The sound he makes is almost pained. Head tipped back, tendons straining, every muscle tight with the effort of holding back.
I have this. I have control.
The man who watches me, who switched my pills, who plans seven steps ahead, is shaking underneath me because I told him to wait.
I ride him faster again. The angle is perfect, friction exactly where I need it, the coil winding tighter and tighter—
"Now." I barely recognize my voice. "Comenow."
His whole body arches off the mattress.
The Japanese pouring out of him is beyond translation, guttural, broken. He pulses inside me, hot and overwhelming,and the feeling of him letting go completely drags me over the edge with him.
His hand covers my mouth to catch my cry, and this time there's no panic. No flash of memory. Just his palm, warm and steady, while the orgasm crashes through me in waves.
When it finally fades, I collapse onto his chest.
We stay like that. Breathing ragged. Hearts pounding. Sweat-slicked and trembling and thoroughly, completely undone.
I surface slowly.
His arm is draped across my waist, heavy and warm, possessive even in stillness. His fingers rest against my hip, not gripping but present. Claiming space on my body like it belongs to him.
Maybe it does. Maybe that's what I decided when I walked through his door.
We've been lying here for what feels like hours, but is probably twenty minutes. Long enough that my breathing has synced to his without permission, and my muscles have gone loose and liquid against him. Long enough that this has stopped feeling like sex and started feeling like something far more dangerous.
Adrian always looked disappointed after. Like I'd failed some test I didn't know I was taking. He'd roll away immediately, shower, return to his side of the bed with a wall of space between us.Stay on your side, cara.
Cole's arm tightens slightly when I shift. Not restraining. Just reluctant. Like even in the haze of the aftermath, some part of him is tracking my movements, calculating the probability that I'm about to leave.
He's not wrong to calculate.
Adrian made me feel like I'd done something wrong. Cole's holding me like I did something right.
Stop it. Don't compare them. Don't make Cole into something he's not just because he's not Adrian.
I extract myself carefully. His arm releases immediately. Awake, then, not asleep. He let me go because I wanted to go, not because he wanted me to leave.
Why does that make it worse?
I find my clothes on the floor. Tank top inside-out, but I don't care. Sleep shorts tangled with his discarded pants near the foot of the bed. I pull them on without looking at him, though I can feel his eyes tracking every movement.
Always watching. Even now.
"You don't have to leave."
His voice is quiet, no pressure behind the words, just offering.
"Yes. I do."
The sheets rustle as he sits up. I can feel the question forming before he asks it.
"Why?"
The question stops me at the door. My hand on the knob, cold metal against my palm.
Because sleeping next to you is a different kind of naked. Because I can give you my body but I'm not ready to give you my mornings. Because waking up in your arms would mean something I'm not prepared to mean.