Текст книги "Reveal"
Автор книги: Elle Brooks
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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 16 страниц)
JEFFREY MICHAELS, OWNER of Michaels’ Associates, and my ticket to making partner at the firm, is in town tonight. I buzz Sophie into my office.
“Yes, Mr. Silverman?”
I look up from unbuttoning my cuffs and rolling my sleeves up. I don’t have time to call home and change, so I smooth down my tailored blue slacks and look up at Sophie.
“Steven, myself and a few other guys from the office have arranged drinks and a little entertainment while Mr. Michaels is here. It never hurts to slather on the charm and turn up the hospitality when it comes to clients as important as Jeff Michaels. Please have a car arranged for us as soon as he’s done with his next meeting. We’ll be headed over to Reveal.”
“Will that be all?” she asks in her chipper, eager-to-please voice.
“Yes, thank you, Sophie. Oh, and have a nice weekend.”
She smiles as she exits my office and closes the door softly behind her. Sophie’s a nice girl, very quiet and timid. She’s engaged to a guy almost twice her age and very outspoken and abrupt. I would never have placed them together, but then again I guess you should never judge a book by its cover. Just because Sophie looks like a shy and studious young woman in the office doesn’t mean she’s the same person at home.
Jeff waltzes into my office; he’s the archetypical cowboy—the only thing missing is his horse as he stands before me in his black button-down, dark jeans and a black Stetson. He’s not much older than me and has amassed quite an empire, forming one of Texas’s largest energy suppliers. He’s thriving and expanding amid the rising demand for natural gas, and we’re in the middle of a merger with a pipeline company, co-founded and run by one of Michaels’ old friends. If this case goes through it will take Jeff Michaels to new heights within the oil and gas market, and me straight to partner.
It’s also no secret that Jeff likes the ladies, so Steven thought it a good idea to take him to Reveal, my younger brother’s establishment. I don’t normally like to mix business with my home life, but Cal’s place is renowned for being one of the finest burlesque clubs in New York City. I’m sure it will be a hit with Jeff.
“Steve here says we’re visiting a strip club?” Jeff drawls with his thick southern accent as Steven hovers by the door.
“Not quite, but close,” I laugh and usher them out toward the elevators. I’m anxious to get done as soon as possible so that I can bow out and meet Robyn. She’s plagued my mind for the last three days, and I hate how we left things when she walked out on me at home. I thought that she was avoiding me, but she’s agreed to come over when she’s finished with work this evening, which means I want to be done with these guys and home as soon as possible.
“I’m sure you’ll like Reveal. It has some of the best views in New York,” I say with a wink as I press the button to take us down.
We’re seated at our table, front and center. I’d sent Callum a text saying I’d be here with a client tonight. All the other times I’ve visited I’ve grabbed a booth at the side of the stage. My little bother’s come through for me tonight, and these seats are excellent. There’s a complimentary vintage Bollinger awaiting us as the cute redhead seats us, and I make a mental note to thank Callum before we leave if I don’t see him sooner. I look out toward the bar to see if I can catch a glimpse of him anywhere, but it’s too dark and I struggle to see beyond the crowd that’s gathering.
We’ve missed the first performance, and the girls are all parading off stage as we make ourselves comfortable. I glance down at my watch and sigh; the ride over took far longer than expected. Traffic is never good but tonight was particularly heavy. I don’t want to skip out on these guys too early, but I’m anxious to see Robyn. Weighing the options between spending the night with a 200-pound bearded Texan or Robyn, with her soft curves and pouty lips, I know which one I’m going to push for. Even if it is the wrong choice, career-wise. I’m hoping that a bucketload of alcohol and the lure of Cal’s dancers will be enough to keep Jeff entertained and happy.
The buxom little server asks if she can get us anything, and I almost cringe as I see Jeff’s not-so-subtle attempt at slipping her a few bills and squeezing her ass. I want to point out that this isn’t a sleazy titty bar where you can pay for private dances, but I’m not about to alienate Jeff when we’re so near to closing this case and finishing up the merger. I can almost smell the paint that will decorate the walls of my new corner office; the end is in sight. I lean back and look around the bustling room. Cal’s done an excellent job in this place, and I’m proud of him for sticking to his guns and making it work, despite the lack of encouragement from our mother. She’s a religious woman when it suits and doesn’t like that fact that her baby boy runs a club that dabbles in the sins of the flesh. I think that’s how she termed it the last time she complained to him, asking why he couldn’t put his college education to better use and run a more upstanding company. He takes it well, far better than I could or would. I admire the fact that he doesn’t dance to someone else’s tune. He knows what he wants and he goes after it, regardless of what others think. Sometimes I catch myself thinking that maybe he’s the one that’s got it right. I mean sure, his ex, Lisa, screwed him and stomped on his heart for good measure, but apart from that he has his shit together pretty good. He has a job that makes him happy and has free time on his hands to enjoy life. He’s got the balance right. I hope to hell that I find that equilibrium soon.
