Hate Fuck Part Three (3 page)

Nobody knows we’re here.

For the first time today, I don’t need to hold myself together.

Even while I slept, I was keeping a lot of shit at bay.

Now it starts to fall away, and before I realize it, Cole’s got me in the bathroom. His hands freeze at the hem of my shirt. “Can I?” he asks, and that just makes me sob harder.

Of course he can.

But of course he has to ask.

I hate that I need him to, that the little kiss we shared and the little sparks I felt have vanished. His hands on my skin are now strictly functional.

I still his movement, sliding my palms over the backs of his hands. Up his arms, over his shoulders until I’m wrapped around him.

“I just need a hug,” I whisper, and he holds me tight.

He starts the shower, and when he turns to leave, I pull him in with me. He washes my hair and I lean against his chest, and when we get out, he dries me off, then holds me as I fall asleep.

— —

The next morning, we’re summoned to the regional offices of the Federal Bureau of Investigation and separated for hours while I’m grilled on what happened.

I tell my story, over and over again until my heart aches and I’m physically shaking. First, I give my statement to a nice guy in a dark grey suit, then again to two agents, a woman and a man. Two more grey suits. Neither quite as nice as the first one.

The questions are harder. More pointed. They won’t stop asking me why Cole brought me to Miami. I hate that they won’t accept the weekend trip answer.

It has to be the truth.

“Can I have something to drink?” I ask at a pause between questions.

The guy looks at his watch. “It’s actually lunch time, can we get you a sandwich?”

My stomach protests at the thought of anything solid. “Water is fine.”

“We might be here a while.”

I give him a tight smile. “Hopefully not.”

A knock on the door comes quickly, delivering the water that I’ve asked for, and my eyes dart to the mirrored glass on the wall.
 

“You made a tempting target for Lively,” the female agent finally says after I drink half the bottle of water.

“Really?” I ask, my voice clipped and cold now. I’m so done with this. “Obviously I was a poor choice for a sex slave.”

“You think your boyfriend knew that when he flaunted you in front of his nemesis?”

I bang the water bottle on the table, my hands shaking so hard it barely stays upright. “I think you’re focusing on entirely the wrong villain in this narrative.
I
didn’t know I had it in me to defend myself. I’m quite certain Cole didn’t, either. And I hardly look like that bastard’s preferred type. So whatever you’re alluding to? It’s dead wrong.”

“Dead is the operative word, isn’t it, Ms. Reid.” That was from the male agent. I stare at him, cataloguing him. Greying hair, lined face.

“It was either me or her. You wanted me to make a different choice?”

They glance at each other.

“Can I talk to Cole Parker, please?”

“He’s being interviewed,” the woman says. “Can I get you some lunch?”

Hell no. So I say six words I never imagined crossing my lips. “I think I need an attorney.”

— —
 

Apparently Jason was waiting in the lobby with lawyers, and I should have said the magic words sooner. We finish up pretty quickly after that, then go to the law offices of the firm Jason and Cole have retained to protect my identity in all of this.

They order food in, and the strategy talk continues. Most of it goes in one ear and out the other because my brain is fried with stress and stimulation overload and the lies and innuendos that had been shoved at me all day.

I’m so done.

We don’t leave until it’s dark, so I fall asleep on the drive back to the hotel, and I’m all groggy when Cole wakes me up before easing me out of the back of the hired car.

“Come on, I’ll get you settled.”

“Wait,” I protest as he guides me into the elevator. “What do you mean?”

He gives me a look I can’t decipher as the car stops on the mezzanine level and a group of business people get in. Always a bodyguard, Cole’s stance shifts slightly—he does this thing where he looks like he’s relaxing, but really he’s a coiled snake, ready to strike at the slightest threat.

I hold my tongue until they get off a few floors below ours.

“I’m not a child. You can’t just tell me it’s bedtime.”

His nostrils flare and his jaw clenches, but he just moves me out of the elevator and down the hall toward our room. “I need to go out for bit,” he finally says as I start undressing. “I won’t be long.”

“And I shouldn’t ask were you’re going?” I yank one of his t-shirts off the chair in front of the window and pull it on before I shove my pants to the floor, my back to him the whole time.

