He shook his head. “Cole, I prefer to avoid personal conversation.” “That’s not personal; it’s just conversation. Personal would be: Have you ever been in love? or What’s the thing you’ll always regret?” Oh shit. Cole shouldn’t have had that second glass of champagne. “I just mean…I’m a stranger. I’m not going to tell anybody and even if I did, it wouldn’t matter because you’ll never see me again. I’m nobody. I’m safe.” For what felt like forever, he didn’t answer. Then, very quickly, “I liked having something to do with my hands.” Cole couldn’t help looking at them: his pale, perfectly groomed, perfectly controlled hands. Hard to imagine them ever doing something inelegant or being restless. As if he read her thoughts, he went on. “I was…different when I was younger. And I’ve been smoking since I was fourteen.” “You iconoclast you.” He didn’t smile this time. Just crushed out his cigarette against the stone and then put his back to the battlements, the city, the deep, blue-black
But he didn’t react at all, the silence getting deeper and heavier all around them, while he just stood there, a creature of stone, starlight, and secrets. And then he said, “No, he wouldn’t.” It wasn’t the words, but the terrible certainty of them.Completely broke Cole's heart. It just seemed impossible to her that Aiden Crux could believe something like that. And she needed—with this terrible sense of helplessness, or perhaps what Hilary Rupert Baskerville would call hubris—to make it better. To remind him who he was: someone magnificent and rare and deserving of all the pride in the world. She reached out, wanting to comfort him, to bridge the spaces between them—the chasm of their lives—with touch. “Don’t.” He caught her by the wrist, fingers as cool and implacable as steel. Cole was sure, on his part, it was nothing more than the desire to stop her doing something he didn’t want. And while she had tastes, she wasn’t so co
The thought made her fluttery. Sensation and expectation and anticipation knotting into a quiver-inducing tangle. Making her moan in this needy, greedy, cock-muffled way. His fingers tightened in response. It hurt, but she’d never minded a little pain, if it was done right. And, just now, it was so right, melding with the aches in her knees and her jaw and—frankly—her clit until she was music. Everything she felt, pain and pleasure and lust and submission, conducted by him. Cole was starting to wish she’d been less wussy with her other partners. Because she wanted to make him feel right back. Come apart because of her and for her. Safe with her.Maybe if she did a lot of tongue and lip work it would be enough.She got to it. With gusto. Whatever her concerns about letting relative strangers block off her airway, she’d always enjoyed giving head. But with him, with Aiden Crux, it was…God. She felt like a Cosmo guide to oral sex: worshipping her (well
Cole didn't exactly fancy slinking back to the party covered in come. And her throat was in a bad way. She probably sounded like Johnny Cash. Besides, the best thing about the party - the only reason she was at the party - had just made extensive use of her mouth and gone home.As she hobbled back to her room, Cole catalogued her aches (mostly superficial) and sorted through her feelings (probably the same). It wasn't the first time and - assuming she lived the life she fully intended to live - it hopefully wouldn't be the last that she indulged in some no-strings, no-holds-barred entirely casual sex. It just happened to be the only time she'd been left so raw by it, physically and emotionally.On the other hand, it had also been... impossibly hot. Maybe the best sex she'd ever had. And, in some strange way, the truest. The closest to what she ached and dreamed of but didn't entirely know how to get. Which wasn't to say she hadn't messed around, online and off, let the occasional o
She gave Cole what, in the heat of the moment, she interpreted as an I know what you did last supper look. “You must have made quite an impression on him.” Cole probably mumbled something. And she probably said something in return. And then…oh whatever. Everything had vanished into this blur of awfulness where she felt weird and dirty and guilty and used in a way she just hadn’t before. As if she'd done something bad. And a little bit like everybody knew about it. Or at the very least darkly suspected. By the time the Master let her go, with congratulations and good wishes and apparently increased hope for her future success, she was trembly and nauseous with pretending to be okay. It was mainly shock. And newfound shame. And a kind of hopeless fury that she'd trusted him and, in return, he’d turned something good into something icky. Is that how he saw me? Someone who’d had sex with him in
Cole shoved through the front door of Hart & Associates — which didn't go as well as she might have hoped because it was revolving, and she had a hard enough time getting through those things when she was completely compos mentis — and then went plunging across the foyer. Everything was a haze of glass and steel and marble. Beautiful in a way, a godless cathedral, full of echoes and refracted light, but it was also the kind of space designed to make one feel shabby and small. Which, if you asked her, was an architectural dick move.She kept catching glimpses of herself in too many gleaming surfaces. Wildly out of place in Hart's Temple of Mammon in scruffy jeans and a T-shirt, and her favorite jacket — the velvet one she'd worn to the dinner, with holes in the elbows and all the nap worn away, her rainbow pride bracelets disappearing under the fraying sleeve. She hadn't even taken the time to engineer her hair so it was multidirectional and ridiculous. Basically, she looked
Cole tried to laugh, but it clogged in her throat. “You don’t know me, and prostitute blackmailer is where you went straight out of the gate? Is your glass half empty or what?” “Why else would you come here?” “God, because”—the truth exploded out of her—“I liked you, and...and you made me feel really cheap, okay?” “I know.” He rose to his feet, and then he was off again, toward the window. It was weird—compelling, in one way, painful in another—how much stillness there was in him. And how much restlessness at the same time. It made every room feel like a cage. “My behavior...it was inappropriate.” He was silent a moment. “It was wrong.” Was that what passed for a sorry in Aiden Crux Land? Except he seemed to be almost-sorry for completely the wrong thing. The one bit of this whole hideously humiliating business she definitely didn’t regret. “Wait. Are you talking about the blow job?” “It’s not my usual practice.”
Cole had always been kind of take it or leave it on kissing. She enjoyed it, of course, but in the way one enjoys canapés at a posh party. Very nice and everything, artful even, but wouldn’t some real food be better? It was hot on the dance floor—kissing, not canapés—tongues grinding like bodies, somebody’s fingers tangled in her hair, before they stumbled to their place, or hers, to finish things off. But mainly it was prelude to the good stuff. Not with Aiden Crux though. It was a no-mercy kiss. A brutal claiming, full of teeth and desperate hunger, forcing her surrender to his will and his passion.She strained toward him, opened to him, as if they were at the end of the journey, not the beginning. More than that, he made her forget there was a journey. There was only his mouth on hers, his hands holding her, his body pinning her. And just like that, everything she’d felt—listening to his voice on the phone, seeing those icy predator eyes of hi