“What the—” I began, then snapped my mouth shut when he followed me in.
A twenty-something woman who looked like she was fresh out of college gaped at him, then edged carefully around us to escape.
“In,” he said, stalking toward me so that I had no choice but to either back the rest of the way into the ornate restroom or get run over by him.
I entered.
The restroom at The Drake is as elegant as they come, with a long marble counter with multiple seats to give the women plenty of space to take care of both primping and gossiping. But what really makes it exceptional is that every stall is fully decked out as a little room, complete with toilet, vanity, mirror, sink, and even a little upholstered stool to sit on. Moreover, the door is floor to ceiling, giving a woman complete privacy.
Cole pushed open the door to the first vacant stall, then dragged me inside.
“Are you crazy?” I whispered as he locked the door behind us.
He didn’t answer the question. Instead he grabbed me by the waist, picked me up, and sat me on the vanity. I gasped, for the first time truly realizing just how much he had on me in terms of weight, size, and strength.
“Dammit, Cole,” I said, but I’d deflated a little bit.
He shoved my knees apart and stepped between them so that he was pressed up against the vanity and right in my personal space.
“You threw a drink on me,” he said, his voice so low and so firm that I knew he was fighting to control his temper.
“You deserved it.”
“Why did you come to me about your dad?”
“You know why,” I snapped. “Because I thought you could help.”
“And just what the goddamn hell do you think it is that I’m doing?”
“You can’t just muscle in and—”
“All or nothing, Catalina,” he said.
“Bullshit. He’s my dad; you can’t cut me out of the scenario, especially not when you said you’d keep me in the loop. You told me I’m a submissive, and maybe you’re right. But that’s in bed, Cole. Not out here. Not in the world.”
I watched his face, saw the hard lines and angles tighten and his eyes narrow as he focused on me. “I’m not interested in taking away your autonomy,” he said. “But I don’t do anything halfway, and I’m not going to spend time trying to second-guess what the rules of engagement are. I already know the rules.”
“Is that a fact? What are they?”
“Mine,” he said, and I could tell from the heat in his eyes that it wasn’t just the rules about my dad that we were talking about.
I licked my lips, trying to stay on track. “Dammit, Cole—”
“Take off your clothes.”
I froze. A little shocked and—damn me—a lot turned on. “The hell I will.”
He took the hem of my T-shirt in his hands and pulled it up, revealing my bra. “Take it off, or I will.”
I felt my sex tighten and my skin go hot. “Do it, then,” I said.
He did, yanking the shirt up, forcing my arms to follow, then tossing it on the floor near the door. He reached down and cupped my sex through my jeans. I was breathing hard, so turned on I was surprised my jeans weren’t soaked.
“Will you take off the bra, or should I just rip it off?”
I reached back and undid the clasp, then pulled it off and tossed it on top of the shirt. “What are you doing?”
“Exactly what I want,” he said as he unfastened the button on my jeans then eased the zipper down. “My rules.” He slid his hand inside the jeans and under my panties, then eased one finger inside me, his smug grin widening when he found me not just wet, but drenched. “Mine. Say it, Kat.”