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“What do you think you’re doing?” My voice stops her cold.
She turns to me. I can see the uncertainty in her expression.
I arch a brow.
"I've had to watch you in that teeny tiny bikini all damn day, Annie. And now this dress—this damn dress covering that perfect body."
She blushes a little.
"And you want me to just let you walk into your room and not touch you? Not peel the straps of that dress off your shoulders, not pull those flimsy strings that are barely holding this together off your hips. Not bend you over and fuck you until you're screaming my name."
Her breath hitches, her nipples straining against the fabric.
"Not a chance," I growl. "My room. Now."
And without another word, I turn and walk down the hall.
She doesn't make me wait.
Chapter Thirty Two
Annie
The villa is quiet, the hallway dimly lit as we pad along the tiled floor. Cole's hand is warm and rough, his fingers laced through mine, holding tight.
When we reach the door to his room, he glances at me. His expression is unreadable, and for a moment, I wonder what he's thinking.
But then his lips curl into a smile, and all thoughts slip from my mind as he pulls me into the dark room and closes the door.
He doesn't turn on the lights. He doesn't have to. There's enough moonlight filtering in through the open windows to see everything we need.
"Cole—" I start, but before I can finish the thought, he's kissing me.
His mouth is hot and demanding, stealing my breath away. His hands are everywhere—gripping my hips, sliding up my back, tangling in my hair. I can't help but moan as his tongue slides against mine, sending sparks of heat through my body.
He pulls back just long enough to murmur, "God, Annie. You drive me crazy."
Then his lips are on mine again, the kiss hungry and wild.
I gasp against his mouth as his hands move to my waist, tugging at the ties holding the dress up. The silky fabric slips away, falling to the floor, leaving me standing before him in just my panties.
"Fuck," he groans, his voice low and husky. "Look at you."
I blush a little, feeling exposed but not uncomfortable. His gaze roams over my body, taking in every inch of me. It makes me feel sexy, wanted, desirable.
He grazes the backs of his fingers over my breast gently, making my skin pebble, and my nipple draw tight and stiffen.
My breath hitches, and I arch toward him.
His eyes burn into mine as his fingers brush across my stomach, trailing lower and lower until they find the edge of my panties. He slips a finger beneath the fabric, teasing me.
I moan, desperate for more.
"You like that?" he asks, his voice dark and delicious.
I nod, biting my lip.
"What about this?"