Page 112 of Twisted Enemy
And he murmurs into my ear, “Three.”
I collapse onto the mattress, giving my full weight to the bonds on my wrist, to the ties on my ankle. I close my eyes in vain hope that my hot tears won’t trickle down my cheeks. A sob leaks past my lips.
“Hush, Kate,” he whispers, and his lips are impossibly gentle against my eyelids, across my cheeks.
He works the knots on the silk ties that bind my wrists. That makes me cry harder, because that means we’re finished. He’s punished me, the counting to three I earned in the basement, and now we’re done, and he won’t give me the single thing I need most in the world.
“Shhh,” he murmurs, releasing my left foot. “Hush,” he says again as he frees my right.
I want to curl onto my side. I want to bury my face in my pillow. I want to hide from him forever because he knows me, he’s seen the locked-up, darkest parts of me, and because of that he won’t let me come.
“Kate,” he sighs again, folding his arm over my ribs.
He pulls me close, matching his chest to my spine. His hand spreads across my belly again, startling me as he tightens his grip because I’m suddenly right back where I was, on the edge,so ready to come that the taste of sweet release mingles with tears at the back of my throat.
He presses his thigh against mine, shifting my legs, and I realize his cock is hot and heavy. He tugs me close, and I gasp, which gives him the leverage to glide past my folds from behind.
He fills me. This isn’t the pain-pressure of his fist. This is the slick heat of the cock I need, the easy rhythm as we move together, the perfect fit as I curve against him, giving him even more control.
He gathers my hair from the nape of my neck. He’s pumping harder now, moving faster. I groan at the pace, wanting more, needing him to free me now. My throat is on fire, and I realize I’m chanting: “Oh God, Cole. More, Cole. Now, Cole. Now!”
His teeth close over my earlobe. His thumb and forefinger pinch my clit. My body stiffens at the sudden pain, and he drives deeper than he ever has before, pulling me close, holding me tight, molding us into one seamless shape.
For one perfect moment, we’re suspended. Then, something breaks inside me, a hard tug that impossibly pulls him deeper. I’m clutching, shattering, becoming something I never imagined I could be, because he’s making me, he’s forming me, he’s emptying into me and filling me and transforming me into some sort of new, reborn creature.
When my brain comes back online, we’re still spooned together. I lie there quietly, aware that he’s matched his breathing to mine, or maybe I matched his without even thinking about it. There’s no other man on earth I’d let do what he just did to me—unravel me strand by strand, then put me back together into something stronger, something straighter, something true.
I raise Cole’s arm from my belly so I can kiss his knuckles. He shifts his legs around mine, nestling his resting cock against my arse. I relax against him, sharing his warmth, trusting hisstrength. As I settle my head against his collar bone, I whisper the only thought my mind is capable of forming: “I love you.”
His response is to pull me even closer. “I love you too.” He kisses the nape of my neck. “Rest now. Go to sleep.”
But I can’t sleep yet. There’s one thing I still have to do, something I’ve dreamed of for decades, something I long ago accepted was impossible.
Ignoring Cole’s groaned protest, I stretch for the nightstand. I fumble for the switch on the lamp there, my fingers clumsy with fatigue. It takes two tries before I get the mechanism to catch. I blink as the light goes off, and I hold my eyes closed for an extra count of three.
When I open them, the bedroom is dark. Shadows fill the corners. The faintest moonlight sneaks past the curtains.
I hold my breath, as if I’m listening for monsters. I hear my heartbeat, loud and fast. I hear Cole’s breathing, slow and steady. But that’s it. Nothing else. The monsters are banished.
And for the first time since I was eight years old, I manage to sleep in the dark.
44
COLE
Of course I wake before Kate does. I lie next to her for a long time, listening to her breathing. I realize that I miss the nightstand lamp, miss the chance to see her calm and relaxed, more trusting than I ever see her awake.
But there’s nothing in the world—no amount of money—that would make me turn that light on.
Not even if the money was enough to replace the clients who will drop me once Tarasov’s blackmail fodder is released. Not even if the money could pay the tax bill I know is working its way through the system now that my freeport gallery is closed. Not even if the money could get me back into the Diamond Ring.
But Iwouldpay a considerable amount of my remaining fortune to get back into Trap Prince’s good graces. Alix didn’t deserve my using her auctions to fight my private wars. Her reputation shouldn’t have taken a hit because mine was shot, and Prince had every right to defend her.
I have to admit, though, I have another motive for wanting to clear my debt. I have two dead Russians in my basement with more evidence spattered about than I can ever safely clean. I need to know the bratva—or any police force in the world—can never pin Tarasov’s death on Kate.
There’s only one man I trust to do a clean-up job like that. I’ve seen him manage a total overhaul before, taking hours to complete a task that should have taken weeks. Sawyer Best is the only person I can call.
And Best is off-limits as long as I’m cast out from the Diamond Ring.