The lighting changes and the room dims and is bathed in a soft golden glow as the band start up. I look over to Jeff, who raises his glass, and we cheer to a successful day and a great night as the little redhead comes back with a bottle of thirty-year-old Macallan and six tumblers. I push my sleeves a little higher and unbutton my collar, sitting back and settling in to enjoy the show.
A brilliant rendition of Benny Goodman’s Sing, Sing, Sing thrums through the club, the heavy drums instantly making you sit up and take note. The girls begin to flood the stage in a spectacular chorus line of tits and ass, reminding me of how long ago it was that I had sex and wanting to ditch this place and go find Robyn now. The girls are good; we’re whipped in the face with feather boas as long stocking-clad legs kick and shuffle past us. Jeff certainly seems to be enjoying the show; I can’t break his concentration as Tim and I talk.
“No fucking way,” Steven yells from out of the blue and lowers his glass to look at me then back to the stage, then me again.
“What?” I ask, amused. He looks like he’s seen a ghost. I look up to the stage, noticing that the chorus girls are gone and in their place are three women dressed like twenties flappers, their backs to us.
“What’s gotten into you?”
Steven’s face pales as he leans over the table and I watch, perplexed, as he shuffles as close as possible to me and lowers his head. The others give us a strange look as he leans in and mutters in a hushed tone, “It’s Robyn.”
“What’s Robyn?” I ask, quickly looking to my phone. I’d dropped it on the table next to my glass so I could see when she texted. I didn’t want to miss her. I can’t see any message alerts, so I look back at Steven.
He coughs and looks over to the stage where the girls are now a few bars into their routine, then looks back at me. He shakes his head exasperated. “On stage.”
I’ve obviously heard him wrong, but I look back out onto the stage in time to see Robyn step forward, shimmying out of her dress.
She’s one of the flappers? And she’s undressing, here in Reveal. What the fuck is going on?
I couldn’t be more winded if someone had punched me in the stomach. I quickly look around the table, and everyone’s eyes are on me except for Jeff’s, which are glued to Robyn’s tits. And then all I see is red. Of course, they’re looking at me, they’re probably wondering why I didn’t tell them that I’d brought them to watch the girl I’m seeing take her clothes off in a room full of people. Jesus, I can’t even cover this! I introduced her to everyone the night I took her to Massa. I jump up from the table, causing my chair to fall back and make a commotion. Robyn’s eyes search to see where the noise comes from, no doubt, and collide with my own. My skin prickles as I watch her step falter, but recover, as if she’d only imagined me standing here looking like a complete fucking tool in front of the colleagues I’ve introduced her to and whom she’s had drinks with. She turns her head and carries on dancing as though I’m not standing here.
What the fuck?
I look down to Steven, who’s looking back at me wide-eyed, waiting for my next move. One of the guys is telling Jeff that it’s my girl on stage dancing. The sick feeling of embarrassment overthrows my common sense, and I want her off that stage now. I move out from behind the table and step up on stage. The girls are oblivious as I take Robyn’s arm and try to guide her off stage, urging her to follow me, but she stops, frozen. The music dies, and the other two women dancing are suddenly yelling at me to let her go. I’m not hurting her. I barely have a hold of her, and then I don’t. I feel myself being swung around, the stage lights blinding me as I stumble and barely manage to blink and regain my focus. My eyes land on Cal’s a millisecond before his fist meets my face, and I’m sailing in slow motion to the back of the stage. Instinct has me scrambling to my feet, pure rage and anger rolling off me in waves.
“What the fuck, Callum?” I yell as he pushes Robyn behind him, and then his face contorts in confusion. His fists unclench and his stance alters. He was ready to attack me, but now he’s standing taller and looks dumbfounded.
“Cole?”
Robyn’s eyes are like saucers as they peer from around Cal’s back, and I move to look around him. I’ll talk to my brother later; right now, I want to know what the hell’s going on and get her off this stage and away from prying eyes.
