He laughed, obviously amused by my confusion.
“I want to watch you make yourself come,” he said. “I want to watch the flush on your skin as you get yourself off. My hand. Your hand. Hell, you can use a vibrator if you have one tucked in your purse. . . .”
“Cole!”
“Now,” he said, but his voice had turned sharp. There was no playfulness left. This was the voice of command. A voice that got what it wanted. “Get yourself off, baby. I told you, I want to watch.”
I shook my head, something tight twisting inside me. “No.”
He lifted a brow. “What did you say?”
“Cole, please. I don’t—it was so great earlier. But I’m not going to be able to, you know, and I don’t want to totally destroy that memory.”
“You won’t.”
“You don’t understand the way I’m wired. I—”
But he didn’t let me finish. Instead he grabbed my sex, pinching the smooth, bare flesh around my clit and sending waves of both pain and pleasure coursing through me. “You won’t destroy the memory,” he said, “because you’re going to come for me. And do you know why?”
I shook my head, too distracted by the sting of that intimate pinch and the way my body was reacting to it—my nipples suddenly tight and needful, my sex clenching with a desperate desire to be fucked. I felt wanton and needy and on the verge. And oh, holy hell, what door had I opened when I had set my sights on Cole August?
“Kat.” He twisted a little, and electric sparks seemed to sizzle over me, a billion tiny snaps and pops. “Are you listening?”
“You’re making it really, really hard.”
If he was sympathetic, I didn’t hear it in his voice. “Very hard, actually,” he said with a chuckle. “But you’re going to touch yourself now, and I’m going to watch. And, Katrina, you are going to come for me.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I’m telling you to,” he said in the kind of voice that brooks no argument. He shifted slightly, raising his knees as if to make a backrest for me. He was hard, his erection tucked in between my ass and his legs. “Lean back,” he said, and when I complied I saw the tension in his face as my body rubbed provocatively against his cock.
“Now spread your legs wider.”
I swallowed, thinking of the very intimate view that would provide him. “Cole . . .”
“Argue again and I’ll spank your ass.” He propped himself up on his elbows. “Do it, baby. I want to see that beautiful cunt.”
I wanted to protest—wanted to clamp my thighs together in some sort of misguided attempt at modesty. I knew damn well I wasn’t going to come like this—I was too self-conscious. Too aware.
But at the same time, I heard his voice. Heard his desire. And there was something about the command in his voice that made me want to comply. He was turned on—that much was an absolute certainty. And there was both power and excitement in knowing that it was my body and my reactions to him that were pushing him toward that edge.
“Legs,” he repeated, and I kicked modesty to the curb and slowly pushed my knees as wide apart as they would go.
“Oh, baby,” he said. “I like you waxed. You’re slick and wet and I can see just how turned on you are. Tell me.”
“Very turned on.”
“You’re so wet, baby. Slip a finger inside your cunt and see how wet you are. No,” he added, when I closed my eyes as I complied. “Eyes on me. There you go,” he said, his own gaze dipping down to watch me slide my forefinger into my slick, wet heat.
“Are you wet?”
“You know I am.”
“I want to taste you,” he said. “I want my mouth on you, my tongue inside you.”
“Yes,” I murmured, starting to shift so that he could do just that.
“No,” he said. “Don’t move.”