“I’ll make sure you get there safely,” he responded.
We ditched our cans on top of a coin-operated dryer. I grabbed Colt’s hand and led him to the first floor, where we found a line for the bathroom. He squeezed my hand and flicked his chin upward, implying we should try to find a bathroom on the second floor.
I followed as he pulled me along, looking for the stairs. When we found them, we took them two at a time, giggling as we went. He tried doorknob after doorknob, once grimacing because he obviously walked in on something he wasn’t supposed to see.
At last, he found a bathroom, held the door open, and ushered me inside. I thought he’d shove me to my knees, and frankly, was excited at the prospect, but once the door was shut and locked, he slowed down. He stepped me backward until I was against the door. Rather than being rough, one hand brushed my hair back from my face, then raked into the hair at the nape of my neck. The kisses in the basement had been lust-filled, two bodies driven by need. But the tone had shifted. The way Colt touched me now was sacred, hallowed.
This was not the mood of the book. This was me and Colt and the bond we shared, the seasons we’d endured. His fingers tightened, pulling my hair slightly and eliciting a moan from me. His lips left mine and his face suspended over me, blue eyes going a slate gray. “I don’t want this to end,” he rumbled.
I didn’t know what “this” was. This encounter? Whatever we had going on? Him and me as a package?
No matter which it was, I agreed.
“I don’t either.”
His forehead rested against mine and he closed his eyes, sucking a breath into his nose. He lifted his face, kissing between my eyes, the tip of my nose, and finally, the corner of my lips.
He said nothing, but if the action had subtitles, the words would probably translate to something big. Something that made my stomach go liquid and stirred up words that scared me. Because in a lot of ways, the big feelings we admitted in a hotel room three years ago were still alive.
But it wasn’t going to do us any favors to go talking about things that were complicated. So I got us back on track. “Jordan,” I said, calling him the book’s male main character’s name.
Colt’s eyes cleared and returned to their usual sparkly state, a mask slipping back into place. That’s when I realized it: the Colton I’d just had was the real one. The vulnerable one. The one who had desires and a bone-deep sadness that so often went unrecognized. The one who hurt when the mask stayed strong. The one I saw in the hotel room at Guy and Kitty’s wedding.
I immediately regretted shoving that version of him away. Even in his yearning and sadness, he was beautiful. Breathtaking.
But he’d already assumed his “regular” way of being, the one who pleased people, pleasedme, perhaps because I was the only one who could see his darkness.
Why had I been so stupid to hide my darkness from him? If anyone could have taken it, it was him.
I zoned back into what he did to me, scraping his teeth over my bottom lip, tugging it until it was plump and swollen. The pain brought me fully into the present and made me want to retaliate.
Just like the characters in our college romance.
I grasped his shoulders until his collarbones flexed against my palms. Then I nipped the skin of his neck, dancing around the spot where I knew he was ticklish. He pulled my hand from his shoulder and placed it over his growing erection in his jeans. I bit my lip, watching his eyes glaze as my palm glided up and down his length.
Colt grabbed the hems of my sweatshirt and shirt in one move, whipping them over my head to reveal the sheer bra underneath.
“Holy hell,” he groaned. He lowered his head to bite my nipple through the thin lace and I cried out.
“On your knees,” he said with a smirk. “Show me you want it.”
Before I dropped to the floor, I flipped his ballcap backward. “For authenticity,” I said.
Colt bit his lip and gave me a gentle shove to the floor. I held his hips in my hands and suddenly felt on the spot. When we did the closet scene, we were in the dark, and it offered some protection from having to express my desires so plainly. Here, Colton was watching me deliver the lines. Like he could see it, he traced his thumb over my lips and nodded with kind eyes. I cleared my throat. “I-I . . . want to watch you take it out.”
“Been teasing me all fucking day, showing up at the librarywith that tiny skirt on.” We were back in the safety of the book. I startled when his belt buckle clanked, a sound I realized was equal parts fear-inducing and arousing. I begged my traumatized brain for mercy.Not here. Not now. You want this. Dreamed of doing this with him. Stay in the moment.
I closed my eyes to reset. Before I opened them, Colt’s fingers drifted down my cheek. “Okay? Want to stop?”
I opened my eyes to find him, concerned, watching me intently. He hadn’t taken himself out, his other hand on his cock through his underwear. “I’m good.”
He nodded. “Just say the word and we stop. Or squeeze my leg if your mouth’s full.”
I looked him over and considered that. But I wanted this. I wanted to make him feel good. Giving something to him, such a grateful recipient, was genuinely a pleasure. I took a breath, licked my lips, and got back into character.
“I didn’t wear the skirt for you,” I taunted. “It was hot outside.”
“Liar,” he barked. “Open. Stick out your tongue.”
