With a cry—of thanks, of need, of bone-wrenching fear at being so vulnerable—he came, emptying himself inside of her. Giving her everything he had in one bone-crushing, mind-numbing, soul-searing orgasm.
And when it was over, when he held Genevieve’s trembling body against his own, he couldn’t help the feeling that things would never be the same.
What had he done?
What had he let her do?
Chapter Seven
Hours later, they lay in an exhausted heap on her bedroom floor, having fallen out of the bed sometime in the middle of their last encounter—though Cole had no recollection of the fall.
How was it possible, he wondered, for him to have come so many times and still not be sated? He wanted Genevieve not just sexually, but all the way deep inside of him in a place he barely acknowledged anymore. A place he thought he’d killed off when Samantha had died.
He’d found it tonight when he’d been skulking in the shadows, hanging around the police station, hoping for a glimpse of Genevieve. He’d thought about going in, had even started up the steps a time or two, but he hadn’t been able to do it. Every time he thought of going down the hall to homicide, he broke out in a cold sweat. There was no way he’d actually make it down the hall without freaking out—the memories were still too powerful.
So he’d lurked in the shadows, getting angrier and angrier at her the longer he waited. He’d been angry that she’d walked out on him without so much as a phone number, furious that she hadn’t felt the same way as he had about the one night they’d spent together.
He’d been thinking about the previous night when she’d finally come out of the station, remembering what it had felt like to taste her while his hands cupped her br**sts. He’d been aroused, uncomfortable, and more than ready for action.
Which was just one of the many reasons he’d lost it when he’d finally gotten her in his arms. Thank God she hadn’t seemed to mind.
Genevieve sighed and wiggled against him. His c*ck hardened—though he would have sworn it was impossible only minutes before—and he lowered his mouth to the purple bruises that covered her shoulders.
Sneaking his tongue out, he swirled it from one bruise to the next, playing connect the dots with the small hickeys. Slowly, he traced them, moving from her shoulder to her neck to the soft, sweet skin of her br**sts. She was covered in the little love bites, no part of her body completely unblemished by his need to brand. To claim.
He’d never felt this possessive before, had never needed to mark a woman so obviously. Part of him was ashamed of his lapse in control, frightened of this desperate need she brought forth so effortlessly from him.
Because he was confused—his instincts demanding that he both dominate and comfort, he took his time soothing the little marks, sliding from one to the next with soft strokes of his tongue. Not an apology, exactly, but an acknowledgment of what he’d done. What he’d been driven to do.
Genevieve started trembling before he’d finished with her right breast, her fingers tangling in his hair. He relished the small pain, tilted his head so that she could grab more. Pull harder. And she did, her actions sending pinpricks of ecstasy cascading through his body.
Shifting a little, he turned her so that he could reach the other bites and bruises. Let his lips trail from her breast down her stomach to her sweet p**sy, which was already dripping honey for him.
“Cole, no more.” Her voice was hoarse, the hands clutching his hair tighter than they had been just moments before.
“Just one more, sweetheart.” He licked lazily up the center of her, let his tongue linger on her responsive little clit. She arched against him, her hands tightening even more. With a flick of his tongue and a thrust of his fingers he sent her careening over the edge again, her cries only making him hungrier.
He could do this all night, all day, he thought as he buried his face in her, took her up again. He loved how she smelled, how she tasted—sweet and spicy and so delicious he swore he could live off her alone.
“Cole!” Genevieve’s breath broke and she shuddered against him, her body giving him all the encouragement he could ever need.
Easing to his back, he pulled her slender body over his, relishing the feel of her in his arms. He knew he shouldn’t feel like this, not just because it was too soon but because caring for her would probably lead to heartbreak—but he couldn’t help it. With a sigh, he lifted her so that she was sitting above him, her legs falling open on either side of his jaw. And set about making her come … again.
It was becoming an obsession, this desire to see her cli**x. This need to make her respond to him. But as he thrust his tongue inside of her—a place he’d already been more times than he could count—she trembled and arched away from him.
Surprised by her reaction—after she’d spent so many hours letting him do whatever he pleased to her—he frowned and slid her down his chest in an effort to see her eyes. But she turned her face away, and though she was sitting on him, her hot p**sy poised over his very aroused cock, she suddenly felt far away.
Sitting up, he reached to cup her cheek with a hand that was shaking more than a little. His fingers came away wet and panic raced through him. Grabbing her chin between his thumb and index finger he tried to get her to turn her head to look at him.
But she refused, kept her face steadfastly turned away, and that’s when he knew for certain. It wasn’t sweat pouring down her face. She was crying.
Genevieve was crying.
Fuck! What had he done to her? Had he somehow hurt her? But he’d felt her response in the hardness of her n**ples, in the hands clenching his shoulders, in the rhythmic contractions of her p**sy as she’d come again and again. Yes, he’d been rough, but she’d seemed to enjoy it as much as he had.
Springing to his feet, he lifted her in his arms and settled her on the bed. Watched as she curled into the fetal position away from him, tremors shaking her slender body.
Furious, shocked, desperate to understand what he’d done, he settled on the bed beside her. Then, because he couldn’t not touch her, he softly stroked a hand over her hair.
But she was struggling, sobbing, her hands clenching into fists as strangled sounds came from her parted lips. Glancing up, he saw her eyes, glazed with pleasure, delirious with it, but also frightened. Wary. He was pushing her too hard, taking everything she had to offer, giving her incredible pleasure in return.
