon sign that says she’s in a foul mood.
“I’m just not—”
“Hey, Cohen,” a voice says from behind me. We both turn, and I swear, you could pick my jaw up off the floor. I’m literally speechless.
“Oh, and hey, Vienna. So
rry, I didn’t see you there.”
Jesus, I hadn’t even got a formal introduction out and she’s already made a dismissive comment toward my fiancée. “Liz, hey. I didn’t know you were here.”
My ex-wife grins sweetly—far too sweetly—and shrugs her shoulders. “The rest of the town is here. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Maybe because you’re my ex-wife? Or because our divorce was messy as hell? Or, maybe, just maybe, because you blamed our divorce on my feelings for Vienna, even though Vienna was thousands of miles away in New York? “Just didn’t expect it, that’s all,” I choose to say instead, trying to keep things civil. “I’m not sure you’ve met Vienna.” I pull her as close to me as possible and turn so that Vi is facing Liz. “Liz, this is my fiancée, Vienna Anderson. Vi, this is Liz Calley, my—”
“The ex-wife,” Liz blurts out, holding out her hand, still maintaining that wicked smile. “May as well just get it out in the open now. Although, Vienna, I must say, I feel like I already know you, since I’ve heard so much about you.”
Another veiled insult.
But maybe I’ll get lucky and Vienna won’t pick up on it.
I steal a glance down at her pretty features.
Nope, she’s definitely picked up on it.
“Funny,” she replies, shaking the black-haired woman’s hand stiffly. “Can’t say the same about you.”
Vienna’s tone, mocking with a dark undertone of don’t fuck with me, signals exactly what I don’t want happening—the claws are ready to come out. Vienna knows about Liz, and knows that we parted because of the feelings I’ve always harbored for her. But she doesn’t seem to care about what she does and doesn’t know right now. Or that people are starting to notice that my ex and my fiancée are meeting, and they’re intrigued enough to stare unabashedly.
Liz takes the snippy comment in stride, pulling her hand away only after Vienna pulls away first. “That doesn’t surprise me, actually. Seeing as Cohen always had a tendency to talk about you more than me.”
“Liz, what the hell—” I hiss under my breath, but Vienna doesn’t even seem to notice.
“That’s why you came here?” she snaps, much louder than I am speaking. “To confirm that he’s always loved me more than you? Well, hell, Liz, thanks for pointing out the obvious. Now, get out.”
I’m not saying it’s not warranted, but I’m shocked by my fiancée’s outburst.
Liz, however, seems to find this amusing, and her eyes grow wide. “Wow.” She turns toward me. “Tell me, Cohen, was it this kind of charm and grace that made you yearn for her all those years? Because, I must say, if it was, I don’t get it.”
Vienna takes a step forward. Though I’m unsure what exactly she plans to do, I reach out and hold her back, keeping her arms—and her claws—far away from Liz Calley.
“I told you to get the fuck out of here,” Vienna barks out. A series of gasps from onlookers erupt. The residents of Garrison are just like me in the sense that they’ve rarely, if ever, heard a curse word pass Vienna Anderson’s pouty lips.
I pull her back against me. “Jesus Christ, Liz, just go, will you?” I whisper loudly, despite the fact that everyone can see and hear me. “Thanks for stopping by, but I’m not sure what you wanted to accomplish by coming here today.”
Liz gives me a long, blazing look—one of the glares that evokes so much heat and ice together that you’re not sure whether to be scared of the hot fury or petrified enough to have shivers run up your spine—then smiles a vindictive grin before muttering, “Oh yeah, and congratulations,” and turning on her boot-clad heel and walking out of the community centre.
I make sure the doors are completely closed before I spin Vienna around in my arms and narrow my eyes. “What was that all about?” I whisper bluntly. I can’t bring myself to glance around us at the onlookers, but I can feel their heavy gazes boring into us.
“Your ex showed up here. I told her to leave. I thought you were paying attention.”
Her tone annoys me. “Don’t be smart, Vi. You could’ve given me a chance to handle it.”
“Didn’t need you to. I handled her myself just fine.”
Her feigned indifference only irks me more. “Vienna, what—”
She leans in and wraps her arms around my shoulders, pressing her lips against my ear. “Oh, right. I forgot, you prefer my submission rather than taking care of myself.”
I pull back like the hot, breathy words she’s just uttered have scalded me. “That is completely out of context and you know it.” But be damned if her heated breath and the mere mention of submission doesn’t make my cock stir. “Obviously, your feistiness showed up at the completely wrong time.”
“Funny, so did your ex-wife.”
