CHAPTER 16
Our late dinner is sinfully good. Colton takes me to a small surf-shack type restaurant on Highway 1 slightly north of Santa Monica. Despite the busy Saturday night crowd, when the hostess sees Colton, she greets him by name and whisks us out to a rather private table on the patio that overlooks the water. The crash of waves serves as a soft background music to our evening.
“Come here much?” I ask wryly, “or do you just use the fact that the hostess is in love with you to get the primo table?”
He flashes a heart-stopping grin at me. “Rachel’s a sweet girl. Her dad owns the place. He has a ladder up to the rooftop. Sometimes him and I go up there and throw back a few beers. Shoot the shit. Escape the madness.” He leans over and taps the top of my nose with his finger. “I hope this is okay?” he asks.
“Definitely! I like laid back,” I tell him. When his grin only widens and his eyes darken, I look at him confused, “What?”
He takes a sip of beer from his bottle, amusement on his face, “I like you laid back too, just not in this environment.” His suggestive tone causes butterflies in my stomach. I giggle and swat at him playfully. He catches my hand and brings it casually to his lips before setting it on his thigh with his hand closing around it. “No, seriously,” he explains, “This is way more my style than the glitz and glamour of my parents’ lifestyle and expectations. My sister fits that lifestyle so much better than I do.” He rolls his eyes despite the utter adoration on his face when he mentions her.
“How old is she?”
“Quinlan? She’s twenty-six and a total pain in the ass!” he laughs. “She’s in graduate school at USC right now. She’s pushy and overbearing and protective and—”
“And she loves you to death.”
A boyish grin blankets his face as he nods in acceptance, “Yes, she does,” he mulls it over thoughtfully. “The feeling is completely mutual.”
His simple ease in expressing his love for his sister is charming to me in a man otherwise unwilling to express himself emotionally. He can easily express his desire and sexuality, but I’ve yet to hear him emote real, true feelings.
The waitress arrives halting our conversation, and asks me if I am ready to order although her eyes are fixated on Colton. I want to tell her I understand, I’m under his spell too. I’m still unsure what I want so I look at Colton, “I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
He looks up at me, surprise on his face, “Their burgers are the best. Does that sound okay?”
“Sounds good to me.”
“A girl who’s after my own heart,” he teases, squeezing my hand. “Can we get two surf burgers with fries and another round of drinks, please,” he tells the waitress and as I try to hand her my menu, I notice how flustered she is by Colton speaking to her.
“So tell me about your parents.”
“Uh-oh, is this the Colton background portion of the night?” he kids.
“You got it, Ace. Now spill it,” I tell him, taking a sip of my wine.
He shrugs. “My dad is larger than life in everything he does. Everything. He’s supportive and always positive and a good friend to me now. And my mom, she’s more reserved. More the rock of our family.” He smiles softly at the thought, “but she definitely has a temper and a flair for the dramatic when she deems it necessary.”
“Is Quinlan adopted too?”
“No,” he drains the remainder of his beer, shaking his head. “She’s biological. My mom and dad decided one was enough for them with their busy schedules and all of the traveling to onset locations.” He raises his eyebrows, “And then my dad found me.” The simplicity in that last statement, the rawness behind the words, is profound.
“Was that hard? Her being biological and you adopted?
He ponders the question, turning his head to look around the restaurant. “At times I think I used it for all it was worth. But when it comes down to it, I realized that my dad didn’t have to bring me home with him that day.” He plays with the label on his empty beer bottle. “He could have turned me over to social services, and God knows what would have happened since they’re not always the most efficient organization. But he didn’t,” he shrugs. “In time I grew to realize they really loved me, really wanted me, because when it came down to it, they kept me. They made me a part of their family.”
I’m a little taken back by Colton’s frank honesty for I expected him to evade any personal questions as he has thus far in regards to his cryptic comments. My heart breaks for the struggles of the little boy he was. I know he is glossing over the turmoil he must have went through finding his place in an already established family. “How was it growing up with parents so much in the public eye?”
“I guess it really is my turn for the inquisition,” he jokes before stretching his arm out resting his hand on the back of my chair, idly wrapping one of my curls around his finger as he speaks. “They did the best they could to insulate Quin and I from it all. Back then, the media was nothing like it is today,” he shrugs. “We had strict rules and mandatory Sunday night family dinners when my dad wasn’t on location. To us, the movie stars who came over for barbeques were just Tom and Russell, like any other people you invite to a family function. We didn’t know any differently.” He smiles broadly, “Man, they spoiled us rotten though, trying to make up for all I had missed out on in my early years.”
He stops talking when the food is served. We both express our gratitude to the waitress and add condiments to our burgers, deep in our own thoughts. I’m surprised when Colton speaks again, continuing to talk about growing up.
“God, I was a handful for them,” he admits. “Always creating a mess of one kind or another for them to have to clean up. Defiant. Rebelling against them—against everything really—every chance I had.”
