His jeans sit so low on his hips the V-shaped cut of his torso stands out in stark relief. I want to trace the sculpted ridges with my lips and lick that thin trail of hair into the shadowed dip behind his fly.
Now my heart is fluttering. My mouth dries, and my nipples tighten against the itchy lace of my bra.
I continue to dance around the room, and his breathing speeds up. The muscles in his shoulders go taut, drawing my gaze to the black serpent tattooed around his bicep and along the side of his neck. He’s covered in ink—both arms, pecs, back, and a full wrap around one thigh. All black snakes. He had a pet snake in high school, which he claims gave him a dangerous reputation. A reputation that got him laid. A lot. I think he’s full of shit. His sex appeal alone drops panties everywhere he goes.
My playlist switches to the next Rihanna song, We Found Love. The quicker tempo lifts my cheeks and revs my body into a faster pace. I twirl through the room, bagging construction scraps and storing unused tools. I’m so lost in the music I barely feel the summer heat.
The A/C ventilation isn’t finished in the new room—a task in an endless list of tasks to complete before I can start teaching in my very own studio. Just thinking about that opportunity fills me with so much love for the man who gifted it to me.
I spin and bounce to the music, dripping with perspiration. I’ve been vigorously shaking my ass through the last five songs. So I pull off my shirt and fling it like I’m doing a striptease.
The sound of the drill screeches to a dying halt.
“Shit.” Cole rubs a finger over the errant hole he stabbed in the wall and narrows his eyes at me. “That was your fault.”
“Mine?” Standing before him in a white lace bra, ratty short-shorts, and oversized work boots, I give him an innocent look. “Why?”
“You know why.” His gaze drops to my chest, and he runs a hand over his face. A look of contemplation crosses his features, and he points at the far corner. “Bring me the tool box.”
I drag the heavy metal container to him and kneel beside it. “What do you need?”
“You.” His eyes flash.
“You have me. What else?”
“There’s a small box at the bottom.” He fiddles with the attachment on the drill.
A small box? I dig around, and my hand bumps something soft and square. Something out of place amid the metal edges of his tools. As I lift the tiny package, my heart catapults to my throat.
A black unmistakable box that can only contain one thing.
“Cole?” My voice croaks.
“Open it.” He inches toward me on his knees, and as his shadow falls across my face, I feel washed in blinding light. It’s his smile. My very own ray of happiness. The first and last thing I ever want to remember.
My fingers tremble as I open the lid, and a ring glimmers beneath the overhead lights. A plain silver band without diamonds or stones. My chest constricts, and my throat catches fire, burning with unshed emotion.
“I didn’t get a diamond because of something you said once. For every finger to receive a ring, another finger must pull a trigger.” He cups my face, his eyes searching mine with unnecessary worry. “You said you abhorred the human price of precious gems.”
“I did,” I whisper. “I do.”
“I researched and found that even non-conflict diamonds come from corrupt industries that do horrible crimes against humanity.”
I nod, hands shaking, eyes welling with grateful tears. “You’re right, Cole. Thank you.” I reach for his hand. “Thank you so much for taking the time to understand that. This ring is… It’s perfect.”
He releases a held breath and rises on his knees, pulling me against him, chest to chest, heart meeting heart. His hands slide around me and splay over my backside. Then he lowers his forehead to mine and issues the command I yearn to hear. “Marry me, Danni.”
Tearful laughter bubbles up as I repeat his words from the day we met. “It’s a foregone conclusion.”
“It is.” He grins wickedly. “But I need you to say the appropriate response.”
“Yes.” I smile with tears in my eyes. “I’ll be your Mrs. Hartman.”
He snatches the box from my hands, grips the back of my neck, and pulls my mouth to his.
“I fucking love you,” he breaths into the kiss with so much adoration it makes my heart hurt.
I say it back, but the plunder of his tongue garbles my voice, steals my air, and scrambles my brain.
I’ve kissed a lot men in my twenty-four years, and every kiss applied the same mechanics. Parting lips, swiping tongues, and the dreaded sharing of spit. Since meeting Cole, I realize a real kiss is more than the motion of mouths. It’s an inspiration. A creation of something unfathomable and timeless. And the art of kissing begins and ends with Cole Hartman.
He kisses like his mission in life is to devour every breath I take and give it back with an infusion of love. His lips are firm, his hands active, his entire body bunching and rocking against me. Intensity lives in his blood, dominating his emotions and attitude. He doesn’t do anything half-ass, especially when it comes to me.
“I need you,” he says gruffly as his mouth veers along my jaw to latch onto my neck.
“I’m filthy.”
“No question about that. You’re my dirty little fuck doll.” He grips the backs of my knees and flips me onto my back.
I don’t slam against the floor, because his arm is there, catching my fall. I don’t know when he removed the ring from the box, but it’s in his hand as he crawls over me and slides it onto my finger.
“Perfect fit,” we say together.
His possessive smile is worth more than a mine filled with precious stones. My chest overflows with more love than it can hold.
“I’m going to break you tonight.” He bites my nipple through the bra.
“Is that before or after I drain your balls?”
“Yes.” He moves to my other breast, sliding down the cup to lave at my taut bud.
“Good.” I moan, arching against the wicked sensation of his talented mouth. “I don’t want to feel my face or hands after you’re finished with me.”
“I’m going to use you.” He unbuttons my shorts and pulls them off, taking my panties with them. “And abuse you.”
“Do it.”
“I’m going to split you in half.” He kneels between my legs and spreads my thighs wide, taking full advantage of my flexibility.
“Any time now would be great.” I writhe beneath him, wanting, aching, throbbing with wet arousal.
“When I pull your hair, you’ll scream for it, begging me to fuck you harder, deeper.”
“Because I love your dick. Now stop teasing me and serve it up, you dirty bastard.”
He laughs thickly, hungrily, and falls on top of me, attacking my mouth with breathless urgency. Whatever restraint he was holding onto snaps. The arm at my back keeps my bare skin from sliding against the splintery subfloor, but he’s shaking now, struggling to suspend me as he grinds the fly of his jeans against my pussy.
“Just put me down.” I reach between us and try to open his jeans.
With a deep growl, he surges to his feet, hauling me with him. The room spins, and my back crashes against a mirrored wall. He lifts me, wraps my legs around his waist, and shoves a hand between us, fumbling with his zipper.