ANNIE

I wake to sunlight streaming through a window.

In a house that is distinctly not mine.

It takes a second of frantic thrashing about before the memories from last night come back in a flood, and everything makes sense. I fell asleep in Cohen’s arms—that much I know. The memory comes back with a burst of warmth and comfort. The only thing not adding up is the empty half of the bed.

I squint at the extra pillow, struggling to remember if Cohen had climbed in with me, but I’ve got nothing. Blankness. Beyond the sensation of happiness and the mushy feeling of curling into his warmth, the snugness of the couch—the rest of the details are lost to me.

Tiptoeing out of the bedroom, I find him sprawled on the couch in nothing but those fleece pajama pants. If you’d bet me a million dollars that Cohen James owned pants with hockey sticks plastered all over them, I’d have lost a lot of money.

There’s the spirit of a kid somewhere in Cohen James, and I like that about him. There’s an innocence to the hockey star that even I hadn’t expected, a wide-eyed thirst for life lost in so many adults.

I take a moment to appreciate the sight of him. It’s not that I haven’t seen his bare chest before. Or fleece pants. But the morning glow softens his skin, smoothing the worry, the stress of responsibility away, enhancing features with a sweetness that give me an ache inside.

I imagine slipping onto the couch with him, opening my borrowed robe to let his hands caress my back, my shoulders, my skin as we slip into sleep together. The image sends warmth swirling through my veins.

I remember how he hadn’t even climbed into bed with me last night, and because of that gesture, another few bricks melt away from my guarded walls, opening my heart to him, urging me closer and closer.

I want nothing more than to run a thumb over his cheek and trace his smile, but I don’t want to wake him. Instead, I let him sleep, sneaking into the kitchen and beginning World War III with the coffee machine. The thing is complex and annoying, and it takes me fifteen minutes to grind out two cups of something resembling coffee.

Now that I have an offering, I figure it’s fair to wake him. With a coffee in each hand, I return to the living room and watch him sleep for one moment longer. His eyelashes fan out over his cheekbones, beautiful and thick, and I’m envious for a moment.

Then, I realize that I’m the lucky girl who gets to look at him and his gorgeous lashes. I lean forward, pressing a whisper of a kiss to his forehead. The second his eyes open, another brick from my wall crumbles away.

Clear, green eyes stare back at me, a brightness there. Then a burst of confusion, followed by a flash of pure joy.

“You stayed,” he whispers, bringing an arm around my neck to pull me close, dusting a kiss against my cheek. “Good morning, gorgeous.”

“Good morning, handsome.”

“What time is it?”

I glance at the clock under the television. I have to check again to make sure I’m reading it correctly. “Oh, I’m so sorry! It’s only seven—I don’t need to leave until nine, but—”

“Hey, it’s fine,” he says, swinging his feet to the floor and rising to a sitting position. He runs a hand over his face, through his hair, clearing the sleep away. “More time to spend together. Are you rested? You got almost twelve hours of shut-eye, sweetheart.”

“I am so sorry that I fell asleep on our first date!”

“Hey...” He slides one hand onto my exposed knee, the touch of his fingers cautious, tender. “You don’t have to apologize for anything.”

“I stole your bed.”

“I let you have it. Look at it this way, you’re doing me the favor.” At my questioning look, he grins. “I didn’t have to argue with you about spending the night. You made the decision all on your own.”

“Okay, fine. You got lucky.”

“Well...” His fingers inch up the slightest amount. “I can think of one thing to make me an even luckier man.”

“Cohen!”

“Just testing the boundaries. Sorry.”

“Keep testing,” I tell him with a foxy smile. “Who knows? Someday, it just might work.”

“I’ll pray for that day.”

“And in the meantime?”

“I’m practicing my patience.” He swivels to take one look at the coffee, giving me a sideways glance. “That’s for me?”

“Yeah, but it’ll cost you one kiss.”

The next thing I know, he’s removing the coffee mugs from my hands and depositing them on the end table. His hands then snake around my back and pull me onto his lap. The robe, wide open by this point, covers the pair of us like a cape. I take inventory of the items between us: my bra, my undies, and his fleece pants.

And let me just say that fleece pajamas don’t hide much of anything.

He takes control, situating me right where he wants before lowering his mouth, teasing with the threat of a kiss. All the while, he keeps his eyes locked on mine, desire clouding his gaze.

I can feel him under me, every inch, and it’s so incredibly sensual, even though we’re barred by clothes. We’re not kissing, we’re barely even touching, save for his fingers finding a place on my hips to hold me close. I shift my weight unconsciously, and he grips me tighter, a devilish grin appearing on his lips.