I take a bite of my hamburger, moaning at how good it is. He flashes a smile at me, “I told you they were the best!”
“Heavenly!” I finish my bite. “Sooo good.” I wipe the corner of my mouth with a napkin and continue my quest for information on Colton. “So, why Donavan? Why not Westin?”
“So why Ace?” he counters, flashing me a combative grin. “Why not stud muffin or lover?”
It takes everything I have not to burst out laughing at those words falling from his lips. Instead, I angle my head, eyes full of humor, as I purse my lips and stare at him. I was curious how long it’d take for him to ask me that particular question. “Stud muffin just sounds all kinds of wrong coming from you,” I finally laugh, setting my elbows on the table and my head in my hands. “Are you evading my question Ace?”
“Nope,” he leans back in his chair, eyes never leaving mine. “I’ll answer your question when you answer mine.”
“That’s how you’re going to play this?” I arch a brow at him, “Show me yours and I’ll show you mine?”
Colton’s eyes light up with challenge and amusement. “Baby, I’ve already seen yours,” he says, flashing me a lightening fast grin before closing the distance and brushing his lips to mine, and then pulling away before I get a chance to really sink into the kiss. My body hums in frustration and arousal at the same time. “But I’d be more than happy to see the whole package again.”
My thoughts cloud and my thigh muscles tense at the thought, sexual tension colliding between the two of us. When I think I can speak without my voice betraying the effect he has on my body, I continue, “What was the question again?” I tease, batting my eyelashes playfully.
“Ace?” he shrugs, darting his tongue out to wet his bottom lip. “Why do you call me that?”
“It’s just something that Haddie and I made up a long time ago when we were in college.”
Colton raises his eyebrows at me, a silent attempt at prompting me further but I just smile shyly at him. “So it stands for something then? And not just pertaining to me in particular?” he asks working his jaw back and forth in thought as he waits for an answer I’m not going to give him. “And you’re not going to tell me what though, are you?”
“Nope,” I grin at him before taking a sip of my drink, watching his brow furrow as the wheels in him mind turn in thought.
“Hmmmm,” he murmurs, his eyes narrowing at me. “Always Charming and Endearing,” he smirks, obviously proud of himself for coming up with what he assumes the acronym stands for.
“Nope,” I repeat myself, a grin tugging at the corners of my mouth.
He smile widens further as he tips his beer at me, “I’ve got it,” he says, scrunching up his nose adorably in thought, “Always Colton Everafter.”
The smirk on his face and the charming look in his eyes has me laughing out loud. I reach out and place my hand over his on the table and give it a squeeze. “Not even close Ace,” I tease. “Now it’s your turn to answer the question.”
“You’re not going to tell me?” he asks incredulously.
“Uh-uh,” I tell him, finding his reaction humorous. “Now quit avoiding the question. Why Donavan and not Westin?”
He stares at me for a moment, weighing his options. “I’ll get the answer out of you one way or another Thomas,” he tells me, his tone hinting with promise of things to come—of tactics of persuasion that triggers that all too familiar ache he causes within me to return with a vengeance.
“I’m sure you will,” I acquiesce is a hushed murmur, knowing he’ll probably get so much more than just that from me.
He stars at me for a moment, a mix of emotions flickering though pools of emerald before he shrugs nonchalantly and looks out to the ocean, effectively stopping any chance I have of reading what is in them. “At first my parents used Donavan as a way to try and protect me as a child. When we traveled or had to use an alias, we would use it. But as I got older,” he takes a sip of his beer, “and as I got into racing, I wanted to make sure that I was good because of me, not my dad’s name. I didn’t want to be seen as some spoiled Hollywood kid who was just using his name and daddy’s money to make it.” He looks up at me, snagging a fry off of my plate despite having a plethora himself. “I wanted to earn it. Really earn it.” He flashes that grin at me again. “Now it doesn’t really matter. I could care less what anybody writes about me. Thinks about me. But back then, I did.”
A silence falls between us. I’m having a hard time reconciling the arrogant, sexy troublemaker the media portrays with the man before me. A man comfortable with himself—and yet a part of me still feels like he is striving to find his place in this world. To prove he is worthy of all of the good and bad he has experienced in his life. I have a feeling that the real Colton is a little bit of both, angel and devil. “So Colton, how’d you find this place?” I pick up my glass by the stem and swirl the wine around absently in the glass before I take a sip.
“I found it on the way home from surfing one day when I was in college,” he muses, wincing at the small shriek from inside the restaurant as a woman recognizes him and calls out his name.
Ignoring the bystanders starting to gather inside to catch a peek at him, I continue seamlessly. “I don’t picture you in college, Ace.”
He finishes the bite of food he’s chewing before answering. “Well, neither did I,” he laughs, taking another swallow of his beer. “I think I broke my parents heart when I dropped out after two years at Pepperdine, sans degree.”
