It was a little bit uncomfortable, and I felt tears prick in my eyes, not from pain but from that odd physical reaction that makes you tear up sometimes, like when you’re dicing an onion or deep-throating the guy you love.
But those were minor things, and completely buried under the pleasure that fell over me like a blanket—the pure, sweet satisfaction of knowing that my mouth, my touch, had taken him to the edge, and was about to push him over.
But then he increased the tempo, thrusting harder into my mouth so that I had to shift my head so as not to choke. He was lost in the moment, though, and tugged hard on a shank of my hair to get me back where I was—and the violence of the motion sent unexpected needles of pain digging into my scalp.
I cried out as I flinched, and that made me choke. I tried to steady myself and control my breathing, but then I felt a hard shove. All of a sudden, I was falling backward. I reached my hands back to steady myself, but still managed to whack my shoulder blade hard on the windowsill before landing flat on my ass with a startled, frustrated yelp.
My sad little noise, however, was totally overshadowed by the look of complete horror on Cole’s face.
“Kat,” he said, his voice as ripped and destroyed as his expression.
I tried to stand and go to him, but he’d knocked the wind out of me when he shoved me backward, and I couldn’t make a sound. All I could do was reach for him, but he stared at my hand as if it would bite him.
Slowly—like a man fighting for every ounce of control—he shook his head. “I should never have—Jesus, Kat, I told you. Didn’t I goddamn fucking tell you that I’d go too far? That I’d hurt you?”
“No.” The word came out hoarse, my breath still off and my throat raw.
He looked pale, battered, and when he lifted his hand and saw strands of wavy blond hair still twined between his fingers, I thought he was going to throw up.
He backed away from me, and I couldn’t seem to move. It was as if I was trapped in amber, watching some horrific moment in history.
Then he was zipping his fly and buckling his belt. He reached into his pocket and tossed his keys onto my floor. “I have to go.”
“Cole, no!” That time, the words burst out of me, and there was no disguising my fear. Not of the man, but of him walking out that door.
Cole, however, heard only the fear.
“Take the Range Rover. Get yourself home. And here,” he added, pulling off his shirt and tossing it at me. “I fucking destroyed the one you were wearing.”
“Don’t go,” I said, and when I reached up to brush away an escaping tear, I realized that I’d been crying all along.
He paused in the doorway, and there was nothing for me to read on his face—nothing at all.
He looked at me for one long moment, and then he left the house and walked out into the night, leaving me numb and alone and terrified that somehow the universe had shifted and we’d lost each other even before we’d really had a chance to begin.
For most of the night, I’d been numb.
I’d called his cell phone at least nine times during the night, but I’d gotten no answer. I’d gone to his house. I’d gone to Destiny. I’d gone to the gallery. I’d gone to every other business the knights owned, and every bar I knew that Cole ever frequented.
I’d called Angie and Sloane, but neither they nor the other knights had seen him.
I’d slept for a few hours, but not well. Now it was past seven and I still couldn’t track him down. My closing was at ten and I was going a little bit out of my mind.
I knew that I’d end up making Angie late for work, but I needed company and reassurance, and so I headed to her condo, stopping for donuts along the way.
I wasn’t worried that he was hurt or injured. Instead, I was worried that something inside him had broken—something I didn’t understand but knew that I had to soothe or else risk losing this man forever.
“Hey,” Angie said, once she’d buzzed me up. “You look like shit.”
“And hello to you, too.”
“Still no word?”
I shook my head. “No. He hasn’t checked in with you guys, either?”
“Not as far as I know. Evan went out for a run. You can ask when he gets back, but he knows you’re worried. He would have told me—or just called you—if he’d heard something.”
“Shit,” I said, then ran my fingers through my hair, because I really didn’t know what else to do.