But it wasn’t enough. She needed more from him, needed something he wasn’t sure he still knew how to give. In those moments when she was utterly lost in her body’s response, when the pleasure all but overwhelmed her, she needed tenderness. He only prayed he still had it in him to give it to her.
Moving slowly, he covered her body with his own. She grabbed on to him, her sobs harsh, her body racked with the aftereffects of the night they’d spent together.
He rolled to his side and gathered her quaking body against his own. Ran a soothing hand down the smooth curve of her spine. Buried his fingers in the soft, strawberry-scented curls that surrounded her face. And let her take as much—or as little—of him as she needed.
It was the hardest thing he’d ever done, lying there while she recovered her equilibrium. He liked to keep his partners off balance, needed to keep the scales tipped in his favor. But Genevieve was as much a control freak as he was, and he had obviously pushed her too far, too fast.
The thought had him cursing, low and long and mean, as he called himself every name in the book and some new ones of his own invention.
Had he hurt her? Damn it, he’d felt her response, had heard her pleasure as she’d screamed his name. But maybe he’d misinterpreted—maybe he’d given her more pain than pleasure.
“Genevieve, baby—” He broke off, unsure of what to say as his stomach sank to his toes. Unsure of what to do to make things all right between them.
“I need a minute, Cole,” she said as she continued to shake. “It’s too much. It’s all just too much.”
“Did I hurt you?”
“Cole—”
“Just tell me, sweetheart. Did I?”
She would have laughed if she’d been able to work up the energy. But she was empty, strung out, her body so thoroughly used that she wasn’t sure if it would ever again feel as if it belonged to her. And he wanted to know if he’d hurt her? He’d shattered her, and she didn’t know how to begin to put the pieces back in the right order again.
“Genevieve!”
She finally tilted her head at the barely concealed alarm in his tone, unable to ignore it even as she fought down the panic ripping through her own body. And was shocked at how wild he looked. How fearful. “It’s okay, Cole.”
“Fuck that!” he snarled, setting her away from him with hands that were shockingly gentle considering the look in his eyes. “Did. I. Hurt. You?”
“No, of course not.”
“Fuck.” He flopped onto his back, sinking into the mattress as if all the air had gone out of him. Then he lifted his head and eyed her suspiciously. “Are you sure?”
“I’m positive.” She told him what he wanted to hear, but it was also the truth. He’d pushed her—fast and furious—beyond every boundary she’d ever had with regards to sex. And up until the end, she’d gone willingly. More than willingly—eagerly. And as soon as it got to be too much, he’d stopped. Instantly.
She’d been a cop long enough to know that a lot of men wouldn’t have.
“Then what’s wrong, sweetheart?” He grabbed her wrist and pulled her around to face him, shifting so his hard body was wrapped completely around hers. Sheltering her.
It took all her training not to yelp as that last thought occurred to her. It was, after all, the crux of the problem. In one night, he’d managed to get inside of her. To rip her defenses apart and touch the real Genevieve. The one who wasn’t such a hard-ass. The one who wanted to believe that such incredible, mind-bending sex meant more than just a good time.
It was too dangerous in the best of times, and around-the-bend crazy with this man she still didn’t even know if she could trust. Her body said yes, absolutely, whispered insidious things to her in an effort to take more of the pleasure Cole so easily provided.
But her brain wasn’t nearly as accepting. Not with all the warning flags popping out like bare br**sts at Mardi Gras. Not with everything she still didn’t know about him. But she couldn’t bring herself to face the doubts and suspicions while her body still trembled with the last orgasm he had given her.
“Genevieve?” he prompted.
“You’re just too much. Too big, too intense, too … everything. You want more from me than I can give.”
He reached up, stroked a gentle hand down her cheek. “I want you.”
“You want too much!” She reached over and grabbed his shirt, shrugging into it as a poor defense for the vulnerability he brought out in her. Then instantly regretted it. Bad enough that her skin smelled like him; now she was surrounded by the tangy, ocean scent. It was enough to drive a sane woman crazy.
Unable to keep still for another second, she stood up from the bed. Started to pace. But she didn’t get far.
In a move that was so smooth she almost didn’t see it, Cole sprang to his feet. Blocked her path. Began to stalk toward her. “Cole, no.” She held up a hand to ward him off, afraid of the frazzled, out-of-control woman she’d become.
“Genevieve, yes.” He continued walking toward her, each smooth, deliberate step both a threat and a promise.
“You keep pushing and taking, demanding more and more. I don’t know what to do, how to give you what you want.”
“All I want is you,” he repeated, stopping right in front of her. He stared at her with gleaming onyx eyes she couldn’t help responding to.
“You want everything!”
“Damn straight.” In a lightning-fast move, he snagged her wrist and pulled her against him. She gasped as she slammed into that hard body—not because she was frightened, but because he felt so damn good.
“Let me show you,” he murmured, burying his face in her neck. Licking the spot behind her ear that was guaranteed to set her body on overdrive.
Her laugh was strangled, but the hands pushing against his chest weakened. Began to stroke the firm skin they had resisted only moments before. “You already have. Over and over again.”
“Not well enough, obviously.” He grabbed the shirt she wore and with one fast tug, ripped it off her so that she was once again nak*d. Once again laid bare for him.
Even as a nervous tingling skated slickly down her spine, she felt herself opening to him. Her body—so sore and used—preparing to take him. Again. And again and again until he’d used her up. Until she didn’t remember what it was like to breathe without him inside of her.
Panic bloomed full out, but she fought it down as she reached for Cole. Took his c*ck into her hands. Sighed at the look of ecstasy that crossed his face. She would hold her own this time, would refuse to be taken over. Would give as good as she got.