“Why didn’t you finish?” I flinch instinctively when a flash sparks through the dark night from someone’s camera as they try to capture a shot of Colton.
He casually shifts his chair in a move so fluid it’s obviously well practiced. He now has his back more angled to the center of the restaurant so that less of him can be seen. I don’t mind as it moves him closer to me so that now we both face the moonlight ocean off of the deck. He carries on without acknowledging the small crowd starting to murmur excitedly in the room behind us. “I can give you the bullshit answer about being a free spirit, et cetera,” he flutters his hand through the air with indifference. “It just wasn’t my thing,” he shrugs. “Concentrated studies, set formats, deadlines, structure …” he shivers in pseudo-horror at the last word.
I smirk at him and shake my head, leaning back into my chair where Colton’s fingers are now lazily running back and forth between my shoulder blades. “Yeah … I definitely can’t see you twiddling your thumbs in class.”
“God, my parents were pissed!” he exhales loudly at the memory. “They had spent all kinds of money on tutors to try and get me up to speed after they adopted me,” he shakes his head smiling, “and then I went and threw it away by dropping out.”
I bite off a piece of french fry. “How old were you when … I mean how did you meet them?” A shadow passes over his face and I mentally kick myself for asking the question. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
He stares out at the moonlit ocean in thought for a few moments, before answering. “No, there’s not much to tell.” He wipes his hands on the napkin in his lap. “I was—I met my dad outside his trailer on the Universal lot.”
“On the set of Tinder?” I ask referring to the movie that I’d learned about during my Google search of Colton. It knew it was the movie his dad had won an Academy Award for and but not where they’d met each other.
Colton raises his eyebrows, his beer stopping halfway to his lips. “Somebody was doing their homework,” he tells me and I can’t tell if he’s perturbed by the notion or amused.
I offer him a shy smile, embarrassment at getting caught adding a flush to my cheeks. “Somebody once told me that it’s not safe to go out with someone you haven’t researched first,” I offer as an explanation.
“Is that so?” he quips, leaning back in his chair. He crosses his arms across his chest, a beer in one hand, his biceps pressing against the hem of his sleeves.
“Yes,” I toy with him, “but then again, I don’t think it matters with you.”
“Why’s that?” he asks lifting a bottle to the smirk on his lips. My eyes are glued to the sight of them pursed over the bottle and then how his tongue darts out to lick them after his sip. I have to drag my mind out of the gutter from imagining those lips on me. Licking me. Tasting me.
“I don’t think it matters how much I learn about you,” I tell him, leaning into him so that my lips graze against his ear and whisper, “I still think you’re dangerous.” To me, I add silently.
He pulls back, eyes fused to mine as he leans in to brush a gentle kiss on my lips before resting his forehead against mine, “You have no idea,” he murmurs against my mouth. His words send a shockwave of confusion through me. One minute playful, the next minute guarded. To say he’s mercurial is an understatement.
We finish out meal with idle chitchat, being interrupted only once by a fan asking for a picture and an autograph, which Colton gives obligingly. Rachel does a good job keeping the rest of his fans at bay, saying that the patio area is closed for a private party.
I can see why women are so taken with him. Why they try and stake their claim to him as Tawny surely had earlier. He leans back in his chair, stretching his torso up before swallowing the last of his beer. He glances over at me and grins at my slow perusal of his torso, over his biceps, and up to his face. My belly tightens at the sight of him and the memory of his body pressing me into the mattress.
“See something you like?” he asks, purposefully pulling up the hem of his shirt to scratch an imaginary itch on his washboard abs just above the waistline of his jeans. I breathe in deeply, his hand lazily scratching down to where his happy trail disappears beneath his button fly. Damn him!
I pull my eyes back up to his to see amusement laced with desire flashing there. Two can play this game. I think of Haddie and her skewed advice. Embrace your inner slut, I repeat like a mantra. Trying to summon my simmering sexuality so that I might somehow fall somewhere in the realm of appeal that Colton has.
I shift in my chair, folding my leg and placing my foot underneath me. I bend forward onto the table, braced on my elbows so that my cleavage is on display as I lean into him. I watch Colton’s eyes trace over my lips, down the line of my neck and straight to the curve of my breasts. His tongue darts out and wets his lower lip as they part in concentration. I continue forward until my lips are inches from his, “Something I like?” I reiterate breathlessly as I glance down to his lips and then back up to his eyes. “Hmmm,” I whisper as if I’m mulling it over, “I’m still testing the goods to see if they’re up to par.” My lips are a whisper from his and when he purses his to kiss mine, I conveniently shift back in my chair, denying him the contact.