“Robyn, what the hell are you doing?” I ask angrily.
Cal steps forward into my personal space and causes me to move back a step. “What the fuck, man? Why are you attacking my dancers?”
“I’m not attacking her, you dickhead!” I bite out, wiping the blood that’s beginning to drip from my nose. I can’t believe my brother just punched me.
“I want to know why my fucking girlfriend’s taking her clothes off on stage in my little brother’s club?” I spit the words out.
“What!” Robyn shrieks as she steps around Cal, her face as pale as snow, the color completely drained.
At the same time, Callum roars, “Girlfriend?”
WE BURST INTO my office, Zane rushing in ahead of us telling me to calm down as Cole storms through behind me muttering about his nose. Tweet rushes in next, and Cole immediately walks over to her. It annoys the hell out of me; she’s not his to stand by—is she?
“Care to explain what the fuck just happened out there?” I say to everyone and no one. I don’t know who I’m asking; everyone looks just as shocked and in the dark as me.
“I’ll leave you guys to it,” Zane says, slipping out the door and fixing me with a look that says stay cool. It’s the last thing I’m feeling right now. I’m furious and hurt, and the adrenaline is still pumping through my system, making it hard to try and calm down. I didn’t know it was Cole out there until I’d already hit him. He’s damn lucky I took the time to take a breath, because if I hadn’t, he’d have been leaving here in an ambulance. I’d walked out of my office just as he’d climbed on stage. My heart about dropped from my chest and into my stomach; I was sure it was one of those assholes that she owes money. I didn’t give myself time to reason; I rushed the stage in a blind panic, thinking he was going to hurt her. Given the revelations of the last few minutes, I almost wish it were one of those assholes. I could have sorted that situation pretty easily, but this is so much fucking worse.
Cole and Tweet, damn! It makes me gag thinking about it.
Cole looks at her and I want to punch him again. He’s my brother and I want to rip his face off. I have no right to feel like this, but it doesn’t stop the annoyance coursing through my veins, and I hate his eyes on her right now. Tweet’s are on the floor, thank God. My eyes fall on her shoulders, rounded with her head sunk between them. I can see the slight tremble in her hands as they wring together.
“Tweet?”
“I swear, I didn’t know you two were brothers,” is the first thing to leave her lips. Her head slowly rises, and the debate about who to look to first is evident all over her ashen face. I want to shout Me! Look at me, not him! but I don’t. I stay quiet and will my pulse to slow the hell down.
“Robyn, what the hell is going on here? Why didn’t you tell me you were a stripper at my brother’s club?
“I’m not a stripper.”
“She’s not a fucking stripper!”
Cole takes a step back, looking from Tweet to me.
“I told you I was a dancer; I never mentioned where I worked because it never came up. You’ve never shared much about your work, and you’ve never shown an interest in mine. I wasn’t keeping anything from you.”
“Omission is just as bad as a lie,” he mutters.
I’m standing in shock; she really is dating my brother. Hearing them talk, her arguing her case, just made this all real. My skin crawls and I feel physically sick. I’m trying hard to take deep fortifying breaths through my nose and not lose my shit right now. I’m not holding out any confidence in my ability not to tear this place apart in frustration. My palms ache from the pressure of holding my hands in tight fists.
“Is this Mr. Bigshot?” I grind out as smoothly as possible, given that I feel like I have a mouth full of razor blades.
“Yeah, but Cal, I swear I didn’t know he was your brother. I-I, oh, God this is such a mess.”
“So you’ve been fucking us both?”
“Both!” Cole howls. “What the hell do you mean, both? Are you sleeping with him?” he barks at Robyn. His face is thunderous, and I turn to watch her reaction. He’s not the only one wanting the answer to that question.
Her hands fly to her head and she runs them down her face. She’s shaking her head no and the disappointment I feel dwarfs every other emotion currently battling for top spot. I have to interject. I’m not about to stand here and listen to her lie, but she answers him.
“Yes, I’ve slept with him.”
It’s barely a whisper, but I exhale in relief that she didn’t lie about it, about us, even if her words are like a knife twisting in my gut. She’s sleeping with us both. The comprehension hurts like a motherfucker, and I stagger backward and sit on the edge of my desk, trying to process what’s happening. She turns from Cole and looks over at me.
“Callum, I haven’t…we didn’t.”
She doesn’t get to finish because Cole cuts her off.
