Tie Me Down
Page 32
But her muscles were still tight, her body unsure of this new invasion. To relax her, to loosen her up, he licked along her drenched slit, wiggling and pressing his tongue in all the places he’d learned that she liked.
He felt an orgasm hurtle through her, taking her in one spasming, fiery rush, and suddenly she was completely open to him, her body his to do with what he liked.
Working his thumb a little farther into her, he nearly came at the soft, passionate mewl she couldn’t hold back. He could stay like this all day, buried in the incredible sweetness of her. Could go down on her for hours even while desperation and desire hardened his c**k almost to the point of madness.
Genevieve whimpered, pressing against Cole because there was no other option. He was driving her crazy, and making it so pleasurable that she didn’t care that she was absolutely, no doubt about it, going completely, around-the-bend crazy. Why else would she lie here, putting up with his macho bullshit, his need to dominate her and bend her to his will?
What she should do is tell him to go to hell and storm out, but she couldn’t move. Her knees were weak from the out-of-control cl**ax that had just whipped through her, and the need for him was building again. Or still—it never really went away anymore, just grew and grew, burning hotter and brighter than anything she’d ever experienced. Taking over everything but her most basic thought processes.
She shouldn’t be enjoying this, shouldn’t actually like him telling her what to do. But he felt so good, made her feel so incredible, that she couldn’t fight him. Not when his mouth was on her pu**y and his finger in her ass.
“I need to touch you too,” she gasped, her hands reaching behind her to work their way over his heavily muscled chest to his cock. Wrapping her fingers around him, she slid her palm back and forth over the satiny skin, triumph whipping through her as he groaned and thrust helplessly against her.
He felt so good, better than anything in her life ever had. His mouth on her pussy, his c**k in her hand; she wished she could stay like this forever. But even as the thought occurred, she knew it was wrong, knew that she wanted more from him.
She wanted everything he could give her, everything he had inside him. But if she couldn’t have that, she would take all of him she could get.
Turning, careful not to dislodge him from the wicked, wonderful things he was doing to her body, she wiggled her way down the bed, until her lips were level with his cock. And then she took him in her mouth, relishing the salty hardness of him against her tongue.
He groaned against her, the vibrations sending currents of electricity through her whole body, and it took all her concentration to remember where she was, to remember what she was doing.
Tucking the head of his c**k against the top of her mouth, she used her tongue to swirl around his hard length, relishing the near yell the move pulled from him.
It took all of her self-control to keep from coming—again—but she somehow managed to hold back the cl**ax. Instead, she concentrated on him and making him as crazy for her as she so obviously was for him.
She took his balls gently in her hand, rubbed his tight sac and relished the tremors that shot through him at the movement. She loved everything about his body—how he tasted and smelled and felt. Pulling him deeper into her mouth—taking him all the way—she savored the wild ocean taste lingering on her tongue.
She’d never done this before, never imagined how unbelievable it could be to take a guy all the way down her throat as he took her with his tongue and teeth and lips. Every nerve ending she had was on fire, electrified by how unbelievably good it felt to let Cole love her.
When he increased the pressure of his tongue, sweeping it faster and harder against her clit, she gasped and moved her h*ps faster and faster against him. He did the same, his body instinctively tuned to the rhythm of hers. Moans and strangled screams filled the air, and she was so lost in sensation—drowning in it, really—that she didn’t know which of them had made the noises.
He thrust two fingers inside of her, and it was too much. His fingers in her sex, his tongue on her clit, his thumb pressing slowly into her from behind—she was no longer in control of her body. He had claimed her, taken her over, made her his in a way she’d never before imagined.
Sensation rose sharply within her, orgasm threatening with each flick of his tongue. But she was determined to take him with her, desperate to give him the same ecstasy he so generously gave to her.
Reaching under his balls, she touched his most sensitive spot. Pressed her fingers firmly against it at the same time she ran her tongue over and around his cock. He exploded, and with a shout that was her name poured himself into her mouth in long, uncontrolled bursts that sent her hurtling into her own cl**ax.
