Depths (27 page)

No one
is going to make this night worse than it already is.

The pounding gets louder, and I rush to the kitchen, grab my phone and a steak knife, and creep to the door.

My heart is thudding so hard, it dulls my hearing, but when I finally press my ear to the chipped paint that covers the metal door, I hear my own name.

“Maren!” Cohen’s voice screams. “Answer this door right now, dammit!”

I drop the knife to the floor with a clatter and whip the door open. He stumbles in, and when he sees me, he growls and grabs me around the waist, running his hands down over my hair and holding my face tight in his hands.

“Where the hell were you? I called your damn phone a million times!” he yells, squeezing me to him, crushing his arms around me. I rub my face into his shirt and grab onto the back of it with both fists.

I should ask him what he’s doing here. Why he came back. Why I matter so much. But I’m too spent. So I just fall into his arms, the one safe place I have.

“Dad’s gone,” I choke out. “He went to rehab. What did you say to him?”

“Maren.” Cohen’s eyes flash to a bleak, hollowed black. “I’m so sorry. He never said goodbye?”

I shake my head, my misery skidding back now that I know I don’t need to use my energy to fend off a murderer.

“What did you say?” I repeat, the tears making my lips slippery and my words muffled.

“Cece can help you get back into school, this semester. If that’s what you want. I told your dad that it was what you wanted, and that it would be easier if he was getting himself help.” He runs his thumbs over my lips, his eyes wild with sadness. “I know it must feel harsh that he left without saying goodbye, but he did it because he loves you. You can’t doubt that, not for a second. He’s not strong right now. If he could have done it right, I know he would have. And I know it hurts, but you need to be thankful that he did it at all.”

“Okay.” I hiccup.

He waits a second, then a tentative smile tugs up on his lips. “Okay? That’s all?”

That’s not all.

I grab him at the hips, my fingers digging into the bunched muscles of his abs, and stand on my toes, drag his neck down, and kiss him, sweet and deep. His mouth opens and he licks at me with a quick, hungry tongue. His arm curves under me and he hikes me up, carries me fully into the room, and presses me against the wall, his hands hot as they slide over my back and around to the buttons on my tissue-paper blouse.

“I want you,” I whimper against his lips. “But not here.”

He kisses me quiet and moves his hips against me with quick, gentle thrusts. “My place?” he asks, his mouth sliding over my neck and drawing a long moan out of my throat.

“Or your car. Or the beach. Or anywhere you want. Just not here,” I beg, pressing my hands into his soft hair and yanking his face back to mine.

“You need shoes,” he whispers, his voice rough with need.

I shake my head. “Not for what I want to do with you, I don’t.”

He kisses me for a few more frantic, hot seconds, then flips me into his arms, strides into the hallway, kicks the apartment door closed without even locking it, and heads to his car. I tighten my arms around his neck, not giving a damn that I’m barefoot, that I left my apartment unlocked, that my father wasn’t remotely as brave as I thought he was, that I have absolutely no clue where my life is going.

I’m in Cohen’s arms, and that’s all that matters.

He sets me in the passenger seat, and there’s not another word until we pull into his driveway. We start for the house, and I have plans to head to his bedroom, but I get pulled into the living room for some reason.

I realize that the reason was a flash of color. A splash of teal.

“The rug.” I stand stock still as Cohen kisses along my neck and down my shoulders.

“Mmmhmm,” he murmurs. “I snapped it up the minute it came in. You have awesome taste. In rugs and men, I might add.”

“You like it?” I pull back and his face looks confused.

“I love it. Thought, to be fair, I’d probably love anything you picked.” He watches as I bend down and run my hand over it.

“It’s soft,” I whisper. “It’s beautiful. It fits here.”

“Like you.” He pulls me up and wraps his arms around my waist. “Soft. Beautiful. Fits here.”

