He felt warm and wonderful and familiar inside me—or at least he did until I felt the lube on his fingers and then the press of his thumb against my ass. “I’m taking you here,” he said. “I need to have you every way,” he said. “I need to feel you tight around me.”

I nodded, wordless, because while he’d been talking, his thumb had been doing amazing things, teasing and stretching me, making me ready, so that when he pressed his cock to my ass, I was ready—at least as much as I could be.

He pushed inside me. Slowly, gently, but I sucked in a sharp breath anyway. “Does it hurt?”

“Yes,” I said truthfully. “But it feels good,” I said, also truthfully.

“I’ll go slow,” he said, “but oh, god, baby, you feel amazing.”

“Don’t stop,” I demanded. “I want it all.”

“Greedy.”

“Yes,” I agreed, and sucked in another breath as he pushed even farther inside me. Again I felt the pain, and then again—but after that something miraculous happened, because the pain shifted again to pleasure, just as it had on the cross. “Harder,” I demanded. “Please, Cole, I want the rest of you.”

“If you’re sure,” he said, and when I nodded, he thrust inside, sending swirls of pain and pleasure curling through me.

His own moan of pleasure matched mine, and he fucked me hard, just like he’d said he would. Hard and deep and fast until he exploded inside me, then collapsed against me, pulling me close and lazily stroking my clit to bring me over, too.

After, I lay curled in his arms. I was facing the cross, and I simply looked at it for a moment. “Thank you,” I said to the man pressed against me.

“For what?”

“For everything,” I said. “But right now, for that.” I nodded toward the cross. “I felt things I never felt. I feel alive. I feel—” I cut myself off along with the word I’d intended to say. Loved. Instead I ended the thought with “special.”

We stayed like that for a few moments, and then Cole shifted on the bed. He got off, and I watched him walk to the cross. He paused in front of it, then turned to look back at me.

“You’re going to have to fasten the straps,” he said, and those simple words made my body go weak.

“Cole, are you sure?”

“I want it,” he said. “I want it from you. If you’re willing to give it.”

I nodded, though I couldn’t deny that I was nervous. And when Cole moved into place, I hurried to fasten his ankles, his wrists. I looked in the mirror and saw him there, naked and bound, and felt something shift inside me, like the sensation of falling off a curb. This man—this strong, wounded man—was giving himself to me. His trust, his emotions, his soul, his heart.

I was humbled and just a little terrified, afraid that I wouldn’t do this right. Afraid that somehow I would make this thing between us wrong instead of beautiful.

In the mirror, his eyes caught mine, and I saw understanding there.

I lifted a shoulder in what might have been an apology. “I don’t want to do it wrong,” I admitted, my voice soft to hide how foolish I felt.

“You won’t, baby,” he said. “Take it slow.”

I did, trying to emulate what he’d done, wanting to give Cole the same pleasure that he’d given me. I held the flogger, then flicked it the way he’d showed me, wincing a bit at my first two attempts, which qualified as supremely lame.

But Cole’s eyes met mine, and the passion I saw there gave me strength. I tried again, this time feeling the impact—and knew that I’d done it right from Cole’s moan of deep, pure pleasure.

It took me a few more strokes to find a rhythm, and my strokes were nowhere as accurate as Cole’s, but I managed it anyway. And as I did—as I watched the flails sting his skin—I felt a raw power build inside me, one that seemed to match the intensity of his moans and the rising of his own passion.

“Kat,” he said after a while, his voice pulling me from the sensual trance I’d slipped into. I looked into the mirror, and his eyes met mine. And the demand I saw there stripped me raw, stealing the power and putting Cole back in charge, and that despite the fact that he was still strapped spread-eagled to the cross.

“Get me down,” he said, and I hurried to comply. As soon as he was free, he pulled me to him, then picked me up and carried me to the bed.

“Do you have any idea how amazing that was?” he asked, his voice full of wonder.

I nodded, unable to speak. Certain that tears would fall if I tried. Because it was amazing, and so was this—this closeness that I felt with him now. This new intimacy that couldn’t be supplanted even by the way he held me, the way he spread me, the way he sank deep inside me.

And then, when we shattered together and he gathered me close again in his arms, I let the tears fall freely, too overwhelmed to stop them.

“Oh, baby,” he said, stroking my hair and kissing my temple. “No, no, it’s okay. You did beautifully. That was exceptional. It’s okay,” he added, then repeated it again and again as I tried to get the tears to stop long enough for me to speak.

“No, no,” I finally said. “I’m not upset. Truly. For someone who sees me so well, how can you not know that?” I drew in a ragged breath. “I’m the opposite of upset. I’m—I’m in awe. I’m overwhelmed. I’m still reeling from how close I feel to you right now.”

“Catalina.” That was all he said before he kissed me, hard and possessive, drawing me in and holding me close. When he pulled away, there was a sharp intensity in his face that I didn’t think I’d ever seen before and hoped that I would never forget.

It warmed me and lifted me up—but it was his words that knocked the world out from under me.

“I love you.”

I clung to him, my heart fluttering. “Cole.” It was the only word I could manage.

He stroked my hair and searched my face, then pressed kisses to my forehead. “Oh, baby,” he murmured. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“Sorry?” I heard the squeak of a question in my voice. “For saying you love me?”

“For not saying it before. I thought you knew.”

“I did. I do.” I closed my eyes and felt warm tears spill down my cheeks. “I just wasn’t sure you’d ever say it.”

“I’ve said it every time I touched you,” he said. “Every time I looked at you.”

“You did,” I agreed. And then, happily, I added, “I love you, too. More than I can say. More even than I can imagine.”

He kissed me, slowly and gently. “Do you remember when I told you that sex can mess us up?” he asked, thoughtfully.

I nodded.

“It’s true,” he said, “but I should have qualified it. Random sex. Wrong sex. Unattached sex. All of that can get in your head and screw with you. But what we have—sex mixed with love—sweetheart, I think that’s what makes us whole.”

twenty-three

The orange glow of the late afternoon sun gave the space under the McGinley Pavilion in the Chicago Botanic Garden a sensual, magical quality, as if all of us gathered for Angie and Evan’s wedding had been transported to a fairyland.