Page 92 of Tempted Hearts
“One bite for a reward.”
He looked skeptical. “What’s the reward? I need to know first.”
I glanced at his phone sitting beside our plates. “A secret. I’ll tell you a secret if you take a bite.”
His mouth opened immediately, his head tipping back slightly.
Seeing him like that?
Dear Lord, give me strength.
I slid the fork into his mouth. He closed his lips around it, chewing, making a face. I waited, not sure why I cared so much whether he liked it.
“Okay,” he finally said. “That’s not as fishy as I expected. And it’s not terrible.”
Not terrible. I’d take it.
I should’ve moved away. Gone back to my seat. Instead, he leaned down and kissed me—soft and quick.
“You taste like grouper,” he said. “Add that to the reasons I don’t like fish.”
I returned to my seat, and we finished the meal. When the kitchen was cleaned and the inevitable question still hovered between us, I debated what to say.
He should probably head back. Check on Mason. See if they needed anything.
Or—
“Do you want to stay here tonight?” I asked. “Too bad you didn’t bring a change of clothes,” I added. “You wouldn’t have to go back out in the storm to the inn.”
“I didn’t have a change of clothes last night,” he said. “And that worked out okay.”
Truth was, the decision had probably been made before I even brought it up.
And so, for the second time in my life, later that night, I stepped into my bedroom with Cole behind me. I imagined the sticky notes tucked into my drawer.
I handed him a spare toothbrush. He stripped down to his boxers. It felt like the most natural thing in the world—climbing into bed after what could only be described as a peaceful, easy day.
When he came back into the room, one lamp glowing softly, me already in bed, there was zero chance he’d be able to resist me—and he didn’t bother trying.
He told me to take off my clothes, and I did. He told me to straddle him, and I did. He didn’t tell me to wrap my hand around him—he didn’t need to. He was already hard, like he always was around me. But I knew he liked watching me like this.
“Have you ever touched yourself thinking about me?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said without hesitation. “You?”
“Do you really have to ask? Come here.”
I moved closer, close enough for him to slip his fingers into me, already slick and waiting. I didn’t need to be primed, but he did it anyway. My lips parted, my hands braced on his thighs, my head tipped back.
“Come for me like this.”
My eyes snapped back to his. “I?—”
“I wasn’t asking.”
That did something to me. I was even wetter now, and he took his time—circling, teasing, pushing me closer. When I felt myself tightening around his fingers, he replaced them with his cock.
I was already coming. I rode him, lost in it, my body moving above his as he thrust up, gripping my hips, pulling me down. We came together—fast, intense, shattering—the pleasure tearing through me, heightened by the look on his face.
