Page 65 of Mistletoe Mistake
I couldn’t have explained to anyone why I wanted him to be rough with me, but by that point with Cole, I was past questioning my desires. My body told me that I wanted it, and I knew without asking that whatever I wanted, he would give to me.
“I wish I had a proper dress,” I said, more to myself than to him, but of course, Cole heard it too.
His eyes immediately darkened, the telltale sign that he was aroused too. “You would look incredible in an 18th century ballgown. I'll make a note of it.”
I laughed, having no doubt that he actually would go out and buy me one if the fancy struck him. “Well, for now, I guess we'll have to work with what we have.”
It didn't really matter what I was wearing, after all. I'd be out of it soon enough anyway.
“Set the scene for me, Gemma,” Cole commanded. “What's happening?”
How did I want to approach it? There were so many possibilities, all of them equally appealing, but eventually, I settled on one that I had played out in my head before. It had vanished to the vaults of my memory ages ago, but being back in that room and talking about it with Cole brought it back to the surface.
“I've tried to get out of my engagement, but I can't. I have to leave tomorrow and I'll never see my lover again.”
“One last night to remember, then?”
I nodded in confirmation. He was always right on my wavelength. “Exactly.”
“Okay. What do I call you?”
In our previous role play, he’d simply called me Gemma, but in keeping with my fantasy, we would be stepping into different roles. “Lady Margaret or 'my lady' when you're being formal. Meg when you're not.”
“Meg,” he repeated, a smile pulling the corner of his lips. “And do you have a name for me?”
A blush rose in my cheeks as I remembered I had called the stablehand in my fantasies ‘Eddie’, after an actor who I had a crush on at the time. However, thanks to more recent events, the name Eddie made me think of Edwin, and I had no desire to be thinking about him at all.
“What do you want me to call you?” I asked instead.
He thought about it for a moment. “Maybe something Irish? I think I’ve seen too many movies with old British estates and Irish staff.”
“I think it's okay as long as you don't try the accent,” I replied with a laugh. I couldn't imagine anything other than Cole's blunt New York accent coming from his mouth.
“Owen?”
“Owen is Welsh,” I corrected him. “Get your accents straight.”
He broke into one of his rare, genuinely amused grins, and I couldn't help beaming back at him. It seemed crazy to me how I could be so comfortable with him, joking around and teasing each other, knowing that in a matter of minutes, he would have me naked and be doing unimaginable things to me.
“I like Owen, though,” I agreed. “Let's go with that.”
The scene set, Cole left the room, stepping back into the narrow passageway that we'd entered from, and as soon as I was alone, the anticipation rushed back in, sweeping through me. Every time I had sex with Cole felt like the first time, full of excitement and uncertainty. I never knew what to expect from him, only that whatever he did, it would be amazing.
Knowing that he would fully commit to the scene, I made my way back to the window, trying to look pensive as I put myself in the shoes of Lady Margaret: promised to a man I didn't love while the one I did care for was here but out of my reach.
The door from the servant's passage opened, and I gasped in pretended surprise, turning towards the sound. Cole stood just inside the door with a dark scowl on his face. If I hadn't known he was acting, I would have almost been frightened. He looked genuinely intimidating.
“Lady Margaret,” he greeted me, his voice low and deep, and a shiver ran through me. 'Lady' was actually my proper title, though I never used it, and for some reason, hearing him use the title struck me as incredibly sexy. “I've heard that you're leaving tomorrow. Were you going to go without saying goodbye?”
I did my best to look conflicted. “What's the use, Owen? There's nothing I can do. I have to go, and seeing you only makes it harder. You shouldn't be here.”
“That's a lie, my lady.” He stalked towards me, his face still dark and brooding. “There is something else you could do: you could run away with me. I've told you before, I can take care of you.”
“I can't,” I protested. “My father would find us. He'd kill you.”
“Not being with you will kill me,” he claimed, pulling me tightly into his arms and I couldn't help marvelling at how good Cole was at all of this. He could have been an actor if his career path hadn’t already been chosen for him.
“It's impossible, Owen,” I cried, probably a little too melodramatically, but Cole's intensity never wavered. “Just let me go.”
