He lifted a brow. “What did you say?”
“Cole, please. I don’t—it was so great earlier. But I’m not going to be able to, you know, and I don’t want to totally destroy that memory.”
“You won’t.”
“You don’t understand the way I’m wired. I—”
But he didn’t let me finish. Instead he grabbed my sex, pinching the smooth, bare flesh around my clit and sending waves of both pain and pleasure coursing through me. “You won’t destroy the memory,” he said, “because you’re going to come for me. And do you know why?”
I shook my head, too distracted by the sting of that intimate pinch and the way my body was reacting to it—my nipples suddenly tight and needful, my sex clenching with a desperate desire to be fucked. I felt wanton and needy and on the verge. And oh, holy hell, what door had I opened when I had set my sights on Cole August?
“Kat.” He twisted a little, and electric sparks seemed to sizzle over me, a billion tiny snaps and pops. “Are you listening?”
“You’re making it really, really hard.”
If he was sympathetic, I didn’t hear it in his voice. “Very hard, actually,” he said with a chuckle. “But you’re going to touch yourself now, and I’m going to watch. And, Katrina, you are going to come for me.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I’m telling you to,” he said in the kind of voice that brooks no argument. He shifted slightly, raising his knees as if to make a backrest for me. He was hard, his erection tucked in between my ass and his legs. “Lean back,” he said, and when I complied I saw the tension in his face as my body rubbed provocatively against his cock.
“Now spread your legs wider.”
I swallowed, thinking of the very intimate view that would provide him. “Cole . . .”
“Argue again and I’ll spank your ass.” He propped himself up on his elbows. “Do it, baby. I want to see that beautiful cunt.”
I wanted to protest—wanted to clamp my thighs together in some sort of misguided attempt at modesty. I knew damn well I wasn’t going to come like this—I was too self-conscious. Too aware.
But at the same time, I heard his voice. Heard his desire. And there was something about the command in his voice that made me want to comply. He was turned on—that much was an absolute certainty. And there was both power and excitement in knowing that it was my body and my reactions to him that were pushing him toward that edge.
“Legs,” he repeated, and I kicked modesty to the curb and slowly pushed my knees as wide apart as they would go.
“Oh, baby,” he said. “I like you waxed. You’re slick and wet and I can see just how turned on you are. Tell me.”
“Very turned on.”
“You’re so wet, baby. Slip a finger inside your cunt and see how wet you are. No,” he added, when I closed my eyes as I complied. “Eyes on me. There you go,” he said, his own gaze dipping down to watch me slide my forefinger into my slick, wet heat.
“Are you wet?”
“You know I am.”
“I want to taste you,” he said. “I want my mouth on you, my tongue inside you.”
“Yes,” I murmured, starting to shift so that he could do just that.
“No,” he said. “Don’t move.”
“Cole, please.”
“Put your finger on your lip, baby. I want you to see how good you taste.”
I hesitated, then did as he asked.
“That’s it. Suck your finger, Katrina. Hard. Pretend it’s my cock in your mouth. No,” he added, “don’t close your eyes. That’s it, baby. Dear god, that’s hot.”
It was, too. I was looking right into his eyes as I drew my finger, slick and musky with my own desire, in and out of my mouth. It was naughty, erotic, deliciously sexy, and I sucked harder, never looking away from his face, as the heat between us built and built to such a frenzy I could practically see the atoms spinning in the overheated air.
“Now touch yourself.” His voice was raw, as if it was taking all his effort to remain in control. “Keep sucking, but use your other hand. Pinch your nipples—hard, god, yes, just like that,” he said as I took my hard nipple between my fingers and pinched it tight.
I sucked in air, overwhelmed by the maelstrom building inside me. Power and heat radiating through me. My breasts, my belly, my sex.
“Oh, baby, you want to be fucked,” he said, and I blushed, realizing that he could see the way my sex clenched and tightened in a desperate, driving need.
“Go ahead,” he said. “The finger in your mouth, slide it down, thrust it inside—no, two fingers—oh, holy hell, Kat, I swear you’re going to be the death of me,” he said as he watched me touch myself in time with his words.
I never thought I could do something like this—could display both my body and my own arousal so intimately—but with Cole the fact of being on display made me more excited, not less. I wanted him to see the effect he had on me. I wanted the feeling to grow. And as he told me what to do—to fingerfuck myself, to tease my clit—I did as he directed, letting my vision go glassy and my body tense. Feeling the sensation build, the desire grow.
Then, when it got to be too much—when just one tiny push would send me tumbling over the edge—I forced myself to focus on his face. On his eyes.
And I watched the hot burn of desire reflected there as his words and my touch made me shatter into a million pieces.