One Bossy Dare: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (Bossy Seattle Suits)
One Bossy Dare: Chapter 13

Kona days are long and breezy and everything glitters like gold under the spectacular Pacific sun.

They’re only broken up on this side of the island by brisk rainstorms. I love how refreshing it feels, like someone reaching to sweep the air clean.

I’m also starting to adore my makeshift lab even more than my fancy lab at home. The soaring ocean views make it easy to fall in love.

When the clouds peel back like curtains and the sun pierces them at just the right moment, I’m always in awe.

But nothing could compare to the brilliant double rainbow exploding across the sky right now.

The huge multicolored bridge spans the entire ocean in neon ribbons from east to west.

Grinning like a fool, I grind fresh peaberry beans and start the best brew of my life.

I’ve pushed the recipe closer to perfection over the last few days, using a lower flame for a longer brewing time.

This won’t be a fifteen-dollar cup of coffee by the time I’m through. More like twenty-five bucks of absolute luxury.

The scarcity of the peaberries isn’t the only thing commanding a higher price tag. Process adds a premium.

Each batch of this stuff takes at least twice as long to brew as a more basic bean.

And I don’t mind the longish brewing time when it lets me flop down on my lounge chair and remember the way Cole kissed me—when Dess barging in was the only reason that encounter stayed PG-13—and then vanished for three days and counting.

Hi, I’m an idiot. Nice to meet you.

Seriously.

You’d think I would have learned my lesson the last time a skeezy older man played racquetball with my heart, but apparently I’m a sucker for punishment. Or is it a chump for Lump?

Same old heart trap, and I walked right into the snare. Again.

Thinking about Derek feels like summoning the devil. The saddest moments of my life replay like a cringe compilation video.

My chest burns.

All the peaberry sweetness and double rainbows in the world can’t make up for the way I let that wretched man crawl up inside me.

Two Years Ago

I’m sitting behind my desk at this god-awful legal firm—just a three-week temp job, thank God—when he strolls in.

I look up like I feel a presence.

Of course, I do.

He’s that kind of man, the sort who holds a room spellbound the second he enters.

Thick blond hair tumbles around his face like a mane, framing those pale-blue eyes. His three-piece suit hangs perfectly off his body. He looks like the hero in every cheesy rom-com movie ever made—only, there’s nothing funny about the way his eyes rake over me.

“So Michael finally traded in his secretary? I approve of the upgrade,” he says with a self-assured smile.

What else can I do but smile back? “Oh, I’m just the temp. Lydia’s out on maternity leave.”

“Could you let him know I’m here? Derek Stevens.”

“Will do.” I pick up the phone and call the attorney’s office. Voicemail. “I think he’s in a meeting, Mr. Stevens. I’m getting his voicemail. Would you like a coffee while you wait?”

“That would be stellar,” he says.

“Any particular flavor?”

“There’s a menu now?” He grins like a movie star. “Damn, lady, you are a big improvement.”

“Personal pet peeve.” I clear my throat. “I can’t stand the canned stuff in the break room, so I brought a couple fresh blends I roasted myself…”

Oh, how those blue eyes ignite with surprise.

“Impressive. Anything’s fine, really,” he says with a friendly nod. I feel his eyes linger as I turn around and hear him call, “I don’t suppose I could convince a beautiful new lady to have one with me while I wait? Or would that be asking too much?”

Oh, God.

This isn’t me.

I can’t believe how I smile back at him over my shoulder. I never smile at strange men who hit on me in public.

Let’s blame it on the sexy eyes and million-dollar good looks.

I brew up two cups of Madagascar vanilla in no time. When he takes his first sip, his head falls back and he groans. I almost have to look away when he pinches his thigh like he’s dreaming.

“Holy shit,” he whispers, his eyes snapping to mine. “You said you’re a temp, Miss—?”

“Eliza,” I offer.

And that’s how he offers me a job I decline, laughing the whole time.

But it gets us talking for almost an hour until Michael finally emerges from his office with a scowl left by his conference call.

By the end of our conversation, a few things are clear.

Derek is seventeen years older than me.

He owns a major film company with a degree from UCLA, and he despises Hollywood so much he only flies back there from his hometown, Seattle, whenever he absolutely must.

He admires my big café dreams, even when I turn down his office job.

