“I mentioned it to Philip,” Colin said.
I sat up too. I hadn’t expected Colin to figure it out, but of course he would. It only made sense that if someone paid Tony Yates, and if it wasn’t Colin, that Philip might know something about it. That was the same conclusion I’d come to, only I saw Philip as the enemy and Colin didn’t.
“What did he say?” I asked, dreading the answer.
With good cause, it turned out, because Colin answered, “He said you were an informant for the cops. That you were digging around for information about his guys.”
I held my breath as if my very exhale could incriminate me. “What did you say?”
“I said he was full of shit and punched him in the face.”
A sharp laugh escaped me. I clamped my lips shut. Very inappropriate, I scolded myself. Still, a small smile curled my lips. He’d believed in me. He’d defended me. And Philip had gotten what was coming to him.
“I hit my brother.”
I sobered. “I’m sorry, Colin. Even if he deserved it, I’m sorry.”
“Allie.” Are you, his tone asked, an informant? Did I turn on my own family in defense of a traitor?
“Are you going to make me answer the question?”
“Are you going to make me ask?” he said.
I sighed. “I can promise you this. I have never given the cops any information about you or Philip or anyone, okay? I never have and never will. I’m on your side. Do you believe me?”
“Yes,” he said, and only then did I breathe normally.
His long, large body sat sprawled on the bed, its indolent pose belying his intensity. And, in fact, as we sat there, I felt his breathing change. The air shifted even as we sat very still. Turned out anger was a powerful aphrodisiac once we’d gotten over the fighting part.
Except for the first time with Colin, I wasn’t sure if I wanted it. I wasn’t sure I didn’t want it either—fickle me—but I was nervous. My mind flashed to the ridiculous bullfighting photographs in Philip’s study. This must be how a bullfighter felt, standing in front of a raging force over which he had no control, waving his red flag, even as he wondered what the fuck he’d gotten himself into.
I’d had sex how many times? Almost a dozen, over the months. All with mean, angry strangers. Bullies, really, but that wasn’t Colin. He wasn’t a stranger or mean or a bully. He was an angry Colin, and that made him entirely unknown.
I’d let him fuck me, even let him hurt me, but what if he went too far? An even scarier idea occurred to me. What if I didn’t want it? I didn’t want him to hurt me. Maybe I didn’t even want him to fuck me.
What then?
I pictured myself, cowering behind the red flag, scuffing my boots on the dirt. I couldn’t run—he’d only chase me. I couldn’t fight him—he’d only beat me. As laughable an idea as it was, the only thing left to do was tame him.
I reached out and cupped his cheek. His breath puffed against the inside of my wrist in time with my pulse. I curled my fingers in and stroked the backs of my knuckles up along his temple. He tilted his head into my caress, and I caught my breath. He stayed my wrist in his hand.
He tugged, and I fell over his lap, facedown. He held me there by my wrist while his other hand slid up the back of my thigh. His fingers explored between my legs, not teasing or asking but feeling and taking.
The pleasure was there, but I didn’t like it. His legs under my stomach, the bed pressed against my face, my ass exposed. What a whore. No more, please.
I made a small sound in my throat, maybe a refusal, definitely a complaint. I didn’t know what he made of it, but he rolled me off him. Then he was on me, kissing me. When I didn’t open my mouth, he moved down, down.
His hands were rough, pulling off my shirt, touching my body, pulling me apart. His mouth was demanding. He wanted everything, but I couldn’t give it to him. No, that wasn’t true. I could give in to him. My body was wet with anticipation, my mind slipping to that dark, quiet place, but I didn’t want to. No.
He tried to kiss me again, and I turned my face away. He made a low sound like a growl, and then flipped me over onto a pillow. I knew what would happen next. The way he pushed apart my knees and tilted my hips and parted me there, it all meant I was going to get fucked. No!
“No,” I whispered.
He thrust inside me, hot and thick.
“No,” I said.
He pulled back. I thought he would pull out.
“Yes,” he grunted, and then he thrust again, and again, deeper each time, filling me, invading me— Get it out!
“Stop,” I said. “Colin!”
He froze. “Allie?”
It was his name that had caught his attention, so I used it again. “Colin, stop.”