I don’t hear him cross the room, so I shiver as he grips my shoulders. He jerks his hands away, but he doesn’t move.

“You have every right to be afraid of me,” he mutters into my hair.

“I’m not.” It’s the truth. I turn and try to catch his gaze, but he holds himself rigid and straight, staring out the window at the city below.

Pressing up onto my toes, I part my lips and trace a cord of muscle up his neck with the tip of my tongue.

His hands slam onto my hips and he rocks me back against the window. I arch against the cool glass, but I can’t catch his gaze.

“What’s wrong?” I ask as I wrap my arms around my waist, all sex kitten impulses vanishing at his lacklustre response.

“Nothing.” But now I can see he’s shaking, and what I thought was just him being on high-alert in the elevator is really him being on edge around
me.

“Fine,” I mutter, shoving past him. “Go out. Do whatever dirty work you need to do to make yourself feel like you’ve got this under control.”

I don’t know if I shoved him to goad him into action—wouldn’t be the first time—or if I actually thought I could stomp to bed and he’d just leave it be.

But of course he doesn’t. Before I get two steps past him, he’s lifting me around the waist and carrying me to the couch as I kick half-assedly and protest more vigorously. “Put me down!”

He does—sideways on his lap. His eyes burning dark, he glares at me as he rubs his hand lazily over my ass, hanging out in the open space between his spread thighs.

I love it when he holds me like this. I can feel his muscles bunching beneath me, and I’m hyperaware of each powerful shift as he holds me. We’re both restless. If we weren’t twenty-four hours out of him rescuing me from being used as a sex slave, I’d have thought this was the start of something hot. Cole the Dom.

Where the thought should make me giggle, or pant because bossy Cole is super-hot, it just makes me sad.

The way he’s practically vibrating to get away from me, I think it’s more Cole the Emotionally-Unavailable-Can’t-Handle-Shit Guy.

Doesn’t quite have the same ring to it. Fuck. I want to cry, but that’ll just make Cole feel worse.

And there’s
always
this chemistry between us. He can’t help but squeeze my flesh, but he doesn’t want to do anything else. That’s crystal clear.

Even knowing that, I still press close, feathering kisses over his jaw as he holds still as granite. He groans as my lips find his, and he holds me tight, but his lips leave mine at the first opportunity.

So I stop trying.

Cole hugging me has never felt so much like a rejection before. In my head, I’m convincing myself to get down off the ledge, using all the talk therapy tricks I’ve picked up over the years.

Surviving a childhood steered by Morgan and Amelia Reid has made me a self-talk ninja.
This is hard for you both. He’s been at your side the entire time. He’s given you no reason to doubt him. You fell apart last night, maybe he’s confused about the mixed messages.

“Do you want to talk about the interviews today?” he asks, his voice a sudden grate of sandpaper in the quiet of the room.

“No,” I say, laughing without humor.

“It’s their job to poke in all directions.”

“I know,” I snap, harsher than is needed. “I don’t need to talk.”

Something shifts then, something that gives me reassurance and hope. He relaxes beneath me and I feel his erection, heavy and solid and growing.

Point, Hailey. Or at least my naked ass.

“What do you need?” he asks quietly, his lips brushing against my hair.

I squeeze my eyes shut and bury my face in his neck. “You,” I whisper.

With a groan, he slides his hand up my thigh, rucking his t-shirt up to my waist. I go to turn, to get on my knees and straddle him, but he tightens his grip, holding me in place with my side against his chest. “Don’t.”
 

“Let me touch you,” I beg.

“Shhh.” He rubs his thumb across the top of my thigh, making me moan despite myself. “This is just for you.”

He skims his hand under my shirt, over my belly, then back again. Lower this time, and firmer, right where my belly meets my mound—my on switch. I twist, pressing my face into his neck as I spread my legs for him.

Point, Cole.

First he circles my opening, a teasing rub that makes me squirm and murmur achingly for more. Then he strokes me more deliberately, gathering the wet evidence of how quickly he can turn me.
 

Spreading it up to my clit, he rolls his thumb over that spot as he twists his hand and thrusts into me.