He also walks away with my number, and he calls me that night.

We don’t have coffee again.

Instead, we bond over a three-hundred-dollar bottle of champagne at one of the finest oyster bars in the city, and then in a lavish hotel room overlooking Elliott Bay.

After that, we’re rarely apart.

He’s a busy man—even when he’s not traveling—and he tells me the high-end rooms are just so he can escape and clear his head. They’re his special oasis with a special lady, where he can be the special man he tells special me I totally deserve.

And I believe him like the lovesick little fool I’ve become.

Despite the fact that he always slips out before I wake up the next morning with a delicious breakfast alone and the room paid for, I don’t even question it.

A month later, he meets my parents.

They don’t like that he’s so much older, but they don’t complain about how respectful he is.

Dad says Derek is protective. He’ll take care of me.

Mom claps her hands together and says he’s besotted and kind, and “oh, honey, these true gentlemen are so rare.”

I even mention him to Wayne when I drop by to dress up Wired Cup’s latest very average fall beverage line of pumpkin spice lattes, and he’s a little more suspicious.

Life isn’t a fairy tale that throws Prince Charmings at you out of nowhere. I need to be careful, take it slow, but he respects my choices.

Three months later, Derek whisks me away to the Four Seasons on a trip to L.A. We’re in the valet line. He takes my hands and stares into my eyes.

“I’m so fucking tired of sleeping alone, Eliza. I can’t wait to wake up next to you,” he whispers.

“I love you,” I slip as my heart bursts into butterflies.

He leans over and kisses me like I’m the best thing he’s ever tasted. “Me too.”

The driver knocks on the window.

Derek hands him the keys and holds my door open.

We don’t fuck like we usually do.

We make love for the first time that night. My first time ever having sex with real, deep feelings attached.

It’s like losing your virginity for the second time, only far more intense.

It’s not like the way it looks in movies.

I come so hard it hurts.

Then I stare at the ceiling, gripping him so tight my legs go sore when he groans and collapses on top of me, but the way he holds me after…

It’s so very delicious, so sweet, so beautiful I’d do it a thousand times over.

Nothing compares to the pure bliss of waking up with him the next day, or the anticipation of falling asleep in his arms again.

Nothing.

But a month later, it happens.

Derek has to go to Vancouver for a long weekend to check out some locations for a future film. No big deal.

I head back to San Diego on a whim with a couple friends from high school. We head over to Anaheim and visit Disney.

And in the It’s a Small World line, a devastating irony.

The love of my life stands there, surreal and inexplicable.

“Derek!” I call. “Derek, what are you doing here?”

He turns around. The happy grin on his face melts into sheer dread.

Weird. But maybe he doesn’t recognize me in my thick sunglasses and new blue highlights in my ponytail.

Is he just surprised to see me?

I run toward him with my arms outstretched.

He steps out of line with his hands out, guarded, as if he wants to shove me away.

“Eliza, what the hell are you doing here?” he says coldly.

I crash into his chest, closing my arms around him.

“Um, I’m just here with friends. But I thought you were in Vancouver this weekend?”

His isn’t hugging me back with the same adoring reverence he always does.

Why?

“Dad? Who’s she?” a kid who looks like she might be nine or ten asks.

She’s talking to Derek.

I drop my arms and stumble back, the blood draining from my face. My eyes trace from Derek to the kid who has his eyes and back to him.

“Oh… You didn’t tell me you had a daughter.” I’m careful to keep my voice steady.

I’m understanding and open-minded. He should have just told me.

Then a tall blonde holding a baby arrives at his side, her lips pursed in a razor-sharp line. “Derek? Who’s this?”

His voice is arctic. “Eliza Angelo. She…she works with me. Huge surprise seeing her here.”

“I do?” It comes out so dry I almost choke.

What can I say? I’m slow. It hasn’t fully hit me yet like an avalanche.

“Eliza, say hello to my lovely wife, Darlene.” He motions to the blonde with a look that says, say hello, and if you say anything else, I will slit your throat.

I have no idea what he says after that.

I’m too blinded by stinging tears, frantically pushing through the thick crowd, my heart shattered like blown glass and already beginning to cut me to pieces.

Present

The aroma of fire-roasted coffee mixed with fresh coconut shavings and decadent chocolate snaps me back to the present.

Jesus. I’m such a ghastly moron.