“All this time you’ve been telling me you’re not in the right place, and you’re not sure if you’re ready for a relationship. All this goddamn time, Robyn, and you’re having sex with my fucking brother. Are you for real? I’ve been waiting for you and—and, Jesus Christ, Robyn!”
She isn’t sleeping with him. The liberation I feel is enough to knock me off my feet if I weren’t already sitting. I drop my head and take a deep breath in reprieve.
“I wasn’t playing you, or stringing you along. It wasn’t like that,” she pleads. “You were the one pushing for more and I didn’t lie to you; I’ve been honest with you about everything. It was you who said we could keep things casual and not label it.”
His face contorts, and the anger that flashes in his eyes has me up and off the desk, putting myself between them.
“How long have you been sleeping with her?” Cole asks. “Just so I know exactly how long it is that I’ve been a mug for.”
I look at Tweet: her eyes are glazed over with tears but she hasn’t let a single one fall yet. She’s struggling, though, I know her well enough to notice that at least.
“Not long; a few days,” I tell him, squaring my shoulders. I’m not sure what he’s going to do with that nugget of information, and if I’m honest, I’m half expecting him to punch me. I wish he had when he shakes his head and takes a few steps back. Cole’s always been the cool and collected one. I’m the hothead of the family. He looks like I’ve just ripped his heart out and passed it to him gloating. I’m pissed and confused, but now I’m mad that my brother is clearly hurting. It’s all too much of a fucked-up situation to process. The three of us together in the same room isn’t making for a healthy discussion. I step back and fix Tweet with a pointed look.
“Stay in here and talk with him. I’m going to go and find someone to fill your spot. We’ll talk later.”
She nods her acceptance, and I have to pull my eyes from her. She looks broken and my natural instinct is to go comfort her, but then my mind catches up and I turn my head.
“Cole?”
“What now?” he retorts in a cold even tone.
“Figure things out with her; come find me when you’re done. We need to talk. I’ll be upstairs.”
He shakes his head in disbelief. My frustration gets the better of me, and I swipe a cup full of pens from my desk, sending them rolling across the dark wooden floor. “Just come find me,” I huff and walk out of the office, slamming the door behind me. The last thing on this planet I want to do is leave them alone, but I can’t be part of this toxic mess for a second longer. Zane is behind the bar and passes over a whiskey before I have a chance to even ask.
“Everything okay?” he asks. What a stupid question.
“Not even close.” I throw my head back and finish the whiskey in one gulp, enjoying the burn. It hits my stomach and makes it roll, but it doesn’t stop me from slamming the glass back down on the bar. “Another.”
He pours without question, and I do the same again, wiping the residue from my lips and dropping my head into my hands. I hear the glass refill next to my head, and I pray to God that when I sit up, this will all have been a really screwed-up bad dream. I raise my head gingerly. No such luck, I’m already awake. My whole body feels as though it’s been put through the ringer, and I can’t form a coherent thought. The image of Cole and Tweet together is dancing behind my eyes and threatening to make me smash the bar up. I look out to the stage, and the girls are carrying on with the show. The band is playing and the patrons are happy. Nobody even knows that Tweet has just blown my whole fucking world apart.
“Are they still in there?” Zane asks, confused, looking over to my office.
“Yeah.”
“You don’t look too happy about that.”
“What do you mean? I’m ecstatic!” I deadpan, then throw the whiskey he poured back, wipe my lips and stand.
“You going back in there?” He sounds concerned.
“Fuck no. I’ll be upstairs if anyone needs me.”
He nods and I make my way around the bar and toward the steps that lead up to my apartment. I take them three at a time; if I’m quick enough, maybe my problems won’t be able to catch up to me.
I FEEL FOOLISH, used and deceived. It’s heedless, surely, because such emotions should only be a consequence of having loved. And I don’t love Robyn; although I was invested enough to take that step and open my heart– allowing the idea to develop, to flourish. I was too wanting, too willing, and now I’m humiliated by my eagerness to offer myself up so readily. She doesn’t want me, and it’s suddenly blatantly clear why. Only in my wildest dreams would I have imagined this to be the reason. There are over 1.6 million people in Manhattan, and you could argue that half of them are male, that equates to somewhere in the region of 800,000 men. That’s 800,000 potential partners, and she unknowingly climbs into bed with my brother. You couldn’t make this shit up.