“I think you want me, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his lips dancing over my neck. He pauses to press a kiss under my ear, at the top of my shoulder, in the center of my chest. “Admit it.”

My head falls back, just enough to give him better access to my neck, and he takes advantage of it. A treasure trail of kisses across my chest, goose bumps spiraling over my skin.

“Let me taste you,” he says, his voice gruff. “Touch you, at least. God, Annie, I need you so badly.”

I lean into him, pressing against his desire, resting my body against his. I’m throbbing with need, but I can’t bring myself to act on it. Not yet. Lowering my mouth to his, I kiss him with everything I have in me, needing to let him know my confusion, the conflict warring inside of me.

I don’t have the words for it, so instead, I show him.

I hold him close, feeling him as I move against him, bringing forth a groan from his lips. He holds me, rocking my hips back, then forward, then back again, until the friction is so intense I’m gasping.

It’s more than attraction—it’s chemistry. I’ve never experienced anything like it, this desire burning through my veins, ripping through all sense of logic. I’m drunk on him, on everything he has to offer, but still, it’s not enough.

There’s that tiny part of me, the voice of reason that reminds me we will probably never work out. The two of us—we’re different, so very different, and my fears are shouting that the second I let my judgement lapse, the moment I give myself to him fully and completely, I’ll be vulnerable. My softness, my soul will be exposed to Cohen James, my heart resting in his hands.

I’m not ready for that, not yet, and the thought brings a sob to my throat. I swallow it, masking it as a moan as I ride against him harder, faster through our clothes, a frenzy between us that acts as a disguise.

“I can’t keep kissing you,” he says, his hands sinking into the skin of my waist as he stills me on his lap. “I don’t trust myself to stop anymore.”

I take a breath, calm my nerves, and then I bring my hand to his cheek. The stubble there is rough against my fingers. He closes his eyes in pleasure as I drag my fingers through it, down to his chest. I rest my hand on his heart.

“I trust you,” I whisper. “Please kiss me.”

If we don’t do something, I’m going to explode from passion. Thankfully, he moves first, curling me to him as he shifts, spreading me on the couch before he climbs on top of me. His hands never stop moving, tracing every inch of exposed skin.

We rock together as he crashes his lips, his body against mine. He’s bringing me to a dangerous verge, ascending a mountain I’m not sure we can leave without shattering together. His hand carefully caresses my breasts, taking care to move in ways that make me cry out with pleasure.

Then he moves on, letting his fingers brush downward, across my stomach, past my belly until he rests against the outer edge of my panties. He stops, our chests heaving in sync.

I’m breathing heavily, waiting to see what comes next. The air is thick with lust, thick with need, and I know he’s waiting on me. But I can’t seem to gather the oxygen necessary to respond.

“I’m not going any further unless you ask for it,” he says, his voice with a desperate note to it. “I need you to tell me what you want... if you want me. If you want me to touch you, kiss you, take you.”

“Cohen, I want you, but... “

He looks into my eyes, his gaze softening. Understanding. “Can I touch you?”

I nod.

He brings a hand lower, brushes against the outside of the silky material. I exhale a moan that has him closing his eyes and biting down on his lip. “You’re okay?”

I can’t speak, so I nod again. His eyes lock on mine as I arch my hips toward him. His fingers add more pressure, and I withhold a whine of pleasure. My fingernails dig into his shoulders, my thoughts blank, my entire being focused on holding him.

With painstaking patience, Cohen watches my face as he slides one finger past the fabric, hesitating just long enough for me to give him the signal to continue. When I grit out a cue to keep going, he does, a finger dipping inside me for the first time.

He groans first, leaning toward me, begging for a kiss.

I meet him halfway as he gently teases me with his fingers, finding the places that make me writhe with pleasure. My arms wrap around his neck and the magic between us lights my nerves on fire. There’s a blind ecstasy to this moment, a blur of everything good I had never known.

“God, Annie, you’re incredible,” he says. “I want to make you see stars.”

“What about you?” I say, more gasp than voice. “If you want—”

“No.” He cuts me off sharply. “Today is about you.”

If I’d been able to think, maybe I would’ve responded. I can’t do more than bite down, however, as he raises my hips higher, brings the kiss deeper, and carries me toward the edge of all logic.

It’s too late to slow down, to bring him with me—I’m frozen in bliss, and it’s all I can do to hold onto him as he murmurs my name, warms my neck with his kisses, and sends me spiraling into the stars, just as he promised.