Impatience flashes fleetingly in Colton’s eyes before the corners of his mouth curl up as he regards me, shaking his head. “That’s how you want to play this, Rylee?” His playful question is spoken without a hint of amusement. A hint of warning. The intensity in his eyes has my body reacting: my pulse, my breath, my nerve endings. “You want to play hard to get, sweetheart?” he asks as he removes his wallet out of his back pocket and pulls a generous amount of bills from it, and sets them on the table. He laughs. The low resonating sound reverberates through me as I continue to watch him silently, a coy smile on my face despite realizing that when it comes to Colton, I’m in way over my head if I’m trying to play games. He reaches out and cups the side of my face running the pad of his thumb over my bottom lip. Desire pools in my belly, aching for him to touch more of me.
Colton leans forward with determination in his eyes. He moves so that his mouth is next to my ear. I can feel the warmth of his breath and my skin prickles in anticipation of his touch. “You see, sweetheart, if you want to play hard to get,” he whispers, trailing a finger down my opposing neckline, “you’ve picked the wrong guy to play games with.” He closes his lips on my earlobe and sucks on it, the feeling mainlining right down to my sex. I arch my body in response; aware that at our backs is a restaurant full of people. “Didn’t your momma ever tell you that playing hard to get is a surefire way to get the man you want?” The taunting edge to his voice is seductive, mesmerizing, and sexy as hell. He continues to trace his finger down my shoulder and arm until it reaches my hip. He smoothes the palm of his hand over my thigh and slides it slowly forward until it reaches the apex. His thumb glances over my cleft, conveniently pressing the hard seem of denim against my throbbing *. I suck in a breath at the sensation. “You wanna play hardball, sweetheart? Welcome to the big leagues.”
I exhale, his words foreplay to my already thrumming libido. He leans back and brushes a teasing kiss on my lips. He pulls back, triumph on his face. He quirks his eyebrows at me, glancing down to my chest and then back up. “Besides, Rylee, your nipples are betraying your ploy to play hard to get.”
What? I glance down to note that the tightened buds of my nipples are pressing tautly against my sweater in an all-out announcement to Colton of my arousal for him. Damn it!
Colton stands abruptly, smiling brazenly at me before reaching out his hand to me. “Come,” he tells me and all I can think is that I hope to very soon, my body yearning with the desire for him to touch me again.
We exit the restaurant from a rear door that Rachel directs us toward to avoid the paparazzi waiting at the front. We make it to his car unscathed, and Colton quickly maneuvers the car onto Highway One. We drive in silence, the air in the car crackling with the unrequited sexual tension between us.
I’m unsure where we’re going but I’m smart enough to know that both of us desire the same thing at this moment. No words are needed. I can see it in the way Colton grips the steering wheel. In the invisible waves of anticipation and need rolling off of him.
We eventually exit the highway on the outskirts of Pacific Palisades and turn down a street a couple of blocks from the beach. Colton parks in front of a Tuscan-style townhouse and exits the car without saying a word. His home perhaps? By the glow of a streetlight I can see a stucco façade with wrought iron accents and a courtyard enclosed with a rustic gate. It’s comfortably charming and not at all what I think I expected of where Colton lives. I guess I figured him for modern architecture, clean lines, and monochromatic. He opens the door behind me and gathers our stuff before opening my door to help me out of the car. He grabs my hand to lead me up the cobblestone walkway without speaking or making eye contact.
I wonder if maybe I’m reading into things because suddenly I feel uncomfortable. Why the sudden change in behavior? Did I miss something? Nerves hit me as I realize that when I walk through this door my previous supposition of what I thought was going to happen has now changed. Shifted for some unknown reason. I stop behind Colton in the cozy courtyard where a small swinging bench seat sits amongst hydrangea and plumeria plants that are perfectly placed in an array of color.
I hear keys clinking, him swearing at trying the wrong one, and then Colton is pushing open the distressed front door before placing his hand on the small of my back and ushering me in. He enters the alarm code but it continues beeping as he tries the code two more times before the beeping disquiets.
The house is painted in soft browns and tans with a few bold splashes of color in pillows and vases. There are little touches here and there, feminine touches, that make me think maybe he had a female interior designer at some point. Or a female living with him. I ponder the thought as I walk hesitantly into the main room, my hands clasped in front of me, unsure what I should do or say. For the first time tonight, I feel awkward in Colton’s company. I hear the door close and then I hear Colton’s boots on the hardwood floor as he walks behind me and over to the kitchen area.
All the playfulness of earlier is gone, hidden seamlessly away beneath his masked façade. I watch him open a cupboard looking for something and then mutter a curse when it’s not there, before opening two more and then he exhales, “What the f*ck?”
My sentiments exactly. I can see the tension in his shoulders. In the lines around his mouth. Uncertainty and anxiety fill me as I take a step toward him. “You have a beautiful home.” The words squeak out, betraying my uneasiness.