“I didn’t say something when we were at my place.” I take his gorgeous face in my hands and smile because he’s so damn amazing and so completely mine. One hundred percent mine, no questions this time.

“Okay.” He grins and kisses my nose. “Say whatever you want.”

“I want to tell you thank you.” As soon as the words leave my mouth I feel a hundred times lighter. “Thank you.”

He kisses behind my ear. “You’re welcome. So welcome.” He clears his throat. “I noticed you eyeing the rug.”

My smile goes wicked at the suggestion in his voice. “It does seem really soft.” I back out of his arms and lie down, loving the starved way he eyes me from his vantage point, six feet plus above my body. His eyes tear over me like he wants me. Like he can’t get enough of me. Maybe, even, like he loves me.

I close my eyes and listen to the jangle of his belt buckle, the whine of his zipper, the whoosh of his clothes hitting the floor. I hear him tear the condom wrapper and imagine him rolling it on. I keep them closed when he lies next to me, but I let my hands graze over every tight, hot, naked inch of his skin.

His fingers move slowly on me, stopping to stroke and touch my skin before he peels off my shirt and tugs me out of my skirt. His fingers hook and tug on my underwear and bra, and then it’s just me and Cohen on our teal rug, the crash of the ocean loud and perfect outside.

He pulls the back of his hand down my body, every rough bump and stroke making my breath catch.

“I was so happy you came for me,” I whisper as his hand turns over and his fingertips tickle along my ribs. I open my eyes and he’s looking down at me, a lazy smile on his lips.

“I tried to call you on my way home. When you didn’t answer, I imagined all kinds of stupid worst case scenario type things. I didn’t even make it home.” He dips his head and kisses the skin just over my breasts, his lips leaving damp circles to mark where they’ve been.

“I pushed you away,” I say, tracing my nails lightly down his back.

“Mmm,” he murmurs, licking and nuzzling every sensitive place he can find. “I’m tough. I don’t mind a little pushing from you.”

His hand slides down between my legs and presses them open. His fingers are light over my skin, but I still lift my hips and jerk against his touch. “I shouldn’t push you away.”

He sucks my bottom lip in and bites down on it gently. “I agree.”

I reach down, grab his wrist, and press him closer, his finger sliding inside me and making my back arch. “I won’t push you away, Cohen. I promise.”

He dips his fingers in and pulls them back out, his rhythm dictating my breathing patterns, my heartbeat, and the pulse of my hips. He draws his fingers up and rings the bead of my clit, wetting it with his index finger and using his thumb to massage a pattern that has my spine arched off the rug, my hand reaching for the length of him.

My fingers circle around his dick, and I draw up, loving the way he sucks his breath in through his teeth. When I press back down, he pushes his forehead against mine and strains his body into my hand.

“Maren,” he grits out.

His hand moves faster, his thumb increasing pressure and pace, and my hand moves to match his. We twist against each other, angling to find the position that gives us the most pleasure this kind of limited touching will allow.

His free hand rubs over my skin, playing over my nipples, pressing his palms to the full swells of my breasts, flattening and gliding up to just over my heart. His eyes are wide open and look startled, like he just realized something important.

“I want you in me, Cohen,” I whimper, using my hand to direct him to the next place where I want him to go.

“Now?” he asks, his voice a tight snap.

“Right now. Please. Right now. Please,” I chant. His hands slide to my inner thighs and knead the skin there. He’s on his knees, so long and gorgeous and hard. He presses my legs apart and positions himself where I’m slick and ready for him.

There’s a second where we’re both balancing on the precipice. In one smooth motion, he’ll be deep inside of me, and I’ll be completely wrapped around him. But, for now, it’s only gut-clenching anticipation.

“Maren?”

I buck my hips his way, teasing the head into territory where I want all the rest of him.

“Cohen,” I moan, squirming under his fierce, piercing look.

“I love you.”

The words are sharp and sweet, and, before I can respond, he presses into me in one long, smooth slide, and the sensation is so all-body encompassing, I can’t do anything but wrap my legs around his hips and urge him closer.

