Cole (Hunting Her)

by Eden Summers

  I walk into her, leading her backward to the elegant dining table, not stopping until her butt bumps into the wood.

  “Tell me what you see.” I snarl an inch from her lips, inhaling her heat. “Tell me all the shitty things you feel when you look at me.”

  She sighs, her shoulders slumping. “It’s not like that. We just…” She shakes her head despite the restriction of my hand. “We’re enemies.” The frantic lick of her lips tells a different story.

  Her body and mind don’t match up. Her morals may dictate that we’re adversaries, yet the way she physically responds to me is entirely different. Always has been.

  I keep my attention on her mouth. “We didn’t leave Greece as enemies.”

  “Like hell we didn’t. We arrived as enemies and left the same way.” Color floods her cheeks. “The middle may have contained some shady decisions and a wealth of regret, but that’s to be expected through all the adrenaline.”

  “Shady decisions and regret?” I meet her gaze, stroking my index finger along the sensitive column of her neck. “Is that all you remember about us fucking?”

  She breaks eye contact.

  “Tell me.” I tighten my grip. “I want to know exactly what you think when you recall me being inside you.”

  She shudders and the fragile tremble rocks right through me.

  “We were made to fuck.” I lean closer, brushing my stubbled cheek over her perfectly smooth one, my lips near her ear. “Admit no other man has moved you like I have.”

  “You’re looking for a distraction, Cole. That’s all this is. You need an outlet.” She pulls back an inch and meets my gaze. “You don’t want to think about what’s really happening.”

  No, I need her.

  I’ve never been more reliant on someone in my entire life.

  This is about us. About forming an unbreakable alliance that will help bring my family back together. It’s about the future and a shaky past. It’s about strength and power and pride.

  I brush my lips over her cheek. “I’ll tell you all about that phone call once you admit you want to be with me.”

  She straightens, her chin jutting higher.

  “Tell me I haunt your dreams.” Like she haunts mine. “Tell me how no other man compares.” Like no woman ever could. “Tell me how you want to commit to me even though our lives are worlds apart.”

  She stiffens and I pull back to see her glaring in fury.

  It’s not the reaction I expected. But I’ve never been able to predict this woman perfectly every time. It’s one of her many highlights.

  “What exactly did my shrink tell you?” She grates through clenched teeth. “How much do you know?”

  I smirk, rerunning those questions in my mind to hear her truth.

  I haunt her dreams.

  No other man compares.

  She wants to commit to me.

  That shrink had given me very little information. There wasn’t much other than a contempt-filled explanation that Nissa continued to beg for a Stockholm diagnosis to excuse her lingering feelings for me.

  “Your secrets are safe, little fox.” I part her thighs with a shove of my knee and sink between her legs. “I’m not the bastard you think I am.”

  “Yes, you are.” It’s a weak protest. Feeble at best.

  I reach between us with my free hand, finding the waistband of her pants to release the button with a flick of my fingers.

  “Cole,” she pleads. “Don’t.”

  This time there’s strength in her voice. Panic. She nudges forward, probably attempting to free herself, but all it does is bring her closer. Hip to hip. Chest to chest.

  Her pulse beats harder beneath my fingers. Her breathing increases. And those breasts. Fuck. With each pant they brush against me, turning my already hard dick to stone.

  “You want me,” I whisper.

  “That doesn’t make it right.” She swallows, her throat working overtime beneath my palm. “None of this is right.”

  “We’ve discussed right and wrong in the past.” I hold her gaze. “And I’ve convinced you your perception was misguided before. This is just another example.”

  She blinks back at me, shaking her head. “I can’t want this. You just sent a goddamn video of us to my partner.”

  “But you do want it.” I lower her zipper, the slow grate of friction loud between us.

  She mewls. Whimpers.

  I slide my hand beneath the elastic of her panties, expecting her to protest as I delve deeper, but there’s nothing.

  No demand.

  No threat.

  Only the frantic grip of her fingers clinging to the arm at her throat as if she’s battling the desire to beg for more.