It was the longest, most intense orgasm of her life, and as he emptied himself into her, his h*ps thrusting repeatedly against her mouth, she hoped it was the same for Cole. No matter how dominating or controlling he was, he’d given her more in a week than all the other men in her life had given her put together. It was just one more thing to be grateful for.
When the tremors finally stopped and her body was once again her own, she collapsed on the bed. Cole groaned, but shifted so that his head was buried in her br**sts, his hands tangled with hers.
She wasn’t sure what had happened here between them, knew nothing had been decided in their fight, but still she couldn’t let him go. It was as if this latest lovemaking had bonded them together, made them one person instead of two. And she vowed, in the quiet aftermath, that whatever he asked of her, she would be as honest as she knew how to be.
But he didn’t say a word for a long time, just held her and worshipped her with soft brushes of his mouth and tongue and fingers against her skin. And when he finally moved, rolling to the side of the bed, she protested with clenched arms around his middle.
He merely laughed, then pulled out a long, black velvet jeweler’s case. “I still want to talk about what happened earlier—”
“Cole—”
He stopped her with a hand over her mouth and a tongue in her ear. “Argue with me later. For now, I just want to know if you like it.” He flipped open the box lid, showed her the most stunning piece of jewelry she’d ever seen. Made of twisted lengths of platinum, it was shorter than the average necklace, but, she knew, more than adequate to fit around her slender neck. Attached to it was a gleaming sapphire the size of a robin’s egg.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, touching it with delicate fingers. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”
“It made me think of you.” He lifted the ropelike chain from the box and said, “Here, let me put it on you.”
She lifted her hair out of the way and waited, heart trembling in her chest as he fitted the chain around her neck and worked the clasp. He was so close, his masculine power so potent, that she was all but overwhelmed by him. He dropped a kiss on her neck, trailed his tongue along her nape, and she shuddered, desire rising, sharp and unbelievable.
“Let me see.” His voice was husky, and when he turned her to face him, she saw evidence of his own arousal in his dark ebony eyes, eyes that grew even darker as he looked at his chain around her neck.
And that’s when she knew: It was more than a gift, more than a beautiful memento of their time together. She touched the necklace with trembling fingers, felt the ropelike quality of the platinum. It was a brand, a mark of possession, a claiming of her that could not be denied.
“Cole …” Her voice trailed off as she realized she had no idea what to say. Finally, unable to think of anything that was as profound as the look in his eyes as he watched her, she settled for a soft “Thank you. I love it.”
“Don’t thank me. I like seeing you in something that I bought you.”
Unbelievably, she blushed. “I like wearing something that you gave me.” Closing her eyes, she rested her head against his chest, tried to savor these last few moments she had with him. The day was starting—she could hear traffic picking up on St. Charles, could see the sun getting brighter behind the closed shutters. Soon she’d have to head to work and face everything she’d been so desperate to forget.
His hands tangled in her hair, massaged her scalp for long moments. Relaxed and more sleepy than she had a right to be, she murmured, “I never thanked you for the flowers. They were beautiful.”
She felt him stiffen under her, his chest going rigid beneath her ear. “I didn’t send you flowers.”
Alarm exploded in her as she shoved into a sitting position. “The roses weren’t from you?”
“No.” He shook his head slowly, his eyes dark with concern and concentration. “I would have sent honeysuckle.”
“Shit.” Her mind was already racing, drawing conclusions that made her more than uneasy. “Then I have a very big problem.”
Chapter Nineteen
Genevieve hit the station door at a dead run. On some level, she was conscious of Cole pounding down the hallway beside her, but she was totally focused on getting to her desk—and the flowers. Never had the squad room seemed so far away.
Maybe she was jumping to conclusions, but she was afraid that that just wasn’t the case. Cole was the only one who should have sent her flowers—if he hadn’t done it, then there was a mistake. Or the killer had upped the ante in the sick and twisted game he was playing with her.
Based on everything he’d pulled so far, she had the very sick feeling that it was the latter.