“Is Callum the reason that you didn’t want to take things further with us?” I don’t want the answer to this question, but it doesn’t stop me from needing to hear it. I have to know if she was pegging us against one another, as sick as the notion makes me feel.
“No, I’ve already told you,” she sighs. “I wasn’t ready. Cal and I—it wasn’t planned, it just happened. And yes, I know how bad that sounds but it’s the truth. I’m not a liar. I was never dating both of you. He’s my boss and my friend and I didn’t realize what was happening between us until it had already happened.”
“You didn’t realize? What the hell do you take me for, Robyn? How can you not realize?” I pinch the bridge of my nose; it’s throbbing from Cal landing a punch, and the onset of a headache is draining my patience as well as my tolerance.
“Cole, it’s true. I have so much going on right now, and I haven’t been myself. I’ve been distracted and caught up with you and with working all the hours God sends to keep my head above water. I didn’t stop to evaluate what was happening between Cal and me. I never meant to hurt you, and I certainly didn’t set out to come between two brothers.”
I want to believe her, believe that this is all a consequence of twisted fate and bad timing. She looks so sad and vulnerable right now and my body is screaming to go to her, to offer her comfort, but my head is picturing her in bed with Callum. It takes all my energy not to ball my fist and smash it into the nearest door. I’m not a violent person, not even close, but the need to vent my anger is virtually overwhelming.
I can’t accept that they didn’t know what they were doing—how could that be possible? She’s been seeing me regularly; she must have spoken about me to him if they’re so-called friends. I don’t believe that my name never came up in conversation, that she didn’t tell him she was meeting up with me, or that she was meeting me in my neighborhood. There must have been a thousand cues that could have sparked recognition with Cal. I want to believe that I’m wrong and that they’re telling the truth, but I don’t.
Each time I run the scenario through my mind, all I can come up with is that they had to have known. They’ve probably been having a great time laughing about this. She’s played me, and I was too blinded by her allure and her appearance to even notice. I’m a lawyer, for fuck’s sake, it’s supposed to be second nature for me to question everything. To add insult to injury, I had to take a punch from my younger brother in front of a room full of people, including Jeff fucking Michaels. They’ve not only embarrassed me, they’ve hung me out to dry in full view of my colleagues and my most important client.
My shoulders are stiff from the tension they’re holding, and my bones are aching as they vibrate with the rage I’m desperately trying to contain. I need an outlet for this fury, and it would be easy to direct it at Robyn, but I’m not that much of a bastard. I’m painfully aware that making her feel bad wouldn’t make me, or this mess, any better.
“I don’t understand how you both didn’t know; you must have.”
“I swear to you Cole, I didn’t—we didn’t.”
“Bullshit. I have a goddamn huge picture in my apartment of Cal and me and you’ve been to my place; there’s no way you haven’t noticed it.”
“You mean the picture where you’re about ten years old? How the hell would I know the little boys in that picture were you and Callum?”
“He hasn’t changed! He looks exactly the fucking same!” I roar.
“To you!” she bites back. “Do you honestly think that little of me? You think that I would do this knowingly?”
I can’t believe my ears. Does she even understand what she’s said?
“Robyn, you did do this knowingly. Okay, so you may not have realized that Callum was my brother, but you still decided to sleep with him after everything you’ve said to me about not being ready, needing time. I guess that only applied to me, then?”
I seem to have hit a nerve; she stands taller and looks me dead in the eye.
“Cole, I’m sorry for what has happened, truly I am. But we’re not in a relationship, and we never have been. I know you’re pissed at this situation, but I’m not about to get into this argument that you’re vying for. What happened between Callum and I wasn’t planned.”
I need an outlet, and I need it now. I want to tear upstairs and beat the shit out of Callum for fucking my girl, for hitting me in public, and for making me feel second-rate. He’s my little brother; I’ve been able to kick his ass since we were five years old. I’m the sensible one—older, wiser. I have a great job, and I’m respected—that’s how it’s supposed to be. He shouldn’t be able to make me feel like a pussy, but he has.
Despite my maturity, my ability to foresee that I’ll calm down and look at this in a different light given time, I still want to beat my chest and take back some form of authority. I need to show him—and her—that I’m the alpha in this situation. I’m not someone you play and get away with it.
I need to screw someone and put Robyn out of my head. She’s emasculated me, betrayed me, and then had the audacity to spit out the cold hard facts in my face. She’s right, we were never in a relationship, and I guess the dates and time we spent together were one-sided. Her affection towards me was apparently all in my head.
