Then he was pulling me up and out of the shower. We both dripped buckets onto the floor, but neither of us cared. He tossed me onto the bed, and I laughed. Then he spread my legs and put his mouth on me—yes, there, down, lower, yes!—and I forgot everything.
He’d lost any tenderness, but with rough strokes and kisses edged with teeth, he made me violently come. Before I could even see again, breathe again, he was over me and inside me. Our still-wet bodies rammed together, too hard and too fast, making squishy sounds that would have been embarrassing if I could think.
He fucked me so hard I couldn’t have said a word, but he was talking again. In between thrusts and on his exhales, he gave me more.
“Allie…you’re…so…fucking…beautiful…I…never…want…to…stop…fucking… you.”
The only response I could muster was to relax my hips even more so that my thighs spread open farther. It was more than an invitation; it was a plea. The pressure built until I came. He rode it out, and I waited, blissfully mindless for him to come.
But he didn’t.
He thrust into me again and again until I lost track of the hour or the day. I came again.
And he didn’t stop.
“Can’t,” I gasped. “Can’t…anymore.”
“Yes,” he said. “You can. I’ll show you.”
And fuck, he did. I lost count, but by the end my orgasms were nothing more than a small spark. He groaned long and hard, and I thought then that if there were anything left in me, I would come just from the sound.
His body collapsed over mine, the only movements between us his heaving chest and the small twitches of his cock as it settled.
I couldn’t breathe, but then I’d already decided to give it all to him, even my breath. I’d been so sure I would never trust a man again, and here I’d trusted Colin more than should be possible. With my life and my future, even with Bailey. I trusted him more than I trusted myself, though that wasn’t much of a compliment.
He rolled off me but kept me with him, pulling me into a tangle of limbs. We shared the same air as we both caught our breath, neither of us willing to relinquish the intimacy for space.
Chapter Thirteen
I opened my eyes to find him watching me. I watched him back. Neither of us said anything. Sex was a pure form of communication, maybe the only honest one. I’d known that from my first time, painful as the lesson had been, and I’d sought the same honesty from each date night. But what we’d unveiled here tonight was so much more lovely than anything I’d found on my date nights, more than anything I’d imagined. I came for the adventure but found a bounty at the end.
His stomach grumbled. I smiled, and he smiled back. I’d learned he got hungry after sex that very first time. Only this time we wouldn’t be driving away from a motel separately but sharing a late meal in Colin’s home. My home too.
“I’ll get us something.” My voice resounded through the quiet. “Stay here.”
I slipped on a T-shirt and then realized it wasn’t my nightshirt but one of his white undershirts. It was shorter, almost to the top of my thighs, and my still-hard nipples poked out indecently, but it matched my mood. I padded downstairs, flipping on only a lamp in the living room so as not to disturb the night too much.
The refrigerator shone brightly, and I blinked until I could see the contents. Leftover chicken potpie from last night. An uncooked lasagna I had put together in anticipation for tonight. Ingredients for sandwiches. It was all wrong. The blackberry cheesecake beckoned, but it was for the restaurant. And besides, I couldn’t get away with eating sweets on an empty stomach. I wasn’t a kid anymore.
The squeak of the pantry door alerted me that Colin hadn’t listened. That wasn’t a surprise, of course. Colin could be extremely obedient…so long as he wanted to be. Any docility he displayed, it wasn’t so much an act as much as it was a complete lack of show. He’d do what he wanted. Sometimes the rest of us would like it, sometimes we wouldn’t, but his actions were his own, without any of the pomp and circumstance of rebellion or pride.
I liked to think we had that in common. I was happy to obey him when I could.
That he’d pressured Rick because of me, well, I didn’t like that. But that was Colin, and I had to accept it if I wanted him. I wouldn’t be so vulgar as to try to change him.
And me talking to Andrew, well, Colin wouldn’t like that. But I’d had to do that, and I wished he could accept that too. If only he’d heard me when I’d had the courage to tell him.
He held up a box of pancake mix and quirked his eyebrow in question. I supposed he’d used up his allotment of words.
“Sure.” I held out my hand.
He walked past me and got a bowl. I rolled my eyes. Stubborn man.
I heated the griddle and greased it with butter—liberally, because these hips didn’t fill themselves out—while he mixed the ingredients. He poured the batter, and when it was time, I flipped them over.
We made six pancakes, split two for me and four for Colin, and had just sat down to eat when Colin’s phone rang. I pushed back the resentment. At ten at night, it would only be Philip.