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)
“I’d clean up every single needle myself,” I promise. “And we wouldn’t do anything fancy—just some colored lights. Not white, they’re too sterile. And a few special ornaments. Nothing matching or coordinated.” I can picture it so clearly: “Like this glass star my grandmother gave me before she died, and this ridiculous wooden moose my brother made in shop class.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Sounds like you’ve thought about this.”
“Maybe a little,” I admit. “Or a lot.”
“It still doesn’t change the fact that—”
“That you’re impossibly stubborn?” I cut him off with a small smile.
His laugh is soft and warm, and as he draws me closer, I realize something that probably should terrify me but doesn’t: I’m falling for him. Not despite his revelations about his past, but partly because of them. Because he’s trusted me with the truth, even knowing it might change how I see him.
What does that say about me? That I’m sitting here in the arms of a man who’s just admitted to a past that should send me running, and all I can think about is how much I want to stay?
Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe this whole situation is crazy. But as Cole’s fingers trace patterns on my skin and the snow falls outside in silent swirls, I can’t bring myself to care.
“So what would you have done?” he asks suddenly, and I can hear the hint of amusement in his voice. “If I had turned out to be a serial killer?”
“Well,” I say, shifting to face him better, “I’ve never had sex with a serial killer before, so that would have been interesting.”
“That you know of.” His voice drops lower.
“True story.” I let my fingers trail along his arm. “Though I have to say, you’re doing pretty well in the dark and mysterious department without the murder.”
His eyes darken as his grip tightens slightly. “If you want dark,” he murmurs against my ear, “I don’t have to kill anyone to make that happen.”
The promise in his voice sends heat racing through me. “Prove it.”
His response is to pull me fully into his lap, one hand tangling in my hair while the other finds the zipper of my dress.
“I have something for you,” he says, licking my collarbone. “A gift.”
“A gift?” I murmur, tilting my head to allow him better access.
“Something I want you to wear tonight.”
His lips find mine in a searing kiss, stealing my breath. I melt into him, fingers pulling on his hair to pull him closer. Need coils tight and hot in my core.
When we finally break apart, his eyes are molten, burning with intensity. He starts by removing my necklace and setting it down on the table next to me. Slowly, deliberately, he stands and walks over to a table drawer and withdraws a box wrapped in crimson paper.
My heart pounds as he places the small gift in my hands. I tear off the wrapping paper to reveal a black velvet box. Lifting the lid, I gasp at the exquisite necklace nestled inside . . . a collar, much different than the one I was wearing. Metal and slick. My fingers tremble as I lift the collar from the box.
“A collar?” I begin. “You know . . . jewelry designers shouldn’t wear another designers work,” I tease, still trying to process exactly what it is he gave me and the possible meaning.
“I designed it,” he says. “For you.”
“You?”
He nods but says nothing more.
“Is this a—” I swallow. “Collar collar. Like the ones submissives wear—”
My voice catches in my throat as the realization dawns. The necklace is no ordinary piece of jewelry, but a collar. Sleek and uncompromising, forged from gleaming steel. My fingers trace the cool metal links.
Cole watches me with heated intensity, his eyes dark with desire. “Put it on for me,” Cole rasps, his voice rough with need.
“What does this mean? What—” I pause, fingers tracing the cool metal. “Do we need to sign some kind of contract? I mean, I’ve read . . . things.” I feel my cheeks heat. “About collars and BDSM agreements.”
A hint of amusement crosses his face. “I thought one contract between us was enough.” His thumb traces my bottom lip. “But if you want something more formal . . .”
“God no.” I laugh softly. “The merger paperwork was painful enough.” I swallow hard, trying to remember how to form words as his mouth moves against my skin. “Don’t we need . . . um . . . a safe word?”
He pulls back slightly, eyes dancing with wicked amusement. “Do you want one?”
“I mean . . . isn’t that how this works?” I’m blushing furiously now. “Though I refuse to use ‘red.’ That’s so . . . basic.”
“Basic?” His laugh is low and dangerous. “All right then, creative one. What would you prefer?”
“Cryptocurrency?”
He arches an eyebrow. “You want to yell ‘cryptocurrency’ in the middle of sex?”