How could I ever let myself get close to an older rich man again?

I know their game.

Rich boys think they own the world. Women are just play things, easy and expendable.

Then. Now. Forever.

That’s just the way of this pathetic world and all you can do is build a bunker around your heart. But I don’t have time to mope around thanks to Derek or Cole or anything else.

I have a big coffee tasting coming up, and the timer just dinged for my taste batch. I just need to pack it up and get to the conference room.

I pull in a lady from the house staff and ask for a coffee urn.

She brings in the fanciest silver container I’ve ever seen. I transfer the coffee from the open pot I brewed it in.

“Can I please get some cups, too? And any chance you could put them in the conference room for me?” I’m not used to giving orders.

She nods respectfully. “I can do that. Do you think you can carry this? There’s plenty of auxiliary staff standing by if you can’t, per Mr. Lancaster’s instructions. He’s always very helpful.”

I blink.

“Lancaster helps the help?” I wonder out loud.

Whatever.

He’s still a rich man with a past, and you’d do well to remember it, a voice groans in the back of my head. You saw how he was practically drooling at you in your bikini. You’d be his toy. Nothing more.

She smiles and nods. “My family has worked here for generations. The Lancasters are good people.”

“Thanks, but I’ve got it.” I manage to haul the heavy container to the conference room one baby step at a time.

By the time I make it there ten minutes later, they already have the cups set out.

Cole—Mr. Lancaster, and I really should go back to calling him that—sends a man to take the urn from me and set it up in the middle of the table. Not long after, people start filing in for the meeting.

Ugh. How do I get through this?

It’s my first encounter with Lump since it happened. The jackass avoids making eye contact until he’s finished his daily briefing.

He looks at me without a whisper of tension. He just smiles warmly and says, “Eliza, do you want to do the honors? This is your creation, after all.”

“It’s self-serve,” I say coldly.

“And you should take the credit. It already smells divine.” The bright twinkle in his eye hints that he doesn’t just mean the coffee.

It takes major effort to keep the butterflies at bay. But I get up, take a paper cup, and start dispensing the coffee.

Once it’s half full of black liquid, I pass it to the bosshole.

He brings the small cup to his lips and takes a slow sip. “Delicious. The peaberry’s natural sweetness stands on its own, even with the added undertones.”

I keep my face neutral.

It feels like it might crack.

“Who knew R & D girls still played barista?” I joke.

Curiosity flashes across his face as he tilts his head, but he quickly snuffs it out.

“Form a line, people. That also means you, household staff,” he tells the crowd gathered in the room. “Everyone should come taste this brilliance.”

Awesome. Now I’m stuck playing barista for twenty people, but Cole helps, standing by to help pass out filled cups.

Everyone stops by later to tell me how delicious it is, how creative and hardworking I must be to have mastered this otherworldly beverage.

For my part, I stare at the floor, waiting for this meeting to be dismissed the same way you want a bad cold to end.

If Cole Lancaster wants to keep this strictly professional after kissing out my soul, fine.

Honestly, it’s probably for the best. I have zero interest in being another rich man’s anything.

But it might have been nice if he’d at least considered that before his tongue tormented mine and his hands grabbed my ass.

As soon as the meeting ends, I’m out, speed walking across the aged wooden floors so briskly the boards creak.

I also don’t stick around to debrief.

I’ve done my part in paradise.

Let Cole Lancaster figure out what the hell to do with his peaberry baby.

It’s his problem, and if I have any say in it, I won’t let him become mine.

“What if the problem isn’t that I don’t like him? What if he doesn’t like me?” I hold my breath, phone pressed to my ear, waiting for Dakota’s sage advice.

“That’s…not your problem,” she says sharply.

Yeah, not helpful.

“Oh! Wait. You mean you like him-like him?”

I don’t answer. She’s figured it out and there’s no point in adding to my disgrace.

“Does your boss—er, this guy—know?”

“Yes,” I say flatly.

“And he’s not interested?” Dakota’s voice sharpens. “Did the sea breeze go to his head? What the hell is wrong with him?”

If only we knew.

She laughs. “Tell me one thing. Are you sure he knows you’re interested? I mean, until I accidentally sent my man a dirty poem, he didn’t know for sure. If it wasn’t for that slip, who knows how long it would’ve taken him to make a move…”

I smile. Their romance feels like it happened a decade ago and it’s so sweet.

