Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
The door opens. Cole stands in the doorway, tie gone, sleeves rolled up, tension visible in his shoulders. The argument from earlier still hangs between us, but there’s something else now too.
“You shouldn’t be working this late,” he says, his voice low, not moving past the threshold until I explicitly invite him in.
“Deadlines, remember?” I hold up the finished pieces. “Happy now?”
His eyes focus on what I’ve created. “Those aren’t bracelets.”
“They are. Just not what you expected.” I stand, moving toward him. “They’re exactly what this collection needs.”
“Restraints?” he asks, still not stepping into the room, though his knuckles whiten where he grips the doorframe.
“Cuffs,” I correct. “Functional jewelry. Come in and I’ll show you.”
The invitation hangs between us.
“Are you sure about that? Once I enter . . .” Cole’s voice is controlled, but I can hear the tension underneath.
I hesitate, knowing where this might lead. “Yes.”
His eyes darken as he steps across the threshold, closing the door behind him.
“Put out your hand,” I say, testing how far this new power dynamic will go.
“I’m the one that gives the orders.” His voice drops lower, a warning that sends heat through me.
“Scared?” I challenge.
Something shifts in his eyes. He extends his hand, palm up.
I place one cuff in his palm instead of on my wrist. “You want control so badly? Here it is.”
Cole studies the cuff, running his thumb over the locking mechanism. “You’ve been holding back on me.”
“You have no idea.”
His eyes snap to mine.
Without breaking eye contact, I hold out my wrists. “Go ahead.”
For a second, he doesn’t move. Then he steps closer, his body radiating heat. He takes the first cuff and locks it around my left wrist, his fingers brushing my skin.
“Both,” I say, my breath catching.
He secures the second cuff on my right wrist. The chain between them is short, maybe six inches. Not enough to pull my arms apart.
He yanks the chain, pulling me against him. Our bodies collide. His free hand grips my hair, tilting my head back.
“This what you want?” he asks, his eyes dark.
His grip tightens. The sting on my scalp only heightens my need. I’ve never wanted something . . . someone so much in my life.
“Yes . . .”
His mouth crashes down on mine. The kiss is intense, hungry, with all the tension that’s been building between us since we met. I bite his lower lip, and he pushes me backward until I hit the wall, my bound hands trapped between us.
I’m vulnerable, and I fucking love it.
He breaks the kiss, both of us breathing hard. His hand slides from my hair to my throat, not squeezing, just holding. “Once I step forward, I never step back. You better be fucking sure.”
“I know exactly what I’m doing.”
“Do you?” His thumb moves along my jaw. “Because once we cross this line . . .”
I answer by pressing forward against his hand, forcing him to either tighten his grip or let go.
He doesn’t let go.
Chapter Seventeen Sloane
This is madness.
Everything about this is chaotic and reckless. And I want more.
“Tell me to stop,” he breathes against my skin. It’s not a request—it’s a dare.
His hands slide down to my thighs, lifting me onto the workbench. Tools topple. The handcuffs at my wrists catch the light as my head falls back, his mouth trailing fire down my neck.
It should feel too fast. Too dangerous.
Instead, it feels inevitable.
I wrap my legs around him, drawing him closer. “Is that what you want? For me to stop you?”
His laugh rumbles low against my throat. “What I want . . .” His teeth graze my collarbone. “Is to take you right here, surrounded by your sketches and scattered gems. To watch you come apart on this table where you create.”
My body answers before I can think. But it’s not mindless lust. It’s a choice.
A surrender.
Heat pools low in my stomach. But through the haze of desire, a voice in my head reminds me that this solves nothing. The secrets are still there.
I press my bound hands against his chest, creating just enough space to think. “Cole.”
My next protest dies in my throat as his mouth finds that spot beneath my ear.
I should ask questions. I should demand answers.
But I don’t. I tilt into him instead, chasing the only certainty I have right now: him.
God, I want this man to fuck me.
My fingers continue to curl into his shirt, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer. Cole’s lips curve against my skin, sensing my hesitation.
“Say it,” he murmurs, his breath hot on my ear. “Tell me you don’t want this.”
I swallow hard, fighting to find my voice. “I . . . I can’t.”
His hand slides up my thigh, fingers teasing the hem of my dress. “Then don’t fight it.”
My resolve crumbles. With a low moan, I capture his mouth with mine, kissing him deeply. Cole responds instantly, pressing me back against the workbench. The remaining pliers and metal sheets crash as they hit the floor, but neither of us notices.