  She’s done fighting me and the realization is invigorating. Soul cleansing.

  I glide my hand lower, past her mound, to her opening and groan at the slickness awaiting me. She’s wet as fuck, her greedy pussy clenching as my fingers part her folds.

  “Oh, God.” The words are a barely audible prayer as she closes her eyes and clings tighter to my wrist. “We can’t do this.”

  “Yes, we can.” I tease her entrance, stroking back and forth.

  She shakes her head. “We shouldn’t.”

  “This is fate.” I inch my fingers inside her, slowly delving as deep as the restriction of her pants will allow.

  “I’ve tried so hard not to want this,” she whispers. “It’s not right, Cole.”

  “It’s right for us.” I stroke her, making her hips roll. “Perfection isn’t meant to be easy.”

  “Perfection?” She grinds her hips, her nails digging deep into my wrist. “How can you think that?”

  “Because it’s what you are. It’s what we are.”

  She pants. Clings. Shudders.

  I press my thumb to her clit and the resulting gasp is heaven to my ears. I’d give anything to fuck her right now. To have my cock inspire those gasps. But I don’t deserve it. Not yet.

  “Cole,” she whispers. “I don’t want to do this.”

  My chest squeezes with the kick to my ego. Deep down I know she’s only protesting to save face once all this is said and done. It’s a defense mechanism. A shield.

  She needs to think this is my fault. My doing. That she had no choice.

  I won’t allow it.

  “Then push me away, Nissa.” I place my nose an inch from hers, staring her down. “Stop grinding against my fingers and walk.”

  Her teeth sink into her lower lip. Her brows furrow. Her eyes plead.

  “Or simply enjoy what’s meant to be.” I inch closer, hovering my lips a breath from hers. “Take what I willingly give.”

  Her gasps increase. The buck of her hips, too. She grinds against my fingers, driving me to madness with her desire, when a heavy knock sounds at the door.

  Fuck.

  “Oh, shit.” She scrambles like a feral cat.

  “Stop,” I growl. “We’re not done.”

  “No.” She tries to pry my fingers from her neck. “There’s someone at the door.”

  “They can wait. We’re not finished here until you come.”

  She shakes her head rapidly. “I can’t.”

  “You fucking can. And you will.” I back her harder against the table, clench my grip tighter around her throat, and work those digits in her pussy like we’re seconds from death. “You’re going to fucking come, Nis. No woman of mine is left wanting.”

  I plaster my lips to hers, tasting her, devouring her. She moans, melting her tongue against mine.

  The knock sounds again, but we don’t stop. I deepen the kiss. Press harder against her clit. Her pussy drenches my palm while her core clamps tighter around me as Hunter yells for me to, “Open the fucking door.”

  “Come,” I demand in her mouth. “Fucking come, little fox, or I’ll let them in here and they can watch.”

  “I can’t.” She shakes her head.

  “You know I’m not bluffing.”

  Of course I am.

/>   I would never allow another man to see her like this.

  Her pleasure is mine. I own these gasps.

  But my men have a key. If they grow concerned about my lack of response, they’ll quit waiting for permission to enter and simply storm in.

  “Fucking come.” I reclaim her mouth, squeeze her neck, making her struggle for air.

  She trembles. Scratches.

  The knocking continues. My cell vibrates in my pocket.

  This time, Decker yells, “What the hell is going on, Cole?”

  Nissa’s trembling intensifies. She shudders. Claws at my wrists.

  “Cole,” she pleads. “Please, Cole.”

  “Tell me what you need.”

  She responds by releasing my arms to circle her hands around my neck, dragging me closer. She hypnotizes me with her frantic kiss. Tortures me with her demand for nearness.

  Then soothes me with the release.

  She comes undone in my hands, whispering my name, holding me so fucking tight I never want her to let go.

  She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Ever felt. Always wanted.

  I love her.

  That’s all there is now—my obsessive worship and the inability to walk away.

