Transcendent Read Online Free

out.”
    That’s a challenge, not an answer. Equally intriguing is the fact that Cole’s sentence structure and cadence is becoming much less formal. It’s faster. The words run together like whiskey pouring out of a bottle, the flickering heat making my cunt clench. Right before my eyes he’s transforming into someone completely unlike the man who waits for me on his knees. I’m absolutely, utterly transfixed.
    I watch him dress. His clothes, removed within minutes, are immaculate while I look like I’m the one who was bound, whipped, and fucked. He pulls his jeans over the raw, reddened flesh of his ass and thighs, yanks the T-shirt over his head, and shrugs into the fitted motorcycle jacket I find sexy as sin.
    But something breaks open inside me when he collects his belt from the floor. I watch him slide the dark leather through the loops in his jeans and fasten it with two quick movements.
    Cole’s seduced me as he dressed, and he knows it. He flicks me a grin and steps into his boots. “What’s your name? Your real name.”
    I push my hair back from my face. Telling him this makes me the vulnerable one. Fear wars with curiosity as I speak. “Marin Bryant.”
    He flips the dead bolts and holds the door open for me. “Cole Fleming,” he says, and holds out his hand.
    After what we’ve just done it’s absurd to shake his hand, but I do it anyway. I slip my hand into his. He wraps his long, strong fingers around mine, and smiles. He holds me in place for a heartbeat too long, then I tug free. He studies me for a moment, then nods slowly, as if to say
game on.
All gentleman now, he gestures into the hallway.
    â€œAfter you, Marin.”
    With that I take a step into the unknown.

Transformed

 
    The first rule of combat was to gain and maintain tactical advantage, preferably covertly. On the surface, Cole had orchestrated a seduction: a bed stripped to the bottom sheet, pillows mounded at the headboard, the floor lamp in the corner casting soft shadows on the maple bureau. He’d maneuvered Marin Bryant into his apartment, into his bed, and under him.
    The perfect opening position.
    Stretched out beside her, he let his gaze sweep her from head to the toes of her bare feet. She wore white jeans and a white cashmere V-neck sweater, and her black lashes, opaque sea green eyes, and full mouth were startling bursts of color in her pale face.
    She seemed as cool and untouchable as moonlight.
    His next move was to rest his hand on her taut abdomen. Immediately she countered, laying her hand on top of his and looking right into his eyes. “What do you have in mind for me tonight, Cole?”
    His heart leaped against his rib cage. Only at the very end of the last of their nine previous encounters had his gaze met hers, so for him the effect was as stunning as the first seconds of a firefight. Marin, however, submerged all emotion under her maddeningly tranquil surface. Controlled in speech, controlled in movement, controlled even at the moment he fucked her full-throttle into a gasping, shuddering orgasm.
    Sometimes control was a prison.
    He didn’t answer her question, too absorbed in watching her, assessing the situation as the seconds passed, adjusting his response. Despite the casual question and her seemingly unruffled exterior, she was rushing the scene, something she hadn’t done before. He focused on the rise and fall of her stomach under his hand. A little rapid, a little shallow.
    Keep it slow. You know how effective that tactic is.
“What do you think I want to do?”
    â€œRestrain me,” she said without inflection, a living, breathing statue carved from alabaster marble. “Black leather, not handcuffs. Then put me on my knees to suck your cock.”
    That amused him, the corners of his mouth lifting as he slipped his hand from under hers to brush her fine blond hair back from her face, exposing delicate bone structure