Colton’s eyes flash up at my words, meeting mine, gauging me. “That depends,” he mutters as I look on perplexed. He shuts the cupboard door and rounds the counter toward me. His eyes are expressionless. Guarded. “I drove here without thinking …” he shakes his head apologetically. “It was stupid of me to bring you here …”
His words, the sudden rejection, sting like a slap to my face. I look down at the floor in humiliation and wrap my arms around my torso, a useless form of protection against him. I can feel the threatened tears burn in the back of my throat. This is the second time he has lead me down this road and then detached without so much as an inkling why. One minute he makes me feel like I am the only person in the room he has eyes for and then the next it’s like he can’t stand the sight of me. I shift my feet, telling myself I will not cry in front of him. Will not give him the satisfaction of knowing the effect he already has on me despite the short time we’ve known each other.
Sighing deeply, I prepare to make my obvious exit now that I’m suddenly unwelcome here. When I know that I can face him, I look up again to see Colton in front of me tugging his shirt over his head. When the collar clears his face, he throws the shirt onto the couch without looking. His eyes are completely focused on me, his jaw set, hands restless as if he’s itching to touch me. The intensity in his stare steals my breath.
Now it’s my turn to say it. What the f*ck? I’m thoroughly confused. Dr. Jekyll has turned into Mr. Hyde and is making a repeat performance. One minute I think he’s apologizing for bringing me home with him because he wants to back out, and the next he’s deliciously naked from the waist up, staring at me as if he’s going to devour me without stopping for so much as a breath.
I break from his stare and run my eyes down the length of his body. His torso flexes under my lazy perusal. His jeans hang low on his hips, the V-cut of his muscles dipping beneath the denim. I find myself thinking how I want to taste him there. How I want to run my lips along that ridge of muscles to where it trails down to the end of the inverted triangle. How I want to take him in my mouth, tempt him with my tongue, and make him lose all control. The ache in my body surges, pulses, and itches to be sated.
“Do you have any clue what you do to me?” he asks softly. I lift my eyes from his body to meet his. The unspoken emotions in his eyes shock me, envelop me, and scare me all at once. “You don’t, do you?”
I shake my head no, worrying my bottom lip between my teeth. I only know what he does to me. The power he has over me to make me feel again. To make me forget. How his touch alone can quiet the doubts in my head.
He takes a slow step toward me. “You stand there with that innocent look in those stunning violet eyes. With your hair cascading around you like a fairy. And those lips … hmmm, God … those sexy lips that get swollen and so soft after being kissed. I dream about those lips.” His words wrap around me, a slow seduction to my ears. He steps closer, reaching out to take my hand in his. “Your face shows vulnerability, Rylee, but your body? Your curves? They scream sin. They make my mouth water to taste you again. They evoke thoughts in me I’m sure would make you blush.” He wets his lower lips with his tongue. “The things I want to do to that body of yours, sweetheart.”
I suck in a breath, the stark honesty behind his words stripping me bare. Entrancing me. Emboldening me. Creating another crack in the armor protecting my heart.
“You make me need, Rylee,” he whispers hoarsely as he takes one more step closer to me. Goose bumps run up my arms when he reaches out his other hand and runs it up the flank of my torso, stopping casually so that his thumb can brush over the underside of my breast. I respond instantly to his touch, my nipple pebbling in arousal. He leans into me, his face so close to mine that I can see the dark flecks of green floating in the translucence of his irises. So that I can see the unspoken sentiments between his words. “And I don’t ever need anything from anybody.”
His admission is like a match to my gasoline. His incendiary words stroke that small part of me deep down that hopes there might be more here. I look into his eyes, recalling random comments from our time together, and dare to think of possibilities. He has softened me, worn me down, and built me up all in a single space of time.
“Colton?” My voice waivers, riddled with emotion. “I … Colton—”
I never finish my thought because he yanks me into him and crushes his mouth to mine. All the idle flirtation from the night explodes between us in a torrent of seeking lips and groping hands. The urgency is palpable. Our need to feel our skin on each other’s is paramount. Colton releases his grip on my hips and grabs the hem of my sweater, pulling it over my head, and only breaking our kiss when it passes over my head. He tosses it on the floor as his mouth crashes back to mine.
Hunger. That is what his kiss tastes like. What his hands feel like on my body. What I feel inside. I want every inch of him and then some. I want to lose myself in him, get lost in the sensation, and become overwhelmed by his touch alone.
“Christ, Rylee …” he pulls back from me, our chests heaving against each other’s, our hearts both beating a frantic rhythm. He cups my face in his hands, the look in his darkened eyes tells me that he understands. He feels the hunger too. “You’ve stripped me, Rylee. You’ve teased me all night. I. Just. Don’t. Have. Any. Control. Left.” He squeezes his eyes shut as I feel his cock pulse against my belly. “I don’t think I can be gentle, Rylee—”
“Then don’t be.” I whisper at him, my own words surprising me. I don’t want to be treated like glass anymore. Like Max did. I want to feel that violent passion of his wash over me as he takes me with reckless abandon. I want him to dominate me so that I surge up and crash down without a thought otherwise.