“Trust me, Dakota. He knows. He’d be an idiot to have any doubt…”

“Well, men often are.”

“This guy isn’t an idiot. He knows and he just doesn’t care. I think he regrets showing any interest and wants to keep things professional.”

“Makes sense,” she says glumly. “Office love gets complicated. Take it from me. If it goes wrong, it can ruin careers. He might even think he’s protecting you with his walled-off act. Men are dumb like that—especially the rich, bossy types.”

“Protecting me from what?” I hiss.

“Women always get blamed for this crap when it goes sour. It’s always the hen’s fault and never the rooster’s.”

“Well, he kissed me first. I kissed him back and I—I encouraged it, okay? But his mouth found mine first.”

She pauses for a heavy second. “God, I like that you kiss and tell, lady. What happened after the kiss?”

“His daughter found us—”

“Frenching? Holy shit.”

“No! We…we stopped before she saw us. But he’s been avoiding me ever since. He’s acting weird, Dakota, like nothing ever happened, and it’s driving me nuts.” I don’t add because it’s all I can think about.

“Yep. He freaked. Or maybe he just feels bad about initiating a kiss with a woman he works with. Maybe he panicked. The whole workplace romance thing might scare him, especially if he has a kid in the mix.” She sighs. “Still, not all workplace romances end in scandal. Mine gave me a husband and Evermore.”

I hear the little bundle of joy gurgle in the background.

“We can’t all be as lucky as you.”

“Lady, I’m a Poe, even if the last name changed. Nothing lucky about that,” she says with a laugh. “Anyhow, you should catch him alone. Talk to him. He kissed and ran and that means he owes you a conversation if he isn’t a soggy douchecanoe. If he wants to claim temporary insanity or blame it on being drunk, whatever—but at least make him say it to your face. You’ll see the truth then, no matter what he says.”

I nod. “Right. I swear, married life has made you wiser…”

Dakota laughs and I hear Lincoln yell at her in the background.

“Shhhhh! If he hears you, it’ll go to his head. Also, you two work together. You have to clear the air either way or any future work meetings will be torture. But I can’t imagine any man going frosty on you, Eliza. He’s just confused and not as indifferent as you think.”

Oof. What if she’s right?

I swallow before I say, “I—this is going to be like Derek all over again, isn’t it?”

“What? Holy crap, no. If he makes you the other woman, you’ll give me his home address and I’ll hire a whole murder of trained ravens to paint his car white.”

I burst out laughing because she might actually be serious about the bird poop parade. When Edgar Allan is a distant relation, there’s nothing off the table with revenge.

“I’m just afraid,” I whisper. “After Derek—”

“Stop it. This is not Derek,” she says sharply. “You’d know if he was taken, right?”

I hate that she’s right. Even if most of Cole Lancaster’s life is still a black void, I do know that.

“Just because he’s single doesn’t mean he won’t break my heart,” I say.

“That’s always a chance in any relationship. But I’d like to think most guys aren’t cheating scumbags.”

“How can you say that? Your ex was just as big a cheating douchebag.”

“He was, but Linc served up justice, didn’t he?”

“Yeah,” I admit. “But before that…he busted your heart, too.”

“What?”

“Sorry. I just can’t forget the sobbing mess you were after he decided you were better off apart…” I hate that I have to remind her life wasn’t always so picture-perfect.

“He was scared, Eliza. And if I had to guess, that’s what’s going on with your beau. Men always fuss about being big and tough, but they can’t handle half as much as we can. Go talk to him.”

“I mean, what other choice is there? We’ll talk. If he doesn’t care, if he’s too afraid, he’s going to have to say it to my face. After Derek, I’m done playing guessing games.”

“Good girl.” She pauses as a grumpy baby squeals impatiently in the background. “And somebody’s up from their nap. I have to go. We’re having dinner with my mother-in-law later, but let me know how it goes.”

“Will do.”

I hang up with a sigh, stuff my phone back in my purse, and then head out the door.

While I’m still high on courage, I head for the beautiful library Cole turned into a personal office.

I knock a couple of times, but there’s no answer.

Fine. The door is unlocked, so I go inside.

Surprise, surprise. He’s not here.

You’ve got to love how answers are always scarce when you need them the most.

