He reached out and hauled her against him, muffling her startled yelp with a hard, cruel kiss. Against her mouth, he rasped, “No, I just need to go ahead and just take whatever in the fuck you’re giving me.”
His hand fisted in her long skirt, jerked it up until he could palm the naked flesh of her ass. His thigh forced its way between hers and despite herself, despite her growing outrage, her body reacted. Heat boiled through her as he rubbed his jeans-clad leg against the mound of her sex.
If he hadn’t said anything—but he did. And probably it was a good thing. His voice was a hard slap, jerking her back to reality, even as he reached between her thighs and cupped her, pushing two fingers into her wet *. “You really do commit yourself, don’t you? You don’t just hook up with me, you get wet when I touch you. You come and scream and beg for more. Way to get into it, sugar.”
Recoiling, she tried to pull away from him. He spun them around, trapping her up against his desk. The wood felt cold under her bottom as he lifted her up onto it and stepped between her thighs. Bree shoved her hands against his chest. “Let me go, Colby.”
“Why? Isn’t this what you’re supposed to be doing? Making me feel better? Comforting me? Taking care of me? Whatever in the fuck it was you agreed to?” he snarled, lifting his head just enough to glare down at her.
But when he would have crushed his mouth back to hers, she averted her head. He fisted a hand in the short strands of her hair, forced her mouth back to his. The taste of him, the feel of his body moving against hers—it was almost enough to drown out the voice screeching in the back of her head. Almost. He reached between them, the backs of his fingers brushing against her * as he unbuttoned his jeans and dragged the zipper down.
The rasping sound of it was unbelievably harsh—too harsh, too loud. Time slowed to a crawl, each second dragging out and lasting what seemed like forever. The temperature in the room dropped and even with the furnace-like heat his body threw off, Bree was freezing. Something whispered in her ear.
A voice. But it was indistinct, muffled—more like listening to somebody speaking in another room. It was surreal, surreal enough to drag her more completely back to herself and she jerked away as Colby shifted, pushing her thighs wider.
No.
She swallowed, reached up, unsure whether she was going to shove him away and pull him close. But he already owned so much of her. He had her heart, though she knew she couldn’t ever tell him, not after this. He had her soul. But he’d never believe her.
She’d be damned if she let him claim her self-respect too.
Reaching deep, she found the strength of will to push against his chest as he pressed the head of his cock to the entrance of her body. He slid inside—just the first few inches—and as she locked her arms and shoved, he went still. His eyes glittered at her from under his lashes and somehow, behind the fury, she saw the pain. But she couldn’t give in. If this happened—fuck, she was already destroyed—but if this happened, it was going to destroy him. She could forgive him. He’d never hurt her physically and she loved him enough to let him take whatever he needed from her and she’d give it freely.
But when his fury cooled, even if he still thought she was just acting out Alyssa’s wishes, he’d look back at what had happened and he’d never forgive himself.
“Don’t do this, Colby.”
He reached up, caught one hand, dragged her wrist behind her back and stepped closer, forcing another inch of his rigid penis inside her vagina. Bree lowered her head and closed her eyes as he caught the other wrist. Before he could, she drew her hand down, stiffened it and struck, driving into the vulnerable flesh of his neck. He stumbled back, his face going red as he choked for air. Bree slid off the desk, keeping a wide berth as she circled him.
“Goodbye, Colby.”
On legs that shook, she walked away from him. With hands that shook, she just barely managed to open the door to the house, the car. Climbing inside, she sat there, trembling all over. Tears burned her eyes, blinded her. Harsh sobs escaped her and the rush of blood pounding in her ears left her deaf to anything and everything else.
What had just happened?
What had just happened?
Maybe it was the temporary lack of oxygen flowing to his brain, he didn’t know. But he sat there on the floor, confused and sick inside. He rubbed his throat, swallowed against the pain there and sat on the floor with his back to his desk, mired in a pit of self-disgust.
What the hell had he almost done?
How could he have done that? Thought it? Anger, hurt, betrayal, none of it mattered, none of it was any excuse. Regardless of what had set him off, he’d just tried to force himself on Bree—a woman he’d fallen in love with.
He’d come this close to raping her—this close to crossing a line he hadn’t thought he was capable of crossing. That he wouldn’t have hurt her didn’t matter because she’d told him to stop.