His eyes widen at my words, a guttural sigh coming from his throat, and then he is against me, sinking us into a devouring kiss. Desperation pulses between us. He pushes me backward, our legs shuffling into each other, our hands grabbing at every inch of exposed skin that we can find. My backside bumps up against the hard edge of the granite on the kitchen island as Colton’s hands fumble with my jeans. He shoves them down over my hips and then easily lifts me onto the countertop.
The chill of the granite slab bites into the bare skin of my heated core, adding a new dimension to the heightened sensation in my sex. Colton tugs my jeans and panties down off of my feet, and then spreads my knees apart. He steps into me, pressing between my legs as he brings his mouth back to mine. His hands run down my chest, cupping my breasts through the thin lace of my bra before continuing their descent to the apex of my thighs. He runs a finger over my cleft before slipping a finger between its seam to find me wet and wanting.
“Oh, Rylee …” he hisses as he slides a finger up and back, coating me with my own dampness and pleasuring me at the same time. His other hand is fumbling with the button fly of his jeans. He looks down to watch his teasing torment of my sex and then brings his lips to mine. “I want to feel you on me, Rylee. Nothing between us,” his mouth murmurs against mine. His words deepening the ache I’m drowning in. “Can you trust me when I tell you that I’ve been tested? That I always use protection. Have never had sex without it. That I’m clean.” He kisses me again, his tongue slips between my lips, licking, tasting, tempting. “God, I just want to feel you.”
“Yes. Me too. Please—” I gasp out as he slips a finger into me, my mind unable to form a coherent sentence. “On the pill…yes…I trust you,” I pant as his finger circles inside of me.
“Lay back,” he commands as he frees himself from his jeans and grabs my legs just under my bent knees, raising them up.
The cold stone on my back has me arching up the same minute he parts and thrusts into me. I cry out at the overwhelming sensation of his invasion and the sudden fullness of him. He stills, buried completely within me, allowing the pleasure/pain I feel to subside as my body stretches and adjusts to him.
“Oh f*ck, Rylee,” he rasps as I can see his control slipping. His eyes blaze over my body and up to my eyes. I can see the muscles of his torso strain, his jaw clench, and his eyes glaze over wild with need as he tries to rein it back in. “You feel so damn good wrapped around me. Like velvet gripping me.”
I gasp as he pulses inside of me, his control depleted. “Yes, Colton, yes,” I cry out as he pulls out and slams back into me. Sensation ripples through me as he grabs my hips and pulls me toward him so that my bottom rests off of the edge of the counter. He sets a punishing pace as he thrusts back into me, over and over. Not breaking rhythm, he leans his torso over me and links his hands with mine, pulling them up over my head. He holds them there with one hand while his other hand slides back down to squeeze my breast. His fingers roll my nipple between them, and he swallows the moan he coaxes from me when he captures my mouth again.
The house is filled with nothing but the sounds of our slick flesh hitting each other, our gasping breaths, impassioned pleas between each other, and cries of ecstasy. I can feel the surge building inside of me, my channel tightening around him as he pistons in and out, each iron-hard inch of him hitting every one of my nerves. But I can also see a man on the verge of losing control and finding release as Colton lets go of my hands and braces himself on his elbows, hovering over me. He thrusts one last time before he yells out my name and then suddenly he pulls out of me.
My body clenches at the unexpected emptiness I feel as Colton buries his head against my chest as his body convulses with his climax. In his hand? I’m confused. He groans from the violent pleasure that is shooting through his body. I can feel the tension ease out of his body and the warm caress of his lips on my bare flesh. His touch makes my body squirm as my nerves tingle with the loss of my anticipated orgasm.
I can feel his smile press against abdomen and as if he can hear me thinking, he murmurs, “I want you to come for me, Rylee. I want to see how sweet you taste.”
Oh! My mind processes the reason for his sudden withdrawal. His mouth. On me. “Colton —”
“Shh-shh-shh,” he whispers in my ear, his lips brushing the sensitive spot just below my lobe. I arch my head back, scraping my nails across his back. He hisses at my touch as he lays a row of kisses down my neck and around to the other ear. “You’ve teased me all night, Rylee,” his voice rasps, hoarse with desire. “Now it’s my turn to return the favor.”
A chill runs down my back and it his has nothing to do with the cold granite that I’m laid out on. Colton’s body flanks me but I feel his hand stretch out and hear the crinkling of a bag beyond my head. I turn my head up to see what he is doing and Colton’s other hand holds steadfast to my jaw. “Uh-uh-uh,” he warns. “Keep your head still. I wouldn’t want you ruining the surprise.”
“Colton?” I furrow my brow, curious at what he’s talking about despite my body being on high alert with his words. I’m not exactly good with surprises on a normal day and especially not when I’m lying here naked, exposed and vulnerable.