  Her arms fall from around my neck, her shoulders relaxing. Her eyes slowly blink open, her breathing remaining a frantic mess.

  I release her throat and hope to escape to the kitchen before her remorse hits. But I’m not fast enough. My fingers are sliding from her pussy as regret stares back at me.

  “Don’t look at me like that.” I pull a handkerchief from my pocket and wipe my hand. “The time for second-guessing is over. We’re done fighting this. You hear me?”

  16

  Anissa

  I’m still in a mindless trance of reflection and self-loathing, leaned against the dining room table, when Cole opens the penthouse door.

  It isn’t until Hunter stalks into the living room, his gaze narrowing on me in a new level of heightened spite, that I realize how I must look.

  Disheveled. In a post-orgasm haze.

  Shit.

  I shove to my feet, my head high as I walk toward him and the banked up wall of men behind him to maneuver through the crowd and into the hall. I scoop my discarded cell from the tile floor, thankful I didn’t break it in my fit of rage, and shut myself into the main bathroom to stare at my blissed-out reflection in the mirror.

  My cheeks are pink, my lips bright red. And the marks on my neck from Cole’s restricting grip stand out like a brutal reminder of my flaws.

  I touch the flaming skin, still feeling him there, his hand around my throat, the threatening yet erotic grip inundating me with adrenaline.

  There’s something sick about how much I enjoyed the menace of that hold. Something twisted and unhinged about the undeniable thrill. It’s made all the worse when the man inspiring the nirvana is entirely capable of strangulation.

  I don’t doubt he could kill me.

  Maybe that’s the appeal. The danger. The thin line between life and death.

  Not only do I see flashbacks of what just happened, I feel them. Cole’s touch remains tangible, raising goose bumps, stealing breath.

  I use the facilities, my cheeks flaming hotter at the slickness drenched between my thighs. I need a change of underwear.

  I need a goddamn lobotomy.

  Even with the self-loathing and shame, there’s still a tingle of exhilaration emanating through my chest. It’s a silent demand for more. A hunger that can’t be sated by a lone orgasm or stifled by remorse.

  How can that even happen after everything Cole’s done? Why do I still feel this way when moments earlier he’d humiliated me and risked my career by sending Easton that video?

  I should hate Cole.

  I need to hate him. Yet, I fucking don’t. There’s only an agonizing ache where anger should be as I unlock my cell and stare at the blank home screen.

  The radio silence from Easton says it all. I can’t even imagine what he’s thinking right now. I don’t want to.

  I navigate to my text messages, then Easton’s folder. I prepare to watch the video again but pause at the tiny red icon beside the message.

  Error. Message not sent. Turn on cell data.

  I stare in amazement.

  The message didn’t go through. Cole turned off my data?

  He took the video. Prepared a message. But deliberately made sure it wouldn’t send.

  Why? To trigger my fear? To assert his authority?

  Regardless of the reasons, I’m thankful. Almost overwhelmed with relief at Cole’s exposed decency.

  I delete the evidence capable of ruining my life and ignore the shake of my hands as I turn the data back on.

  Notifications of missed calls blink onto the screen. A text from Easton, too.

  I’m worried about you. We need to talk. Please call me.

  My heart pangs. I can clearly visualize his concern. His face would be somber. His eyes gentle. But I don’t crave his sweetness. Not his affection or his attention.

  All for one reason—he’s not Cole.

  Sorry about earlier. I text back. I’m working on something important. I promise I’ll fill you in once this is over. I’m fine. Trust me.

  My moral compass is so far out of whack I don’t even feel guilty with the lie that’s barely veiled by the truth as I place my cell back in my pocket.

  I lean against the basin and stare at myself in the mirror, finger-combing my hair until the freshly fucked look leaves my features. It isn’t until I’m completely devoid of adrenaline, lust, and anticipation that I cautiously leave the bathroom, remaining out of sight in the hall to listen to the conversation in the living room.

  Cole speaks with authority as he asks for an update on his sister’s well-being.