“Hey, Delacroix, where’s the fire?” asked Bryce, one of the vice cops she traded information with, as she nearly mowed him over.
“On my desk.” But she slowed to a fast walk, aware of the strange looks she and Cole were getting as they crossed the bull pen. Most of the detectives hadn’t arrived yet, but a few were around—and looking at her with concern.
When she got closer to her desk and saw the flowers still sitting there in the pretty butterfly vase, she relaxed a little. Some small part of her had been concerned that she’d missed her shot at them—that they would have disappeared as mysteriously as they’d arrived.
Cole made a choking sound as he looked at the hot pink roses in the too-sweet vase. “You thought I sent you those?” The look he cast her was more than a little appalled. “What are we, twelve?”
She shrugged. “I thought you had singularly bad taste.”
“Not that bad.”
She ignored him, reaching into one of her desk drawers and grabbing a pair of latex gloves out of the box she kept there. It was ridiculous to hope for prints, as the as**ole had probably never even touched the vase, while she, the florist, the delivery guy, and God only knew who else definitely had.
But procedure was procedure, and if the guy was cocky enough to send the lead detective flowers, he was cocky enough to make a mistake. Picking up the vase, she ran her fingers along the lip of it and under the bottom, not sure what she was looking for.
But the message on the card had been too cryptic, the flowers too obvious. No, there was something with these flowers—she could feel it. Besides, the gesture would be useless if he hadn’t included something to taunt her with.
She glanced over at Cole for the first time since entering the station. His expression was puzzled and more than a little grim. In fact, he looked like he wanted nothing more than to smash the vase to bits.
“You run across anything having to do with pink roses in your research?” she demanded as she sat back and continued to study the vase.
“No. Not that I recall.”
“Anything about flowers at all?”
“I don’t think so.”
“So what is this all about, then?”
“I have no idea. But I don’t like it.”
She glanced at him, grinned. “You just don’t like the idea of another man sending me flowers.”
“While that is entirely true, I still agree with you that this stinks.” He leaned over and sniffed a rose. “I’m just not sure why I feel like that.”
He felt an orgasm hurtle through her, taking her in one spasming, fiery rush, and suddenly she was completely open to him, her body his to do with what he liked.
Working his thumb a little farther into her, he nearly came at the soft, passionate mewl she couldn’t hold back. He could stay like this all day, buried in the incredible sweetness of her. Could go down on her for hours even while desperation and desire hardened his c**k almost to the point of madness.
Genevieve whimpered, pressing against Cole because there was no other option. He was driving her crazy, and making it so pleasurable that she didn’t care that she was absolutely, no doubt about it, going completely, around-the-bend crazy. Why else would she lie here, putting up with his macho bullshit, his need to dominate her and bend her to his will?
What she should do is tell him to go to hell and storm out, but she couldn’t move. Her knees were weak from the out-of-control cl**ax that had just whipped through her, and the need for him was building again. Or still—it never really went away anymore, just grew and grew, burning hotter and brighter than anything she’d ever experienced. Taking over everything but her most basic thought processes.
She shouldn’t be enjoying this, shouldn’t actually like him telling her what to do. But he felt so good, made her feel so incredible, that she couldn’t fight him. Not when his mouth was on her pu**y and his finger in her ass.
“I need to touch you too,” she gasped, her hands reaching behind her to work their way over his heavily muscled chest to his cock. Wrapping her fingers around him, she slid her palm back and forth over the satiny skin, triumph whipping through her as he groaned and thrust helplessly against her.
He felt so good, better than anything in her life ever had. His mouth on her pussy, his c**k in her hand; she wished she could stay like this forever. But even as the thought occurred, she knew it was wrong, knew that she wanted more from him.
She wanted everything he could give her, everything he had inside him. But if she couldn’t have that, she would take all of him she could get.
Turning, careful not to dislodge him from the wicked, wonderful things he was doing to her body, she wiggled her way down the bed, until her lips were level with his cock. And then she took him in her mouth, relishing the salty hardness of him against her tongue.