He grabs me tight under the ass and yanks up, and I arch to allow him to fill me as much as he can before he pulls out almost completely. He pulls out and pushes in over and over, his hands frantic everywhere over my skin, his mouth pulled in a tight line as he fights for control.

I sit up suddenly, determined to close the nonexistent gap between our bodies. He rearranges and falls back so I can settle on his lap, my legs twined around his hips, our bodies rubbing from chest to thighs. His arms drape around my waist, mine grip his big shoulders, elastic with bulging muscle. I tilt back and lift my hips, then drive down on him, exploding a long path of pure pleasure through my body.

And his, if his reaction is any indication. His hands squeeze at my sides and drag me closer, press me against him harder. “Maren, holy fuck, Maren.”

I arch away from him and feel every inch as it slides out, leaving me with a momentary emptiness I can’t stand. Just as he’s about slide out of my body, I melt back against him, driving him deep inside me, and loving the way my body stretches to take him all in, make him all mine.

The pace increases, and my control begins to spiral out of my grasp. Sweat dampens my neck and my breath pants out. My body is splintering, about to explode, and I wrap tight around him, letting the words I’ve wanted to say to him for so long scream out on the cusp of a shaking, tearing orgasm.

“Cohen! I love you!”

I slump against his chest, totally spent by the tremors that just tore through me. Cohen gently flips me onto my back, and continues to press in, his arms pushing his body up on either side of me, so I can see him from the top of his head to the wet, sweet place where he and I are sliding together.

“Come again, Maren,” he begs, his voice choppy. “Come on me one more time. Come for me.”

And, like his voice has some kind of magic connection to the very center of me, I unravel as he speaks sweet and low, undoing me so fast and hard, my entire body shudders over and over just before his follows suit.

“I love you.”

He says the words. Or maybe I do. Our voices are twisted together, our words tangled, spilling and mixing. Funny how a few hours ago, those three words felt taboo, too soon, too strong, and now we’re curled in each other’s arms, repeating them like we can’t stand to not declare it over and over.

He finally gets up to get rid of the condom and brings back a blanket, a wine bottle, and a package of firewood. He stokes the fire, buck naked.

I giggle, and he turns to smile.

“What’s all the giggling about?” He throws the blanket over me and hands me the bottle of wine, already uncorked.

“You’re like some caveman, starting a fire naked.” I giggle again, and he laughs along with me.

“Sex. Fire. Alcohol. All I need is a slab of raw mammoth meat, and this night is a caveman’s wet dream.”

I roll on the floor, laughing so hard my sides hurt. “No glasses?”

He raises one eyebrow, holds out his hand for the bottle, and takes a long swill. “Glasses? We’re barbarians tonight, Maren! Embrace it.”

I sit up and wrap the blanket around me, holding one side open so he can snuggle close. We pass the bottle back and forth, taking long sips of the spicy wine while we watch the fire flicker.

“I could get used to this,” I say, pressing my nose to his chest and breathing deep that simple smell that’s all
him.

“Um, yeah, you better.” He kisses the top of my head. “I tried the whole ‘let her go if you love her’ thing and almost gave myself a heart attack. I want you right here with me.”

We listen to the fire crackle and trade sips of wine, nestled so close, I don’t want to bring up the thing I need to bring up.

“Cohen?”

“Mmm?” His fingers trail gently over my warm, bare skin.

“About school? Was Cece sure I could get back in?” I squeeze my hands together, not wanting to get too excited if it’s not really possible.

“Yes.” He folds me in his arms. “I hope you don’t mind, but she checked with the dean using a hypothetical situation that just happened to be yours.”

“No. I don’t mind. I’m so grateful.” I squeeze him tight. “But you got an interview in LA. That puts us over two hours apart, and with traffic? After a long day of work? You’re not going to want to commute that.”