  There’s a murmur of reply about crying and sedatives. It isn’t until Cole cuts back into the conversation, relaying information pertaining to his latest phone conversation with Emmanuel, that I enter the opening of the hall, not caring that I’m in view of Hunter’s evil stare.

  “He’s refusing to let us see them until tomorrow.” Cole removes his suit jacket and drapes it over the armrest of a sofa. “He’s holding them hostage yet somehow thinks he can downplay the act of war behind false promises and insane excuses.”

  “What excuses?” Decker asks. “What reason could he possibly have for keeping them from us?”

  “Some bullshit about his wife being smitten with the kids and wanting to spend more time with them.”

  “They could already be dead.” Hunter begins to pace beside the wall of glass leading to the balcony, his face stone cold. “He’s buying time.”

  “Jesus.” Benji leans forward in his seat at the dining table, elbows on the wood, hands raked into his hair.

  He’s seated in the same place I’d been earlier, with Cole’s hand in my underwear. Panting. Gasping. Now the position is filled with such sickening mourning I can barely stand my own degradation.

  “They’re not dead. I have a photo.” Cole reaches into his pants pocket, coming up empty. “My cell…” His attention raises, his eyes finding mine. “You have my phone.”

  I nod, approaching him to hold out the device.

  He’s in business mode now. Stern. Sterile.

  There’s none of the dominant heat in his expression from before, and there shouldn’t be. I shouldn’t even be looking for it. I don’t know why my head is still back there. Lathered in seduction.

  I’m broken.

  He takes the cell, navigates to his gallery, then shows the screen to Benji. “They at least made it to Emmanuel like he promised.”

  I start toward Benji as he pushes from the table, his steps frantic as he snatches the device to stare at it cradled in his hands.

  “She looks scared.” He shoots a glance at Cole. “She’s fucking petrified.”

  I pause a few feet away, not wanting to encroach on the private moment, while also itching to catch sight of
the evidence. “Can I see?”

  Benji continues to focus on the image, his eyes hollow, his suffering soul deep.

  “Please?” I hold out a hand. “Just a quick look.”

  Hunter huffs at my request. Decker scoffs. But Benji reluctantly hands the device over and returns his attention to Cole. “What do we do?”

  The men continue their conversation as I scrutinize the digital image.

  The setting would seem wholesome to the ignorant eye. Even loving. Two young children with a doting elderly woman. Benji is right, though. Stella’s eyes are haunted, while Tobias seems almost angry beneath his fake smile.

  Their innocent faces are enough to siphon any lingering desire from my veins and put me back on track.

  I scan every pixel of the photograph, painstakingly noting the finer details. “This image is important.” I raise my voice above their chatter and meet Cole’s gaze. “Have you checked for the GPS details embedded in the file?”

  “There’s not much point,” Decker replies. “The last pic didn’t have any. He knows how to delete the information.”

  I hand Cole’s phone back to him, our fingers slightly brushing. “We still need to check. And regardless of the outcome, there’s a wealth of information in this picture. We might be able to pinpoint the skyline in the background. The children have been cleaned up, too. They’ve been given new clothes. They’re even wearing T-shirts that expose their forearms, showing no signs of bruising or abuse.”

  “You think they’re okay?” Benji asks.

  “I think they’re being taken care of,” I correct him. “Stella’s eyes aren’t red, so she hasn’t been crying. Yes, she’s scared. But that’s only natural. The kitchen is clean apart from the flour, which alludes to a healthy environment. The woman with them is showing her face, which means she doesn’t see this as incriminating evidence.”

  “Are you saying that they might actually be keeping the kids from us because they seriously want to play happy families?” Hunter scrunches his nose in disgust. “That’s insane.”

  “It’s a possibility.”

  “I don’t give a shit about possibilities. I just want Stella and Tobias back home.” Cole taps on his phone and seconds later, a chorus of vibrations hum through the room. “I just sent you all a copy of the image. Study it. Dissect it. I don’t care what it takes. We’re going to work over every last detail until we find them.”