He groaned against her, the vibrations sending currents of electricity through her whole body, and it took all her concentration to remember where she was, to remember what she was doing.
Tucking the head of his c**k against the top of her mouth, she used her tongue to swirl around his hard length, relishing the near yell the move pulled from him.
It took all of her self-control to keep from coming—again—but she somehow managed to hold back the cl**ax. Instead, she concentrated on him and making him as crazy for her as she so obviously was for him.
She took his balls gently in her hand, rubbed his tight sac and relished the tremors that shot through him at the movement. She loved everything about his body—how he tasted and smelled and felt. Pulling him deeper into her mouth—taking him all the way—she savored the wild ocean taste lingering on her tongue.
She’d never done this before, never imagined how unbelievable it could be to take a guy all the way down her throat as he took her with his tongue and teeth and lips. Every nerve ending she had was on fire, electrified by how unbelievably good it felt to let Cole love her.
When he increased the pressure of his tongue, sweeping it faster and harder against her clit, she gasped and moved her h*ps faster and faster against him. He did the same, his body instinctively tuned to the rhythm of hers. Moans and strangled screams filled the air, and she was so lost in sensation—drowning in it, really—that she didn’t know which of them had made the noises.
He thrust two fingers inside of her, and it was too much. His fingers in her sex, his tongue on her clit, his thumb pressing slowly into her from behind—she was no longer in control of her body. He had claimed her, taken her over, made her his in a way she’d never before imagined.
Sensation rose sharply within her, orgasm threatening with each flick of his tongue. But she was determined to take him with her, desperate to give him the same ecstasy he so generously gave to her.
Reaching under his balls, she touched his most sensitive spot. Pressed her fingers firmly against it at the same time she ran her tongue over and around his cock. He exploded, and with a shout that was her name poured himself into her mouth in long, uncontrolled bursts that sent her hurtling into her own cl**ax.
It was the longest, most intense orgasm of her life, and as he emptied himself into her, his h*ps thrusting repeatedly against her mouth, she hoped it was the same for Cole. No matter how dominating or controlling he was, he’d given her more in a week than all the other men in her life had given her put together. It was just one more thing to be grateful for.
When the tremors finally stopped and her body was once again her own, she collapsed on the bed. Cole groaned, but shifted so that his head was buried in her br**sts, his hands tangled with hers.
She wasn’t sure what had happened here between them, knew nothing had been decided in their fight, but still she couldn’t let him go. It was as if this latest lovemaking had bonded them together, made them one person instead of two. And she vowed, in the quiet aftermath, that whatever he asked of her, she would be as honest as she knew how to be.
But he didn’t say a word for a long time, just held her and worshipped her with soft brushes of his mouth and tongue and fingers against her skin. And when he finally moved, rolling to the side of the bed, she protested with clenched arms around his middle.
He merely laughed, then pulled out a long, black velvet jeweler’s case. “I still want to talk about what happened earlier—”
“Cole—”
He stopped her with a hand over her mouth and a tongue in her ear. “Argue with me later. For now, I just want to know if you like it.” He flipped open the box lid, showed her the most stunning piece of jewelry she’d ever seen. Made of twisted lengths of platinum, it was shorter than the average necklace, but, she knew, more than adequate to fit around her slender neck. Attached to it was a gleaming sapphire the size of a robin’s egg.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, touching it with delicate fingers. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”
“It made me think of you.” He lifted the ropelike chain from the box and said, “Here, let me put it on you.”
She lifted her hair out of the way and waited, heart trembling in her chest as he fitted the chain around her neck and worked the clasp. He was so close, his masculine power so potent, that she was all but overwhelmed by him. He dropped a kiss on her neck, trailed his tongue along her nape, and she shuddered, desire rising, sharp and unbelievable.
“Let me see.” His voice was husky, and when he turned her to face him, she saw evidence of his own arousal in his dark ebony eyes, eyes that grew even darker as he looked at his chain around her neck.