But I’m not suffering through another sleepless night and a morning running on stinging eyes and pure ristretto shots.

The afternoon sky has an orange-creamsicle tint. It catches my attention, and I walk closer to the window.

Once I’m there, I realize there’s another door, a sunroom attached to this library.

The sunset filters in through two sets of windows, giving everything that orange splash. It’s just above the pool on the lower level. I see someone out there, moving, and—

There he is.

There’s no mistaking a body that could make Poseidon jealous.

Toned muscles ripple down his bare back and built legs as he propels himself through the water.

Is he naked?

Oh, hell, I think he is.

He’s all hard, lean perfection. He’s a human wall with the softest lips that turn me inside out effortlessly.

I’m instantly wet.

Yeah, this might not be the best time to talk. I’m at a scary disadvantage.

Also, if the heat radiating from my face is any indication, I’m redder than a lobster at this distance. How awful will I look if I confront him while he’s in his birthday suit?

My eyes drift to a black patch over his unbreakable butt.

Dark trunks hug his legs, something I didn’t notice at first, which means seeing him fully naked was a wishful hallucination.

Sigh.

Leaning against the window, I try not to enjoy the show, and fail miserably.

At some point, when I’m gnawing my bottom lip and turning into a boneless mess, it slides open from my body’s pressure.

Whoops.

So it’s a door. And I’m falling halfway through it, stumbling a few steps onto a small landing before I realize my mistake.

I exhale sharply.

There goes my excuse to avoid him.

Closing the door behind me like I totally didn’t just fall out of it, I march down the small flight of steps to the pool deck and sit on a lounge chair, watching as he swims like a dolphin.

He doesn’t catch me staring until he comes up for air, raking his thick sandy-brown hair back with his fingers.

My blush burns my cheeks.

“Eliza? Did you want to use the pool?” He swims up to the side where my toes skim the pool.

“Umm—no. I came to talk.”

His eyes gleam, soulful blue fire in the evening light, swirling with questions.

“Thanks for taking Destiny surfing yesterday. She hasn’t enjoyed herself on the beach in a long damn while and now she’s hooked. I hired a lifeguard—”

“You what?” I do a double take.

“Purely to keep an eye on her. Both of you, really, in case anything went wrong. I wasn’t sure if she’d panic,” he admits, his face falling with the worry only a father has for his little girl.

“Thank you,” I offer. “I’m sure I could’ve managed, but it would’ve been nice to know we had back-up.”

“If it happens again, you’ll know.” He pauses, stretching his arms out in the water. His muscle ripples, a powerful canvas of ridges. “You’re a talented woman, and not just with slinging coffee. You helped Destiny let her guard down, and I’m grateful. She hasn’t been swimming for years.”

I feel my willpower bleeding out of me.

Why does he have to be so nice right now?

“I do what I can.” Except pry the answers I need from you. But when he falls back in the water with a huge smile before standing again, my heart beats so hard in my chest I can’t bring myself to care.

“Swim with me.” He grabs my legs.

I kick lightly, but he’s so strong it doesn’t matter.

“No, I don’t have my swimsuit. I thought I’d replace you in your office…”

“So you were looking for me? You don’t need your swimsuit here. It’s just us, it’s my pool, and I say sundresses are acceptable attire.” He gently pulls on my legs, inching me to the very edge.

“Cole, don’t. I came to talk. Seriously.”

Too late.

The next thing I know, I’m splashing down in the water with those massive arms holding me up.

Holy hell, I’m glad it cools me down.

He’s so close we’re touching skin to skin. If it weren’t for the water, I’m sure I’d be in flames.

“What did you want to talk about?” His voice is low thunder, calm and serious as ever.

I wanted to talk? Um.

My eyes fall on his lips.

It’s like a shot of espresso to the brain. They’re beautiful and cursed and they feel so amazing.

“Eliza?” he breathes, pushing forward until we’re face-to-face. “What the hell do we need to talk about?”

The way you kissed me, asshat. But I can’t get the words out.

Instead, my face falls forward as he drags me closer.

My lips land on his.

And my big brave plan dies with a whimper, tracing his bottom lip with my tongue.

I start to pull away and apologize, but he’s kissing me back, holding my bottom lip hostage with his teeth.

He pulls—aggressively—leaving no doubt what kind of conversation he wants to have.