He chuckles, deep and sexy. “That’s going to be hard for you, isn’t it?” When I don’t respond, he lifts up on an elbow and regards me momentarily. “I think it’s time you stopped thinking, Rylee. Stopped trying to figure what’s ten steps ahead when we’re only just getting started.” He presses a chaste kiss to my lips. “Stay here, Rylee. Don’t move. Understood?”
The authoritative tone of his voice turns me on. His reasoning behind it unnerves me. His weight lifts off of me, and I can hear him pad out of the kitchen. A drawer opens and closes. Apprehension fills me. For the carefree girl inside of me dying to get out, the anticipation is a thrilling feeling. For the control freak in me, the disquiet is unwelcome. Do I trust him? Yes. Without a doubt. Why? I’m unsure, and that alone scares the crap out of me.
I hear him return to the kitchen, and he leans over me, a lascivious smile curling the corners of his lips. “Do you know how gorgeous you look right now?” I don’t respond but rather bite my lip as I feel his fingers suddenly at my cleft. They part me and slowly trail up and down. Tiny whispers that leave me arching up to meet his touch. He immediately pulls his hand away.
“Colton—”
“Uh-uh, Rylee,” he teases. “I’m in control. Right here and right now.” I flutter my eyelids as I look up to meet his eyes. My heart hammers in my chest at his words. My nipples tighten at the thought. Fear tingeing the edges of my Colton-induced haze. Handing my control over to someone else is a disconcerting notion. Submitting without a thought even more so. “Stop thinking, baby,” he whispers as he pulls my hands above my head. “I want to take all control from you so that the only thing your mind can do is feel. You won’t be able to think five steps in front when you’re not the one making the moves now, will you?”
Oh f*ck! What is he— My thoughts are obliterated when he crushes his mouth to mine. I wiggle to move my hands and he laughs inside our kiss. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs, “you’re going to learn that sometimes, not being in control is extremely liberating.” He loops something around my wrists and binds them around the faucet at the other end of the island. As I register what he’s done, as I start to realize how practiced that move was and how many times before he’s done it, my world goes black as he slips a blindfold over my eyes. I gasp in surprise. In excitement. “Time to take your own advice, Rylee.”
What? When did I ever say tie me up and take advantage of me?
“You told me to close my eyes on the Tilt-A-Whirl. That it heightens the sensation.” The pad of his thumb traces the outline of my lips.
Oh crap! Me and my big mouth.
Something soft but slightly coarse runs over my stomach and up my torso to circle around my nipples. I suck in a breath as whatever he has strokes me lightly down the tops of my legs and then up one inner thigh and down the other. My sex clenches at the whisper of its touch, desperate for something to help ease the blistering ache. The only thing that touches my body is this object. The only sound I hear is my own breath. The anticipation that builds within me is profound as he continues his slow, tantalizing torture of my senses.
I’ve never needed a man’s touch in my life as much as I need his at this moment. My next thought is only where next. There is nothing to do but focus on the sensations. My nerves are on edge, awaiting this contact with my body. He has succeeded in making me forget what step ten will be, but rather revel in the step I’m in. I’ve lost all sense of my surroundings. Nothing else exists in this moment except for him, my desperation for his touch, and my body’s craving for release.
Colton is absolutely silent except for the barely audible rush of air I hear escape his mouth in response to my body’s reaction to the delicious torment of his sensual sensory deprivation.
Colton stops the feeling at my right breast and before I can place the sensation, he touches me for the first time by capturing my nipple in his mouth. I buck my hips wildly at the warmth of his mouth on my sensitive bud. “Colton!” I cry out, tugging my hands against my bindings, wanting to touch him. Wanting to thread my fingers in his hair and hold him against me.
He tugs on my nipple with a gentle pull of his teeth and then the warmth of his mouth is gone only to only be felt again on its mate. I feel the strange object circling around my breast before his mouth closes over it again. He groans softly. “Tasty,” he murmurs against me, and its then that I realize that I remember his comment from earlier. He’s teasing me with the cotton candy.
I start to speak and am stopped as his mouth closes over mine again, the sweet sugary taste on his tongue. It’s a soft, tender kiss. A gradual easing of lips and tongue that lacks urgency yet screams of simplistic desperation. His lips travel down my exposed neck and back up, nipping at my earlobe. A slow and welcome torture that is making me want like never before.
I can feel the cotton candy slowly move down my torso to my sex. The confection leaves my skin, and I feel his fingers roaming over me, caressing my folds, and pandering to my body’s addiction to his touch. I gasp in our kiss and Colton absorbs my voracious moan of desire. He skillfully teases me with his dexterous fingertips, and I push my pelvis against his hand, wanting more. Needing the friction to inch me closer to the edge.
I hiss out a breath as he parts me, very slowly slipping a finger into my core. Heat flashes through me as I feel my muscles tighten around him, clenching as fire burns through my veins. He cups me, leisurely rocking his hand as his thumb finds and stimulates my nub of nerve endings. He withdraws his finger and then slowly tucks two back into me. He curves them, rubbing against the sensitive spot deep inside, his fingers and tongue mimicking each other as he intensifies his pace. I fist my hands inside my bindings, my nails digging into my palms, as he quickens the rhythm.