And that’s when she knew: It was more than a gift, more than a beautiful memento of their time together. She touched the necklace with trembling fingers, felt the ropelike quality of the platinum. It was a brand, a mark of possession, a claiming of her that could not be denied.
“Cole …” Her voice trailed off as she realized she had no idea what to say. Finally, unable to think of anything that was as profound as the look in his eyes as he watched her, she settled for a soft “Thank you. I love it.”
“Don’t thank me. I like seeing you in something that I bought you.”
Unbelievably, she blushed. “I like wearing something that you gave me.” Closing her eyes, she rested her head against his chest, tried to savor these last few moments she had with him. The day was starting—she could hear traffic picking up on St. Charles, could see the sun getting brighter behind the closed shutters. Soon she’d have to head to work and face everything she’d been so desperate to forget.
His hands tangled in her hair, massaged her scalp for long moments. Relaxed and more sleepy than she had a right to be, she murmured, “I never thanked you for the flowers. They were beautiful.”
She felt him stiffen under her, his chest going rigid beneath her ear. “I didn’t send you flowers.”
Alarm exploded in her as she shoved into a sitting position. “The roses weren’t from you?”
“No.” He shook his head slowly, his eyes dark with concern and concentration. “I would have sent honeysuckle.”
“Shit.” Her mind was already racing, drawing conclusions that made her more than uneasy. “Then I have a very big problem.”
Chapter Nineteen
Genevieve hit the station door at a dead run. On some level, she was conscious of Cole pounding down the hallway beside her, but she was totally focused on getting to her desk—and the flowers. Never had the squad room seemed so far away.
Maybe she was jumping to conclusions, but she was afraid that that just wasn’t the case. Cole was the only one who should have sent her flowers—if he hadn’t done it, then there was a mistake. Or the killer had upped the ante in the sick and twisted game he was playing with her.
Based on everything he’d pulled so far, she had the very sick feeling that it was the latter.
“Hey, Delacroix, where’s the fire?” asked Bryce, one of the vice cops she traded information with, as she nearly mowed him over.
“On my desk.” But she slowed to a fast walk, aware of the strange looks she and Cole were getting as they crossed the bull pen. Most of the detectives hadn’t arrived yet, but a few were around—and looking at her with concern.
When she got closer to her desk and saw the flowers still sitting there in the pretty butterfly vase, she relaxed a little. Some small part of her had been concerned that she’d missed her shot at them—that they would have disappeared as mysteriously as they’d arrived.
Cole made a choking sound as he looked at the hot pink roses in the too-sweet vase. “You thought I sent you those?” The look he cast her was more than a little appalled. “What are we, twelve?”
She shrugged. “I thought you had singularly bad taste.”
“Not that bad.”
She ignored him, reaching into one of her desk drawers and grabbing a pair of latex gloves out of the box she kept there. It was ridiculous to hope for prints, as the as**ole had probably never even touched the vase, while she, the florist, the delivery guy, and God only knew who else definitely had.
But procedure was procedure, and if the guy was cocky enough to send the lead detective flowers, he was cocky enough to make a mistake. Picking up the vase, she ran her fingers along the lip of it and under the bottom, not sure what she was looking for.
But the message on the card had been too cryptic, the flowers too obvious. No, there was something with these flowers—she could feel it. Besides, the gesture would be useless if he hadn’t included something to taunt her with.
She glanced over at Cole for the first time since entering the station. His expression was puzzled and more than a little grim. In fact, he looked like he wanted nothing more than to smash the vase to bits.
“You run across anything having to do with pink roses in your research?” she demanded as she sat back and continued to study the vase.
“No. Not that I recall.”
“Anything about flowers at all?”
“I don’t think so.”
“So what is this all about, then?”
“I have no idea. But I don’t like it.”
She glanced at him, grinned. “You just don’t like the idea of another man sending me flowers.”
“While that is entirely true, I still agree with you that this stinks.” He leaned over and sniffed a rose. “I’m just not sure why I feel like that.”