Shit.

When his tongue swipes the seam of my lips and pushes into my mouth, I’m in no position to protest.

Lacing one arm around his neck, I put my other hand in his hair, pulling his face closer, closer, but still not close enough.

It’s maddening.

How easily he takes control without even trying.

But when I’m hugging a giant, feeling his big hands push my dress up, and folding my legs around his waist, I’m in no mood to moralize.

I just want Cole, and nothing else.

He adjusts my position slightly so my warmth is perfectly aligned with his hardness before he wraps his arms around me, pinning me in place. He sucks my lip harder, furiously, drawing a ragged breath that makes it clear I’m not the only one losing my head.

“Fucking hell, Eliza,” he growls, tearing his face off mine. “Sweetheart, can we talk upstairs in my room? I have a goddamned lot to say.”

Oh, and he shows me how much, pushing his hard erection against my thigh.

My nails sink into his back on trembling fingers.

“Uh-huh,” I whisper. “Okay.”

He lifts me out of the pool and sets me on the side before coming out, dripping wet and glorious, splashed with sunset shadows. He grabs a huge fluffy white robe from a lawn chair.

“Come here, Eliza.”

My legs are jelly, but I manage to stand and walk over. He takes his sweet time wrapping the robe around me like I’m delicate and breakable before he replaces a towel and starts drying himself off.

It’s awesomely terrible watching how he drags the fabric across valleys of taut muscle, abs you could eat off of, and that insane bulge that’s barely held back by a thin scrap of cloth.

He never takes his eyes off mine, like he’s aware of what he does to me.

This man is built like he was made to eat, drink, and breathe raw eroticism.

I laugh for no reason—blame it on the jitters.

“Don’t you need the robe? I feel bad since you brought it.”

“That dress is see-through now. If we pass anyone, they’re not getting a peek. My eyes only, woman. That’s the new rule.”

Dead.

He just killed me.

But his chest is completely bare and hard and magnificent. I press my hand to it, trying to stay grounded.

“Um, thanks?” I whisper.

He doesn’t say you’re welcome. He just stamps a hungry, yet gentle kiss on my lips, scooping me up in his arms in my cotton cloud and tossing me over his shoulder.

“What if we actually do pass someone?” I whisper in his ear.

“I’ll pay them to pretend they didn’t see shit,” he rasps.

I’m trying not to shake.

This man is so impossible not to adore.

Thankfully, we’re alone as we walk through the house. There’s another staircase at the back leading to a new area I haven’t seen before.

He carries me the whole way, right across the threshold to this old-world room of dark wood that smells like an island forest. There’s a silky curtain hanging around the biggest bed I’ve ever seen, something right out of the last century, and he rips it aside before laying me down.

Oh, God.

My chest rises and falls, each breath more intoxicating than the last when he’s so close, and all I can smell is him.

It’s cooler and darker here. Between the air conditioning, the ceiling fan, and my still wet clothes, my teeth chatter.

“Stay. I’ll get you warmed up as soon as that dress comes off. Guess I didn’t think that through very well.” He kisses my forehead and then drifts down to my lips.

Like anything could ever be wrong with what’s happening.

He pulls me up gently, unties my robe, peels it off, and throws it on the floor.

Except it was dry.

Now, I’m even colder—but not for long.

His wolfish gaze slides down my body for what feels like a full minute, burning me from head to toe. When he reaches out, I’m grateful for the coolness left by the pool.

He latches on to wet fabric and tugs my dress over my head, making quick work of my panties and bra a second later.

Too much.

Too hot.

I’m…I’m going to flipping faint.

My skin crawls with goosebumps as I rock back, falling on the bed, suddenly realizing I’ve never been this naked and vulnerable.

And this man devours me eyes first, his lip curled back in something like awe.

“Cole…” I whisper, licking my lips.

“Don’t,” he snaps off.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t fucking move, beautiful. Just give me a minute.”

Even with my blood warming to three hundred degrees, I do.

I sit there silently, trying not to go to pieces, while this man drinks me in with his gaze.

His hand drops down his massive thigh, his fingers gliding over the outline of his barely contained cock.

Staring, he pushes his waistband down, shoving his swimsuit to his knees.

I can’t bring myself to look at what he’s packing.