And with that, Vienna saunters away from me, heading toward the bar for another drink.
CHAPTER FOUR
Vienna
That is not how I planned my engagement party to go at all. I’m sure if you ask anyone, the idea of having their future husband hold them back as his ex-wife crashes the party and insults her is pretty far down on the list of things they thought they’d do during what was supposed to be a fun, celebratory night.
Now, I’ve spent the remaining hours of the party tossing back vodka shots with the two women who work at the Garrison Gazette with me, coupled with putting just as much energy into avoiding having to be one-on-one with Cohen. All while prying eyes watch, waiting for more drama.
To be honest, it doesn’t make me angry that he disliked my attitude. The part that gets me fired up is that he didn’t think I should speak up for myself. The goddamn woman was making blatant digs at me, like I did something wrong by allowing Cohen to fall in love with me back in high school. Like it was my fault that their marriage ended.
I hadn’t even been in Garrison then. I hadn’t spoken to Cohen in years. And I sure as hell wasn’t the reason for their marriage’s demise. Maybe the memory of me was, as Cohen so eloquently put it once, but that’s not my fault, either.
I wait until the very last person is gone from the community centre before I hug my parents and head toward my fiancé, who is waiting silently near the front door for me. He’s obviously been ready to head back home to his place for a while, but been too sheepish to actually come and tell me so.
Good. He wanted me to enjoy this party, and so what if it took me picking a fight with his ex and taking shots with my friends from work to do it? That’s not exactly typical Vienna style, but it did make the overpopulated, over-decorated night more bearable.
“Ready?” Cohen’s already got the keys in his hand, and he’s turned away from me, pushing the door open. At least he’s still got enough manners to hold it open for me as I pass by.
The ride home is silent. I watch him out of the corner of my eye, and though my vision is a bit fuzzy at the edges, blurred by the vodka, I can see very clearly that his jaw is set tightly and the one hand that’s clutching the steering wheel is white-knuckled.
I sigh loudly and wait for him to say something, but he doesn’t. I can tell he’s deep in thought and rigid with anger.
Cohen and I have argued before, but I don’t think we’ve ever made it this long without saying something to each other.
He pulls the car into the driveway and kills the engine. This is when I think he’ll speak to me, finally. But as I unbuckle my seatbelt, he pushes open the driver’s side door and exits the car. I’m forced to follow him into the house silently.
Inside, I give up. I’ve got no intention of following him around all damn night waiting for him to be ready to talk, hoping he’ll want to mend the riff between us.
If he wants to go to sleep angry, so be it.
I hear the shower running across the hall, but Cohen hasn’t come into the bedroom to grab any clothes from his dresser. That’s when I realize first that he has every intention of just tossing his robe on that hangs behind the bathroom door...
And sleeping on the couch downstairs.
The man is really
going to let this percolate overnight. Really?
I wonder then if he’s just avoiding me now because I was avoiding him at the party—an eye for an eye—but that’s never really been Cohen’s way of doing things.
As I remove my earrings, staring at my reflection in the mirror of my armoire in the bedroom, I think of him as he usually is—so cool, collected, and patient. So damn organized and put together.
So undeniably sexy.
Damn it, even angry at him, I’m still turned on by the thought of his chiseled abdomen and broad shoulders. The man knows exactly how to make me wet for him, almost instantly. Like he knows exactly where to touch me, where to lick and caress and kiss and—
“Vienna.”
A startled gasp escapes my throat and I attempt to turn around. Strong hands grasp my arms and hold me in place, forcing me to look behind me through the mirror.
Cohen is standing directly behind me, and the part of him that I can see is naked. Now that my mind has returned back to the here and now, I can feel the erotic heat emanating from his body. He’s not touching me anywhere but my arms, but the proximity and presence of him alone is enough to send goosebumps and a series of tingles creeping across my skin.
“Cohen, you scared me.”
“Vienna,” he repeats, and this time his voice has a hint of warning in it. “Do you know what you’re doing to me right now?”
I try to turn around again, and this time he presses himself against my back, pinning me against the armoire and causing my face to become closer to the mirror. The rigid hardness of his erection against my ass makes me suck in a breath. “I thought I was making you angry. Cohen, I—”
“I don’t want to talk, Vi.” His mouth is against my shoulder, and I watch through the mirror as he inhales the scent of my skin, letting his tongue dart out to taste me, kissing a slow, seductive trail across my collarbone up to the soft flesh of my throat. There, he nips at me, just below my ear. I yelp again. “I want to bury myself so deep inside you that I forget we ever fought.”