It took all my strength to walk out of Reveal and not go find Cal like he’d asked. I know if I’d faced him, it wouldn’t have ended well. I’d rather avoid confrontation than attempt to resist it, so I walked out of the club after finding the guys and apologizing to Jeff. I’ve probably shot my career progression to shit, so I jumped in a cab and headed straight home before I could do anything else that I would regret. My pride has taken a serious beating tonight, and I need to let go of this tension that feels like it’s eating me alive. Instead of opening a bottle and drowning my sorrows in the bottom of a whiskey glass, I decide to drown them in Chantal.
I send her a text as soon as I’m through my front door, never more appreciative of her living in the same building. She takes twenty minutes to reply, enough time for me to drink a quarter of a bottle of scotch and be well on my way to the numbing bliss that only alcohol can induce. By the time Chantal is knocking at my door, sobriety is a distant memory. Unfortunately, the image of Callum and Robyn having sex is not. Anger is still my prevailing emotion; that, and the need to exert my manliness. I open the front door to Chantal wearing an oversized pale blue shirt, tied at the waist like a dress and a pair of sky-high heels, a bottle of Patron hanging loosely by her side.
“Bad day?” she asks with a raised brow. I open the door fully and let her enter.
“Really don’t feel like talking at the moment,” I tell her as I take the bottle and place it on the countertop. I lace my fingers with hers and pull her through my apartment, straight down the hall and into my bedroom.
Getting her naked is my number-one priority as I push her down onto my huge, soft, neatly-made bed and kneel, removing her heels as she observes me with a knowing smirk.
“You won’t be needing these,” I tell her as I pull them off, tossing them haphazardly behind me. “Or this,” I say, unbuttoning her shirt. All I can concentrate on is burying myself so far inside of her that there won’t be any room for any other thoughts.
“Wow, something’s eating you up. I’m pretty sure you haven’t even said hello.”
I push her back onto the bed and watch as her chest bounces from the force of the impact.
“You want me to stop so we can make small talk?” I ask, but don’t give her much time to answer as I’m already pulling down the pale pink lace panties she’s wearing.
“Hell, no! Carry on, I like dark and brooding Cole,” she breathes as I stand and remove my shirt.
My cock twitches as she scoots up the bed, undoing her bra in the process. I haven’t had sex since meeting Robyn; this has to be the longest dry spell of my adult life. I watch, transfixed as Chantal throws her bra from the side of my bed, and my body floods with desire. I’m out of my trousers and underwear in seconds; then I’m fumbling around in my nightstand for a condom.
“Want me to oblige?” Her eyes are huge as she stares at me. I love that I can see the want in them. I toss her the condom and watch in rapture as she tears it open and then deftly rolls the latex down over me. A groan rumbles from my chest as she lets her hand linger at my base and uses her other one to cup my balls.
“I’ve missed this,” she says looking up at me from under a set of long thick lashes, and then I’m done for. I need to be in her before I embarrass myself.
Without a word I flip her onto her front, lifting her ass so she’s on her knees with her chest on the bed. I take in the sight of her, ready and waiting for me. The sounds of her shocked heavy breathing makes me smile, and then in one hard thrust I’m balls deep and her startled scream of pleasure cuts through the quiet.
“Oh, God, that’s better,” I groan, slamming into her again, letting the tension that’s been building morph slowly to hunger. Her hips rock back and my fingers curls into the skin of her thighs, holding her in place. “Stay still,” I say as sternly as I can muster while biting back the groan that wants to escape. My legs feel like they’re about to buckle under the effort it’s taking for me not to come already.
“Fuck, Cole, I need to move…it feels so good.”
I hiss, pulling her back into me as I thrust forward and slam hard against her.
“O-oh, that’s it, Cole. God, yeah,” she moans, and it makes me feel ten feet tall.
“That’s it, baby, call my name.”
I need the affirmation that I’m desired, more than I realize, and Chantal isn’t disappointing. I increase the tempo and strength of my thrusts, barely holding on, but the sound of her moaning and screaming my name is like a drug and I need a bigger hit. Every noise I pull from her strokes my self-esteem and rebuilds the shattered pieces of my ego. I lean forward cupping one of her breasts in my hand, the other holding firmly onto her hip as I rock inside of her, gathering more and more momentum.
“Tell me how much I make you want to come,” I demand. I don’t normally talk during sex, but the constant confirmation that she’s completely into this is turning me on beyond comprehension.
