Page 23 of How I Met My Mate

The kiss deepens instantly, heat flaring between us. His arms wrap around me, lifting me slightly, angling my mouth exactly where he wants it. My fingers curl into his shirt, clinging like I’ll float away if I let go.

Everything in me feels alive. A little wild.

He pulls back just enough to speak against my lips. “You’re my fated mate,” he breathes, voice low and reverent. “I’ve waited for you my whole damn life.”

My heart trips over itself. “Then stop waiting,” I whisper.

A sound rumbles in his chest—half groan, half growl—and he sweeps me into his arms like I weigh nothing, carrying me toward the bedroom with fierce, determined intent.

The world narrows to his heartbeat, his heat, his hands.

And when he lowers me onto the bed, bracing himself above me, his eyes aren’t just brown anymore—they’re molten.

“I’m going to take my time with you,” he promises, voice a vow and a caress. “Every minute of it.”

And the rest of the world—the spies, the councils, the chaos—fades into nothing but the warmth of his body and the certainty of his touch.

Cole lays me down with a rough dominance that steals my breath. His hands frame my hips, steady and warm.

I reach for him, curling my fingers in the front of his shirt. “Take this off,” I urge him.

He doesn’t look away from me even as he pulls the shirt over his head. The fabric hits the floor with a soft thump, and then he’s leaning over me again—bare chest brushing mine, heat sinking through me like sunlight poured over skin.

His mouth finds my throat, kissing a slow line upward that makes my breath stutter. “You have no idea,” he murmurs against my pulse, “how long I’ve imagined touching you like this.”

My fingers slide over the muscles of his back—hard, warm, alive. He shivers under my palms, like my touch actually affects him as much as his affects me.

His hand slips under my shirt, tracing up my ribs. Every inch he touches feels like it sparks awake. When his thumb glides under the curve of my breast, my breath catches so sharply that he pauses, eyes flicking up to mine, checking.

I nod. “Please.”

Something dark and tender flickers across his face. And then he kisses me—deep, hungry, claiming. His tongue strokes mine, slow at first, then deeper, and his hand cups my breast fully now, thumb circling in a way that steals every coherent thought.

I arch into him, a low moan slipping from me before I can stop it.

He smiles against my mouth. “I love that sound.”

He kisses me again, slower now, savoring. His other hand drifts lower, fingers skating over my hip, then sliding under the waistband of my pants—just enough to make my pulse stumble.

“Cole…” I gasp.

He grows still, his breath warm on my neck. “Tell me what you want.”

“You,” I whisper. “All of you.”

A low, rough growl vibrates against my skin and heat coils deep inside me.

He undresses me with a rough urgency, his hands lingering, learning, memorizing. Every new place he touches feels like it blooms under his palms. When I’m bare beneath him, he pauses—just looks at me.

No man has ever looked at me like that.

His voice is barely a breath. “Beautiful.”

He lowers himself over me, skin to skin, heat to heat, and my whole body arches, craving even more contact. His mouth trails down my throat, across my collarbone, lower still—each kiss hotter than the last, each touch drawing soft gasps from me that I couldn’t hold back even if I wanted to.

I slide my hands into his hair, tugging him closer. “Don’t stop.”

“I’m not stopping,” he murmurs, kissing the swell of my breast. “Not tonight. Not ever.”