 
Sweet one minute, hard the next. Why did I expect anything different?

Two fingers drag out of me, slow enough I can feel every single inch. I shudder as his knuckles slide out of my entrance and I rock my hips, inviting him back in.

“Fuck my fingers,” he growls, tugging on my hair, giving himself more access to the sensitive bits of skin he likes. My ears, my mouth, my neck. “Be greedy. Get yourself off on my thumb. Take it, beautiful.”

I roll my pelvis in a shameless echo of his words, sliding my pussy all over his hand. I like the heel of his palm best, and when I find it and start whimpering, he takes over again.

“Yeah? Do it,” he whispers, his tongue licking along the curve of my ear as he talks me straight into coming on his hand. “Grind on me. Look at you go. You’re so fucking gorgeous.”

I tug my shirt up, wanting his other hand on my skin there. My breasts hang heavy and my nipples ache for his touch.

Nipping at my ear, Cole spins me so I’m sitting on him, my back against his chest, my legs hooked on the outside of his thighs. I pull his hands to cup my breasts, and his hot, heavy breath in my ear is the best sound I’ve heard all day.

The press of his cock beneath my ass feels pretty good too.

“Sure I can’t tempt you…?”

He groans and bites my neck. “Believe me, I’m tempted.”

“But no?”

A rough laugh against my skin is answer enough.
Tonight is for me
. I don’t understand why, but he’s intent and I’m on fire, so I stop fighting, and close my eyes.

Feelings blur the specifics of what he’s doing. I don’t know where his hands are going, but I like what they do when they stop for a second, how they make me feel. Squeezing, stroking, slapping…with each sensation, I climb higher and feel more free, and then his touch is between my legs again, his arms wrapping around me.

Heat sizzles through my veins, radiating out from each erogenous zone Cole has just switched on, then bouncing back until every part of my body feels connected and on fire and ready to explode.

My swollen skin is so slippery now, his fingers glide over the nerve endings and as his teeth sink into my earlobe, he rocks the heel of his hand over my clit and I combust into a trembling, pulsing, all-thoughts-vanquished puddle of goo.

After the last aftershocks of my orgasm fade, and I’m slumped against him, boneless and once again, oh so tired, he slowly stands, dead-lifting me as he shoves off the couch, his thighs flexing and his arms straining. I wrap myself tighter around him and he carries me to the bed.

I hold on tighter than tight when he tries to pull away after tucking me in.

“I’m just getting my phone, I need to check in,” he says roughly, not looking at me.

I grab his hand, anxious as he moves out of touching range. “Cole?”

He snags his phone and rolls back against me. “Hmm?”

Swallowing hard, I spit out the worry that’s been at the back of my head for the last twenty-four hours. “Are we okay?”

I mean it in all the possible ways—emotionally, legally. Relationship-ally.

He grips the back of my neck, his gaze burning me. “Of course.”

But when I wake up in the middle of the night, he’s gone. We went to sleep together, but at some point, he quietly slipped out of the room.

I don’t call him. I’m scared he won’t answer, although he’s given me no reason to think that.

I don’t turn on the television, because I’m terrified of what I might see, although I want to think he’d choose differently now.

He came for me.

I choose to trust him, but it’s hard.

It takes me a long time to drift off again. I wonder where he is. What he thinks he had to do. I worry.
 

In the early morning, I wake up with his arm around my waist and his face buried in my neck, and I lay there for a long time, silent, relieved tears streaming down my face.

Of course I knew we’d have secrets. And for so long, I’d thought Cole was off-limits for my heart, because he wasn’t the guy for me. But then he pushed his way into my life, and I forgot about this side of him, because he was so sweet and we fit just right.

Now I’m remembering everything else. But instead of climbing out of bed and throwing his clothes at him, cursing him and shoving him out the door for only giving me a piece of him, I just lay there, desperately soaking up his warmth, because I love him.

—five—
 

Cole

For the second and final interview the next day, Hailey has a lawyer present the entire time.

It goes much smoother, and ends with us getting their blessing to return to Washington, but she’s still wrung out when I whisk her into the car, where our bags are already loaded, and we head straight for the airport.