Tie Me Down: A Loveswept Contemporary Erotic Romance (18 page)

Genevieve moaned, her tongue tangling with Cole’s as she took her time exploring every part of his mouth. She wanted to go on kissing him forever, never wanted this moment to end as she savored the incredible taste of him. Tequila and lime and the deepest, darkest chocolate.

But he was growing impatient. She could feel it in the muscles bunching under her hands, sense it in the restless movements of his hips beneath her own. So she took one more minute to taste him, to slide her tongue over his teeth and the little piece of skin that connected his upper lip to his gums.

He jerked when she touched it, his entire body going rigid, as if electricity had shot up his spine. And perhaps it had—that piece of skin was incredibly sensitive and totally erotic.

Before she could prepare herself, long before she was ready for her exploration to end, he stood and pushed her against the counter. Grasping her hips, he plunged upward, entering her with an urgency that had her trembling on the edge of orgasm.

“Take me,” he muttered, plunging deep again and again. “Take all of me.”

“God, yes.” Twisting her hands in his hair, she smoothed them over his powerful chest. Clutched at the strong muscles of his back. She wanted to touch him everywhere, wanted to feel every part of him against her as he took her higher than she’d ever gone before.

She jerked against him, desperate to get closer. Desperate to take all of him. Cole growled low in his throat, brought his powerful hands to her hips and held her still as he slammed inside of her with what felt like every ounce of strength he had.

She screamed over and over again. She couldn’t help it, couldn’t control it. His cock was so hard, dragging over sensitive nerve endings, slamming into her all the way to her womb. Turning her on, driving her crazy, making her want more and more of him when he was already giving her everything.

“Cole,” she sobbed, her body spinning wildly out of control. “Please, let me come. Let me—”

He reached down and stroked his thumb over her clit. Once, twice, again and again as he continued to thrust furiously inside of her.

And then he was cursing, pulling her up and off of him so quickly that she had no time to prepare. She locked on to the table with desperate hands to keep from falling. “Why—”

He growled something unintelligible at her as he reached for his jeans. Pulling a condom out of his back pocket, he ripped it open with his teeth and started to roll it on.
She stopped him.

“Let me.” His eyes were blacker than she’d ever seen them as he handed her the condom, and her hands were shaking so badly she wasn’t sure she’d even be able to do the job. She knew only that she wanted to touch him, to do this intimate thing for him before she took him back into her body.

So with trembling hands, she slipped the condom over his tip and stroked him—hand over hand—as she rolled it on.

“Enough,” he growled, grabbing her hands and pinning them behind her back. “One more touch and I’ll come before I ever get inside you.”

She purred, arched back so that her nipples were in his face. Luxuriated in the feeling of being taken. Wallowed in the strength he wore so effortlessly.

Then he was leaning down, pulling one of her nipples into his mouth. Her knees buckled and she cried out, reaching for him in an effort to stay upright. He caught her effortlessly, lifted her off the floor and continued to suck as he lowered her slowly—so fucking slowly she nearly screamed—onto his raging-hot cock.

He was huge, long and hard and so wide she felt every inch of him against the walls of her pussy as he slid in. He scraped over delicate nerve endings, took her higher and higher with each inexorable jerk of his hips.

She bucked against him, tried to rush him, but he used his free hand to hold her hips still. “I want to touch you,” she gasped, yanking against the tight hold he had on her wrists. Her arms were still pinned behind her and she was completely at his mercy, able to take only whatever it was he chose to give her.

“Not now, sweetheart. I’m too close.” He buried his face in the curve of her neck, bit her shoulder in an effort to establish dominance—as if she didn’t already know who was in control.

But it grated on her—not the bite, but Cole’s need to control every second of their time together. He drove her crazy, took her higher than she’d ever dreamed possible, but that wasn’t enough for her. She wanted, needed, to do the same for him.

With that thought in mind, she pushed her knees into his sides and slowly—oh, so slowly—clenched the muscles of her sex around him. She felt his response in the jerk of his cock, saw it in the clenching of his jaw as he fought to maintain control.