“Cole—”

“Eliza, quiet. Let me have my moment,” he growls. “Go on. Look at me.”

My eyelids flutter shut and I take a deep, slow breath before I open them again and—

Whoa.

Is the man part horse?

I haven’t seen that many penises in my life and they’ve never done much for me over other parts and attitude, but holy dick.

He’s girthy. That’s the only word that makes sense—the only way to describe the length and thickness and lust pulsing in his hand.

Even in his own massive palm, his fingers barely close around it, his swollen head peeking out as he strokes his cock achingly slow.

“Fucking shit. If I knew what you had under that dress, I would’ve had you in the trees before Destiny found us. No lie,” he rumbles, that monster dick throbbing in his hand.

My mouth falls open, but I’m too dumbstruck to speak.

After a few more intense pumps, he shoves his swimsuit off and leaves it on the floor. Then he’s stepping forward, stopping between my legs, taking me by the wrist and helping me back into bed.

If I didn’t just get the shock of my life from cock-zilla, I might appreciate how the Egyptian cotton duvet with a million stitches feels like a cloud.

“You’re red. Are you warm enough yet?” he demands, pressing his forehead to mine, brushing my lips with his breath.

Can sex give you heatstroke? I wonder.

He pulls me closer, locking his arms around me, molding his lips to mine again and again until I’m a molten mess beneath him.

When I can bear to open my eyes, staring into his starlight-blue pools, I don’t care about the heat.

I just nod. I think I do.

His lips replace mine with a vicious smile.

The kiss comes longer and sweeter than before, even as his huge chest rises and falls, drawing breaths that seem rougher each time.

I’m not sure what I expected in his bed, but it’s not the length or depth of this tender kiss, especially after how fast our clothes fell off.

Though I’m kinda glad the tenderness doesn’t last.

His kiss makes me urgent, his fingers spooling my hair around them.

My nails dig at his back.

Cole matches my pace, biting back harder when I nip at him, rocking the ridge of his girthy cock against my clit until I’m moaning hotly in his mouth.

“Shit. Shit, Eliza, if that pussy gets as hot as your lips…”

I’m about to protest, to tease, to drag his mouth back to mine.

I’m not ready for the kiss to end, but he nibbles my earlobe, kissing down my jawline and then my throat.

His lips march over my clavicle, stopping in my cleavage.

He covers one breast with his hand, drawing rough circles over my nipple—right before his mouth claims the other one.

“Oh!”

I thrash against him, too wrecked for words.

He sucks nice and slow at first, his teeth forming a ring with just the right pressure. It’s gentle and sweet, just like how the kiss started, and he only stops to lavish attention on my other breast.

For a second, I think I might come before his hand even slides between my legs—until it happens.

It’s incredible how rough his hands are for a man who spends his days typing and signing papers. He traces the round nub, cautiously at first before I hear the knowing growl oozing out of him.

I gasp, but he doesn’t linger.

His hand slides closer, skimming my thighs, tracing my opening.

“You’re fucking ready, aren’t you?” he whispers. “No need to answer. Your body’s too honest.”

I. Am. Gone.

The thousand searing sensations darting through my body keep my eyes from opening, but I’m able to whisper back, “Is that bad?”

His free hand combs my hair. “Fuck no. It’s perfect. You want this as bad as I do. Just hold on to that passion so you can keep up.”

His lips flick mine and he pulls away, leaving me alone. I hear him on the other side of the bed, rummaging around in a drawer, and then a metallic crinkle.

I barely see him glide the condom on his length before he’s between my legs again, teeth bared as he sinks into me in one slow-burning push.

Crap.

Crap.

He’s a human battering ram.

I’m shaking as he fills me, hands pressed against his back, beyond grateful he’s taking his sweet time. If he’d gone any faster, I’m not sure I could take it.

I expect it to hurt with his size, but he’s so gentle, even as the lust in his eyes makes dark, wild promises.

When I’m thoroughly stretched and he’s in to the hilt, pulsing in my depths, he gives me a harsh look with hot, narrowed eyes.

“Arms around me, sweetheart. Hold the hell on,” he urges.

“Yeah,” I sigh roughly, my voice cracking, cupping his face with my hand in the last second of peace I’ll know.

Then his hands slide under me, grabbing my hips and pulling me closer, fully engulfing every inch of him as he begins to move.

