Page 225 of Deep Cover

My hands were uncertain at first, not knowing where to touch or how, not understanding exactly what was happening. I was naked and he was not and that was normal but his gentle touches, his caresses, those were new and different and any more new and different felt terrifying.

So I went slowly, letting him bite and lick and kiss, following in my stead until he kissed down my torso, fluttering kisses against my wounded ribs that sent up a throb of pleasure anyway. He kissed the cut there, kissed down the length of my belly, kissed the top of my mons and shied away, but when I reached for him, my hand waiting for the hardness of him, he moved my hand away and went back to what he was doing.

Which was to pick me up and carry me to the bed, releasing me with care, as if I were something fragile and breakable. Then he followed me down into the snowy linens of the bed, his hands in my hair, his mouth on my mouth again and when I reached for him this time he let me pull him into my hands, every long, hard inch of him.

He slid from my hands when he moved above me, pushing me back by kissing me down into the pillows, his hands in my hair again, fingertips stroking, mouth pushing me back, his eyes open and locked on my open eyes.

He followed me down to the bed, then surged up over me, his arms hard and braced, his chest above me, his eyes glued to mine, but only our hips were touching. Only where we fit together so well did we touch.

Cole slid inside me and I gasped and cried out at the sudden fiery pressure. Not taking his intense gaze from me, he started to move in and out of me, long, deep strokes, filling me and pinning me down simply with his weight on mine and most of that around the hips. I felt small and delicate and cared for, felt that this complex man would stand between me and the world and that maybe, for once, I could let someone do that.

Let someone other than me keep me safe.

Then his mouth came down on my nipple, his tongue hot and teeth sharp, but he only let them travel once sharply around and then it was his mouth again, pleasuring me as much as the rest of him.

He leaned down, scooped me into his arms, twisted in a way that should have been impossible and came up with me on top, straddling him, my hands on his chest, my head back, his hands down between our legs, stroking me. I had started to cry, something about the gentleness of touch, the pleasure of someone who wanted to be with me without hurting me and the absurdity of thinking that person could be Cole St. Martin.

With me on top he could reach up and put his hands over my breasts, cupping them without hurting them, rubbing the nipples, flicking them, stroking both hands down my ribs to the curls of my hips and then inward so his thumb stroked my clit and the length of him inside me made me come over and over, crying out wordlessly because I didn't quite dare to use his name.

I saw the moment he lost himself in the act, the minute that he crossed over from the careful Cole bringing me back to something else. Someone else. I saw the blue of his eyes change from pale to dark, from ice to something indestructible. The darkness was filling him, that unquenchable thing that drove him, this time mixed with what Vincent had done to me and at Vincent and Kie now being beyond our reach.

He forgot about my pleasure and maybe about me and he took his own pleasure from me, pounding in and out and it didn't matter, I was finding my way back and for now, I was fine. Just his touching me was enough.

Just him being there in the dark.

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