Page 88 of The Heart Breaker

He doesn’t even look at me when he says it. He just grabs his phone and starts walking away. He pauses when he reaches the bathroom door and glances back over his shoulder, his eyes moving over me where I’m sprawled across his bed, naked and exposed, humiliation crawling over my skin.

“Don’t touch yourself,” he says. “I want you to come on my cock.”

I open my mouth, ready to ask who the hell is calling, what could possibly be important enough to make him pull away from me now, with me naked on his bed and waiting for him, but he’s already disappearing into the bathroom before I can get a word out, the door closing behind him.

I drop back onto the bed, my heart pounding, my skin still burning, and my pussy aching with need. I strain to hear something—anything—that might tell me who’s on the other side of that door, but all I hear is the muffled sound of his voice through the bathroom wall.

If I didn’t know him as well as I do—if I hadn’t spent the last few months sleeping with him, learning the way he moves, the way he thinks—I’d think he had a girlfriend. It would explain a lot. Why we only see each other late at night, why he just pulled away from me to answer someone else’s call.

Except Cole doesn’t do girlfriends. He hooks up with girls until he gets bored, and then he’s done.

He’ll get bored of me too, eventually.

That thought’s been creeping around in the back of my head for weeks now. Every time we end up in bed, some part of me wonders if this is the last time before he finally gets bored and moves on.

But this girl—whoever’s on the other end of that call—must be special if he’s willing to leave me like this just to talk to her in private.

And I hate how my stomach churns at the thought.

My hand drifts over my stomach, and even that makes me flinch, my body lighting up.

God, I need him to come back. Need his hands on me again before I lose my mind.

I slide my hand lower, toward the ache that’s been driving me out of my mind, and when my fingers touch my clit, I let out a breathy sound.

Don’t touch yourself.

Cole’s voice cuts through my head so clearly it stops me cold, my hand hovering there as if he’s the one who grabbed my wrist.

I hate that my body listens to him.

I drop my hands to my sides with a groan and press my thighs together, but that only makes the ache worse.

“Screw this.”

I roll onto my stomach, and when I lower my hips, my clit rubs against the mattress and a bolt of pleasure shoots through me.

“Yes,” I whine, my breath hitching as I grind into the bed.

I do it again and again, but it’s not enough. I need more. Desperately.

With a frustrated groan, I reach out, grab his pillow, fold it in half to make it firmer, drag it between my legs, and as soon as my clit rubs against it, a helpless moan tears free.

I rock my hips, my body trembling as pleasure rushes through me. A rough moan is dragged out of me, and I pin my bottom lip between my teeth as I feel my orgasm climbing higher and higher and?—

“Holy fuck.”

My heart nearly stops when I hear his voice.

I glance over my shoulder and swallow hard. Cole’s standing by the bathroom door, his eyes fixed on me where I’m grinding against his pillow.

He steps away from the door and the mattress dips behind me as he climbs onto the bed, his knees settling on either side of mine, his cock pressing into my ass.

“I told you not to touch yourself,” his teeth scraping my skin as he grabs my ass and squeezes hard.

“I didn’t,” I pant. “My hands were on the bed.”

He groans, flips me onto my back, yanks the pillow out from between my legs, and throws it aside.