Thank God someone still has their wits.

Slow, punishing strokes rock me from the inside out.

His massive body moves over mine like a mountain.

I’m already on the edge, and we’re barely a dozen strokes in before I feel myself imploding, clenching on his cock, my nails raking his skin.

“Cole, Cole—don’t stop!”

And he doesn’t.

His pace only quickens as I become frantic, and his mouth attacks mine, pushing a growl against my tongue as my vision blurs into white-hot stars.

Coming!

I didn’t know orgasms like the kind Cole Lancaster delivers existed.

To even classify what Derek and the few boys I’d messed around with before did to me as the same thing feels like a gross insult.

He turns me inside out, crashing through my O, slapping my body against the bed like the churning Pacific plowing the black lava rock on the shores.

I’m shuddering—and I can’t flipping stop—even as I float down from the high with his tongue against mine.

He slows his strokes for a minute, giving me time, but the frenzied darkness in his eyes says he can’t wait long.

My hand traces his jaw, worshipping his stubble, and I know I don’t want him to.

“Cole, don’t hold back. I want you to come inside me,” I whisper, pushing my feet into the backs of his calves, spurring him on.

He doesn’t need much encouragement.

That glint in his eyes brightens like blue torches, and soon I’m shocked, plunging up and down on the mattress like a storm pummeling my body.

He could light me on fire with how fast he goes.

He could burn me down right now, and make me fall faster and harder and helplessly.

When he stabs down one more time, anchoring so deep, every chorded muscle flexed like a drawn bow, I’m gone.

My vision blurs and I taste the guttural thunder rising from his throat as lightning erupts inside me.

Cole Lancaster comes like a force of nature, all raging heat in my depths, pouring himself out so hard his head snaps back in rapture.

I just wonder if I’ll ever come back from this.

A shameless part of me already knows I don’t want to.

When it’s over, we lay there, twined together and slick with sweat in our own private world of pillows and spent hearts.

Oh, crap. Crap to the nth power.

That really just happened.

I just fucked my boss.

And I already want to do it again—but I need to wrap my head around this first.

Something I can’t do while he’s so near, distracting me with his scent and his rock-hard perfection and his storms for eyes that see right through me.

Everything about him mangles my senses.

“I should go,” I whisper, replaceing the will to stand on two sore legs and pulling the cover with me. I start scavenging my stuff from the floor—only to remember my clothes are still disgustingly wet.

He stands too—shamelessly comfortable in the nude—but with a body like that, why wouldn’t he be?

“You can’t put that dress back on. You’ll catch a damn cold walking to your room.” He picks up a large t-shirt lying on a chaise in the corner and throws it at me. “Here, give it back to me later.”

It’s crazy how hard it is to fight the instinct to raise his shirt to my nose and inhale.

He walks across the room, picking up a thick brown robe hanging from the back of his bathroom door. “You want a fresh robe?”

I smile. “Because that looks less suspicious than just wearing your shirt?”

Grumbling, he pokes his head into his living room of a walk-in closet, scanning around for anything else.

I pull his shirt over me and start for the door, but he grabs my waist and stops me.

“Man, you’re making it hard to leave.”

“Too bad,” he throws back, kissing my neck, running his tongue up my throat.

Giddy, I look up at him, playfully pushing him away.

His mouth darts against mine for good measure. “One more before you’re gone. If people wouldn’t talk, fuck, I’d keep you here for breakfast.”

God. How many times can he ruin me in one night?

I feel like champagne, shaken and fizzy and light. Ready to foam over the edge if I don’t get some space to start dissipating this crazy energy.

But then he says, “I promise this isn’t the end. In case you wondered.”

“No,” I lie, his eyes searching mine.

“Next time, I’ll take longer undressing you. Just didn’t want you freezing.”

“There’s going to be a next time?” I ask, steeling myself.

“Damn right,” he says with a grin, and then his face straightens. “Right?”

Oh, crap. Is Cole Lancaster nervous?

This time, I answer him with a kiss.

My tongue delves in his mouth, lingering, tracing his, wishing next time was right freaking now.

But I’m glad he urges me away gently, opening the door, his hand pressed to the small of my back as he shepherds me out of the room.

I step into another world made of rainbow emotions, wearing only his t-shirt and a bright confidence I’ve never felt before.