She did it again, squeezing a little bit harder, a little bit longer before she released him.

“Stop it,” he growled, his free hand coming down hard on her ass.

She threw her head back and laughed, even as she tightened the muscles again and again. “Make me.”

“Genevieve.” His voice was low, warning, more animal than human as she continued to caress him with her body. He was getting ready to lose it—she could feel it in the thighs that trembled beneath her own and the hand that clenched more firmly around her wrists.

But she didn’t care. She wanted him to lose it, wanted him to plunge inside of her with all the darkness and passion and emotion he had inside of him. She wanted him as crazy and out of control as she was.

She wanted him every way she could have him.

“Come on, Cole,” she whispered tauntingly. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

He released her hands with a roar, his fingers clenching on her ass to keep her in place as he stood. He took two long strides, slammed her back—hard—against the kitchen wall.

“You asked for it,” he growled, as his hips began to piston against her. Harder, deeper than before, he pounded into her. Again and again he slammed his cock inside her, until she was overwhelmed. Surrounded. Completely taken over by him.

And still he surged inside of her. Desperately. Furiously. Each quick, hard stroke of his dick a branding that told her exactly who owned her body.

Genevieve moaned as she wrapped her arms around him and held his shaking, furious body against her own. She’d wanted to push him, to see him without his infernal control. To show him that she could take whatever he dished out. And she was taking it, but, God, she’d never felt anything this intense before, not even the last time he’d made love to her. She was completely in his thrall.

Overwhelmed.

Taken.

Dominated.

She was lost in the fire of his possession, explosion after explosion ripping
through her as the most unbelievable orgasm of her life tore through her—one that put those she’d experienced four days ago to shame.

Heat poured from her cunt, into her stomach and breasts. Down her legs, up her chest, into her arms and fingers. Radiant, incandescent flames that she couldn’t control, only experience. She called his name, her hands tangling in his hair, her legs clenching tightly around his waist.

“Genevieve!” Cole’s groan was low, hoarse, his body jerking spasmodically against hers as he emptied himself inside of her in long, jetting streams. His shudders set off another explosion and she was screaming, wailing, burying her face against the heavy muscles of his chest as her body spun onto a whole different plane, one where the pleasure went on and on and on.

They stayed that way for a long time, her back against the wall, Cole’s heavy body crushing hers as he leaned against her. His mouth trailed kisses down her neck, over her chest, between her breasts, little nibbles that had her shivering in reaction despite the climaxes that had just seized her.

But he couldn’t seem to stop touching her, and she understood, felt the same way. Her hands smoothed over his back, down his arms. Her fingers clenched in the cool silkiness of his hair. She never wanted him to let her go, never wanted her feet to touch the floor again.

Because when they did, all this would be over. She would once again be the homicide detective, and he would be the man afraid to trust her with his secrets.

“I’m starved,” Genevieve said more than an hour later, as she stirred against him in bed and pulled away to sit up. “It’s almost eight o’clock.”

Cole turned to face her, and then almost wished he hadn’t. She was wearing an old button-down shirt of his that came almost to her knees, and looking far sexier than the attire warranted. Of course, he’d think she looked sexy in a nun’s habit, so maybe he wasn’t the best judge.

“Cole?” she prompted again, as she realized his attention was on something other than her stomach.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he said with a nod toward the kitchen. “Come with me while I fix something. I’m hungry too.”

“I am
not
going into that room with you,” she snapped. “In fact, I think you should be banned from kitchens worldwide.”

He couldn’t stop the proud grin that came to his mouth as he thought about just what he and Genevieve had been up to in his kitchen little more than an hour before. It had been almost as hot as what they’d done in her kitchen a few days ago.

His dick throbbed, reminding him that thinking about Genevieve and sex was a very bad idea if the lady wanted to get fed. It guaranteed that 90 percent of the blood that was supposed to be in his brain rushed somewhere else.

He got up, then extended a hand to her. “Come on. I promise. I’ll keep my fingers to myself.”

