“Made me cry, you said? If I remember right, I was having one hell of a good time getting you off. I liked it, Cole. I was into it. I was into you.”
I knelt in front of him then gently pushed his knees apart so that I could ease in closer. Very deliberately, I moved my gaze from his crotch to his eyes, and as I did, I reached out and pressed my hand over his cock, then felt it stir beneath my palm.
“I wanted to taste you, to suck you off, to take you in as deep as I could because it turns me on to know that I’m giving you pleasure.” I stroked him as his erection hardened under my touch and with my words. “But guess what? There’s this whole physiology thing working there, too, and let’s see you try to deep-throat a cock as impressive as yours and not have tears prick your eyes.”
A flicker of a grin touched his mouth. “I’d rather not.”
“Yeah, well, you owe me. I was damn close to taking you all the way, and you bolted on me, you bastard. And as for yanking my hair,” I continued before he could interrupt, “yeah, that hurt. You yanked, I wasn’t expecting it, and it hurt.”
I saw him flinch as if I’d slapped him.
“BFD, Cole. Big. Fucking. Deal. So you accidentally yanked my hair. One of these days you’ll probably roll over in bed and whack me with your elbow and I’ll have a black eye for a week. It’s not like you lost your temper and beat me to a pulp.”
“What if I had?”
“You didn’t, and you wouldn’t. You’re not capable of that. Of losing it, sure. But you couldn’t hurt me if you tried.”
“Kat, you don’t understand.”
“The hell I don’t. What have I just been telling you? There was no reason to go, but you did. Hell, you ran. And that was what hurt me, Cole. Not the rest of it.”
He looked away, and I bit back a curse.
“God, you’re thickheaded. You say I don’t understand, but you’re wrong. Don’t you get it? You’ve showed me a new side of myself, and I love it. I’m not scared of what you’ll show me about yourself.” I reached for his hand. “The truth is, I understand more than you think.”
“Bullshit.”
“You need pain,” I said softly. “You need to inflict it. Turns out I rather like it. Seems to me like we fit together nicely. A perfect set. Like salt and pepper. It’s what I should have told you last night in the house, but I didn’t know how to say it. I want it, Cole. When I said I wanted you to get everything you need from me, that’s what I meant. And I’m not scared that you’ll go too far. Because you can’t. You won’t.”
His eyes flicked to mine, but he said nothing. Please, I thought. Please let me be getting through that damn thick skull.
“You think you don’t have control, but I’m telling you that you do. Everyone loses it occasionally. Hell, you’ve got an edge up because you’ve worked at it for so long.”
He scrubbed his hands over his face, then dragged them back over his scalp. Then he just looked at me while I sat there, my stomach twisting in anticipation of his answer. “How do you do it?” he finally asked.
“What?”
“Make me believe that maybe I’m not as fucked up as I think I am.”
I lifted a shoulder. “So what if you are? At least we won’t be bored.”
He almost laughed, and I felt a swell of relief that maybe—just maybe—the storm had passed.
“Seriously, Cole. Who isn’t fucked up? I think we all are. I sure as hell am. Maybe the trick is to make your fucked-up-edness work for you. For us.”
He said nothing.
“Cole. Please.” I closed my eyes and took a breath, debating what I wanted to say, knowing I was showing more of my heart than was smart or careful. But maybe around Cole I didn’t have to be either. Maybe I just had to let him know how I felt.
“I need you,” I said simply. “I thought at first that I just wanted you. That you were an itch I had to scratch so that I could get you out of my system. But it’s more than that, and I can’t stand the thought of losing you. I honestly don’t know if I could survive it.” I drew in a breath. “And right now, I really need you to say something.”
I sat frozen, praying he would do just that, but also terrified of the words he might say. After a moment, he stood up, then crossed to the far side of the cabin. He stood with his hand on one of the armchairs, his back toward me, his head turned in a way that made me think he was looking out the window at the world spread wide beneath us.
“I’ve always been able to get by,” he began, his voice low but firm. “Slide in with the gangs. Mingle with students, with professionals, with artists, with anyone. I was able to easily pick up the way men with money talk and walk and act and behave. I blend, and it’s easy, and I make it look good.”
He turned then to face me. “But at the core, I’m just one more motherfucking gangbanger.”
“Bullshit,” I said, the response immediate and firm.
He shook his head. “No, it’s true. It’s true and I’m not ashamed of it. It is what it is, you know?”
“It’s not. You got out of that life.”
“Fuck yeah, I did. I got out because I’m smart. And I became successful because not only am I smart but I made the right friends.”
“And because you three cheated a little,” I said, and made him laugh.
“There is that.” He took a deep breath. “I can put paint on a canvas in a way that sucks people in. That makes them feel right here,” he said, thumping his chest over his heart.