I cry his name as the waves come, carry me through with an intensity that has me crumbling to him, the wash of adrenaline slowly winding to a halt. I repeat his name, pressing my head to his chest and dragging him down so his weight, his beautiful body, is rested against me.

“Cohen...” I whisper again, my hands stroking his hair a few minutes later. “I don’t... I don’t know what to say.”

“You didn’t like it?” A flicker of uncertainty crosses his eyes as he tilts his gaze to meet mine. “God, Annie, I haven’t asked—are you a virgin?”

“Oh, no! Not at all.” I can’t summon more energy, so I fall silent, stroke his hair some more, until I can pull together some thoughts from my scrambled brains. There are no words to do this moment justice, so I whisper against his ear. “That was incredible. Thank you.”

“No, thank you.” He draws tiny circles on my chest, his lips curled into a smile. “For trusting me. It was incredible.”

“I feel bad,” I say. “You’ve done all of this work to get me on a date, all of these sweet gestures, all of this foreplay, and then here you are ready to go, and I keep saying no—”

“Stop.” He says it matter of factly, as if there’s no sense in my arguing. “Whatever you’re going to say, stop it. I care about you, Annie, and that means I’ll wait. However long you need. Believe me when I say I get more pleasure out of watching your face than you can imagine.”

“But I’m worried that when... er—if we sleep together—”

“When,” he says with a smile. “I prefer when.”

I laugh, but my hands are twisting around his neck. I’m anxious, anxious about something I’ve never before voiced. “What if you’re disappointed?” I clear my throat. “I’m not exactly, uh... great at sex.”

“Where’d you get that idea?” He raises an eyebrow, a ghosted smile on his face. “You rocked my world, and I haven’t even been inside of you. I’d say you’re just fine.”

“It’s just... I’ve only been with one other person,” I tell him. “My ex. And he told me that I had a lot to learn before I’d be any good at...well, it.”

“Well, fuck. That’s a flat-out lie, Annie.” Cohen’s fingers are shaking, a rage burning in his eyes. “Does he have a name? What an ass. I’d like to find this idiot and see what—”

“No, Cohen, don’t. He was probably just being honest with me.”

“False.” He shifts onto his elbows, holds himself over me, his eyes piercing. “If he were honest, he’d be telling you this: Annie Plymouth, you are the most beautiful woman on the face of the planet. But not only are you beautiful, you’ve got more brains than most men or women can dream of possessing. You’re sexy, and the way you move—”

“You don’t have to do this, Cohen.” I shift under his gaze. It’s as if he’s staring straight through me and analyzing my soul, and it puts me on edge with what he might find. “It’s ok. Forget it.”

“The very way you exist is elegant. The way you breathe, hold my hand. The way you curl up next to me during a movie and try to pretend you’re awake when really, I can see that your eyes are shut.”

I’m blinking now, fast, furious blinks, but Cohen doesn’t let go of my arms. His eyes are locked on me with an intensity that’s almost frightening, and I can’t do anything but return his gaze.

“When I saw you sleeping in my bed last night, I wanted you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in this world. You’re perfect. The way you look at me...” He shivers, as if the words are too much to say aloud. “You have more passion in a single touch than anyone I’ve ever met. Believe me, there is nothing wrong with you, Annie. If sparks weren’t flying before, it’s because he didn’t deserve to see them.”

He leans in, brushes his lips against mine in a kiss that’s as tender as cotton candy clouds—soft, almost non-existent. It sends chills across my body.

“If you’ll let me, I plan on making you feel this good day after day, night after night, for as long as you’ll have me.”

“Oh,” I say, and it’s more of a reaction than a logical thought. “Well, what a horrible burden to bear.”

“Yes, I’m a fucking martyr.”

“Let me touch you now. Please. Let me show you how good you make me feel.”

Something flashes through his eyes, and he seems to consider my offer for a moment. But he shakes his head no. Standing, he reaches for my hands and pulls me to my feet, landing us an inch apart, nose to toes.

“Not today, sweetheart. Someday, if you’d like, but not now.”

My cheeks heat with the thought of someday, delicious ideas swirling in my head. “Someday, then.”

“Can I take you out tomorrow?”

“On a date?”

“No, on a horse. Yes, of course a date.”

“Well, yes,” I agree, surprised to feel my heart beating quicker. “I suppose that’d be perfect.”

“I won’t even try for sex. That’s how patient I am.”

“No! I told you to keep trying.”

“Well, hell, Annie Plymouth.” He holds out a hand and twirls me into his chest. “Your wish is my command.”