His thumbs press into the hollows above my hipbones, the same place that made me freeze before, but there's no force behind it this time, just contact, just presence, just him letting me know he's here.
Not like before. Nothing like before.
"Harder," I breathe.
That dangerous smirk crosses his face, the one that promises things I'm not sure I'm ready for. My walls clench around him involuntarily, and he hasn't even moved yet.
Then his hips snap up into me, hard, deep, exactly what I demanded, and the sound that tears from my throat is too loud, too raw, too exposed.
His hand clamps over my mouth.
Every muscle in my body locks. and my vision narrows. The pressure of his palm against my lips, the seal cutting off the sound—Adrian's hand when I screamed, when I begged him to stop, when he—
"Eyes on me." Cole's voice cuts through the rising panic, low and steady. "Angelina. Eyes on me."
I force my eyes open. His face hovers inches from mine, dark eyes locked on mine with an intensity that grounds me, anchors me to the present instead of the past.
"Chesca's down the hall." His thumb strokes my cheek, gentle despite the firmness of his grip. "You want to wake her?"
Right. Chesca. The house. Focus on that.
I shake my head against his palm.
"I'm not going to hurt you." His eyes don't leave mine. "But you have to be quiet for me. Can you do that?"
The way he phrases it,for me, shouldn't make my stomach flip the way it does. It shouldn't make the fear recede, shouldn't replace the panic with something that feels almost like trust.
But it does.
I nod.
He doesn't remove his hand. Instead he thrusts up again, and I moan against his palm, the sound vibrating through his skin. His eyes darken with something that looks like hunger and reverence all at once.
I ride him harder, chasing the pressure building low in my belly, using the rhythm I set and the angle I found. He meetsevery roll of my hips with an upward thrust that drives him deeper, fills me more completely, hits places I forgot existed.
His free hand slides down between us and his thumb finds my clit with unerring accuracy.
The first circle of pressure shatters me.
Oh god. Oh god. This is—I'm going to—
The orgasm crashes through my body in waves, eight years of numbness breaking open all at once like a dam finally giving way. Coming in my bedroom days earlier was just a teaser. My teeth sink into the flesh of his palm, and he doesn't flinch, doesn't pull away, just keeps thrusting up into me while I fall apart around him.
I collapse forward with my mouth finding his, moaning into the kiss because I can't hold it in anymore. His hand slides from my lips to cradle the back of my head, and he swallows every sound I make like they belong to him.
When I finally surface, I'm boneless against his chest and floating somewhere outside my body. My heartbeat thunders against his ribs and his cock is still hard inside me, pulsing.
He hasn't come yet.
His hands slide down my back and settle at the top of my ass, patient and waiting.
"I want—" I start, then stop, not sure how to ask for what I'm about to ask for.
"Tell me."
"I want to feel you over me." The words come out barely above a whisper. "I want — I need to know it can be different. That it doesn't have to—"
I don't finish the sentence, but he understands.