I am so gloriously close to crashing into the oblivion and then all of the sudden I’m not. Colton has withdrawn all touch from me. I cry out his name in frustration. In desperation. I hear a low, rumbling chuckle from him. “Not yet, sweetheart. Turnabout’s fair play,” he croons in my ear. “I want to drive you crazy like you do me.” I feel a softness tickle my lips and I open them, accepting the sweet bite of cotton candy on my tongue. “I want to drive you to the crest, Rylee. Take you to the brink so that your only thought is of me. So that you cry out my name when your body detonates into a million splinters of pleasure.”
His hypnotic words entrance me. Seduce me. And without a hint of what’s next, Colton’s mouth closes over my * as he slips two fingers back into me. I call out inarticulately at the exquisite pleasure that pulses through me. He sucks, gently teasing me until my legs tighten in impatience. His fingers slowly press in and out of my channel, rubbing, teasing, and urging me higher. I lift my hips to him, reeling from his languorous manipulation, but still wanting more. I pant in need then moan in ecstasy as I feel the quickening start to build again beneath his skilled touch. I am so close. Within a few grazes of my climax. Abruptly, Colton withdraws his mouth. His fingers remain, yet stay motionless deep within me.
Damn him! My chest heaves for air as my body stays wound tight, waiting for the slightest movement to set me off. “Greedy little girl,” he admonishes, his breath whispering over my slick flesh. “I may have to rectify this,” and before he can finish his last word, he withdraws his fingers and slams into me, burying himself to the hilt in my heated depth.
“Oh God, Colton!” The sudden fullness, the unexpected stroke against my patch of interior nerves, makes me writhe against the granite slab.
Colton eases out of me slowly before plunging back in. He continues this slow withdrawal followed by his greedy drive back in, setting a delirious pace that pushes me to the edge. “Come for me, Rylee!” he growls at me.
His words are my undoing. My breath quickens. My pulse races. My muscles tense. My hips grind into him, deepening the burning ache until I am pushed over the edge. I explode like a firecracker. Detonations of little lights explode behind my closed eyelids and a white-hot heat flits though my body. Sensation shatters around me as the first wave of my orgasm explodes. I yell out, all thoughts incoherent as I pulse around him. He stills, allowing me to absorb the intensity of my climax. I release the breath I’ve been holding, my taut muscles, slowly relaxing before another wave shudders through me.
This wave is more than he can bear. My muscles milk his orgasm out of him. He rears back and pushes into me a few more times, my body gripping his. He yells out my name, his own climax tearing through him, and his hips jerking against me until I can feel his warmth erupt within me.
He collapses on top of me, pressing his face into the curve of my neck. Our chests heave in uneven unison, and I can feel his lips form a smile. My breath shudders as I exhale, the frantic tattoo of my heart beginning to ebb. That was … Wow! I go to remove the blindfold and remember that my hands are still tied.
I wiggle underneath him. He laughs into my neck, the vibration of it seeping into my chest. “I take it you want your hands back?”
“Hmm-hmmm.” I don’t think I can speak. My body is still processing what has just happened.
He lifts up and I can feel his hands tugging at my bindings. When one hand is free, I reach down and pull off my blindfold, my eyes easily adjusting to the dimmed light in the kitchen. Colton’s face is above me, etched in concentration as he works the other knot free. I see the lines ease as my other hand releases from what appears to be a velvet type of braided rope.
I reach up to run my hands over his cheeks as he looks down at me, an errant lock of hair falling over his forehead. A shy smile lights up his face. I lift my head and brush a soft kiss against his lips, the only way I can express how I feel, how much what just happened meant to me without having him run for the hills.
I lay my head back down yet Colton’s eyes remain closed, the corners of his mouth still soft in a smile. He shakes his head subtly before opening his eyes and easing his weight off of me. “C’mon,” he says, pulling me up by my arms, “This can’t be all too comfortable for you.”
I hop off of the counter, suddenly modest in my nudity. I look around for my clothes as Colton pulls his jeans up over his naked hips. I put my arms through my bra straps as I watch him button up the first four buttons, leaving the top one undone. I have to stifle a sigh as I stare at him naked from the waist up in pure appreciation of his toned physique.
I hook my bra together and drag my shirt over my head, fearing the disheveled state of my hair. I start to run my fingers through it but stop when I catch more than just a glimpse of the tattoos that line the side of his torso. I’ve never really been able to see the whole of them, so I take a moment to look. Four symbols align vertically down his side, all are similar in their style but different in their image. The first three images are solid in color, the ink filled in completely while the fourth is just the outline. I angle my head, trying to figure out what exactly they are of when Colton looks up and notes my inquisitive stare.