She snorted. “It’s not your fingers I’m worried about.” But she took his hand, allowed him to lead her into the kitchen.

“You want something to drink?” he asked, opening the fridge.

“No more tequila.”

He raised an eyebrow, deliberately let his gaze run over her breasts. Took great delight in seeing her nipples harden through the thin cotton. “Now, that, sweetheart, is a damned shame. Patrón’s never tasted so sweet.”

“I bet.”

He opened a bottle of white wine, poured her a glass. Let his fingers brush against hers when he handed it to her—not because he was trying to make her nervous, but because he couldn’t resist the urge to touch her.

His cock grew hard, a condition that was becoming embarrassingly familiar around her.

“So,” she said, after taking a sip of wine. “Tell me about your documentary.”

He glanced at her as he pulled a couple chicken breasts and some vegetables out of the fridge. “What do you want to know?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “How’s it going?”

“It’s going.” He set the food on the counter, began rinsing a tomato. Glanced up to find her staring at him with a look that was half-frustrated, half-confused.

“Are you really going to cook that?”

“I was planning on it. Not being a huge fan of salmonella and all.”

“You can cook?”

“You tell me—after dinner.”

“You’re distracting me.”

“Actually, you’re distracting yourself. I’m just along for the ride.”

He’s right
, Genevieve thought with abject frustration. She was distracted, so far off her game she couldn’t help wondering if she’d ever get it back. But how the hell was she supposed to concentrate when he walked around looking so infuriatingly hot all the time? It was taking all her self-control not to jump him right here in the kitchen. Again.

Ugh. Since when did she have a thing against nice, comfortable bedroom sex? Already she could feel new bruises blooming on her back, souvenirs from when she’d pushed Cole past reason and he’d pushed her back against the wall. Literally.

Just the memory had heat spreading between her thighs, and she squeezed her legs shut in an effort to alleviate the ache. A quick glance at Cole as he sliced and diced told her just how aware of her predicament he was. And that he would be more than happy to help her out with it.

Through sheer strength of will, she forced her mind back to the topic at hand. She knew he had his secrets about his sister, just as she knew he would only tell her about
Samantha when—and if—he was ready to. But still, she couldn’t help pushing. It couldn’t be healthy for him to be carrying all that around with him all the time.

“So.” She forced herself back on task. “The documentary.”

He popped a piece of zucchini into his mouth, chewed thoughtfully. “It’s taking longer than I thought to get everything together. But I think I figured some stuff out the last couple days—got the beginning cemented in my head.”

“Well, that’s good, right?”

“Yeah.” He paused in his slicing and dicing for a minute, stared at her with unreadable eyes. “Have you given any more thought to what we talked about a few days ago?”

She crossed the kitchen, snagged a slice of carrot. “What is that, exactly?”

“I’d love to have you in the documentary, talking about the murders. The city.”

“I’m not an actress.” She grabbed another carrot.

“I don’t want an actress.” He finished slicing the vegetables and started on a crusty loaf of French bread. “But I do want the feminine perspective on the whole sex and violence thing. It’ll be a nice contrast to my own commentary. Male, female. Dark, light. It’ll be a good story.”

“A good story?” Fury sang through her veins as he hit on one of her hot buttons—no less dangerous for the fact that it was completely unexpected. “Is that all these women are to you? They’re dead, Cole. Some of them brutally murdered—that’s not just a good story.”

When he turned to her, she saw the banked rage in his own eyes as he dropped the knife on the cutting board. He reached for her and she tried to elude him, but he was too fast, the grip on her biceps too tight for her to do anything but struggle futilely. She refused to give him that satisfaction.

“Who are you to say that to me?” he demanded, shaking her softly. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m just a woman trying to find justice!”

“Justice?” His laugh was unpleasant as he eyed her with such contempt it had her blood running cold. “There’s no justice for what was done to those girls. Nothing that can make what they suffered in their last hours on earth okay. And I find it pretty goddamned
absurd that you can think differently—and then stand in my kitchen and accuse me of making light of their deaths.”