“Oh, yeah?” He smirks. “Well, once everyone’s gone tomorrow… maybe I’ll give you a private show.”
“If I’m good?” I tease.
“Exactly.” He rubs his nose against mine.
I sigh. “Do we need to go back downstairs? Even though I really don’t think I can look Anna in the eye right now.”
Colt shakes his head. “No way. I’m not done with you yet, Miss Norman.”
Chapter Twenty
DEE
The Next Morning
My head is throbbing. My tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth, and my lips feel like sandpaper as I try to swallow. I feel god-awful, but I guess that’s what copious amounts of tequila, frozen cocktails, and lap dances will do to a girl.
Colt is snoring softly in my ear, completely wrapped around me from behind, spooning me like I might float away. His arm is draped around my waist, his leg slung over mine, and his morning breath is, well, very present.
We spent most of the early hours making love, again and again, while the rest of our house partied on. I fell asleep before the music even stopped, so who knows how long everyone stayed up. I feel bad for not being the best host. Technically, it was our bachelor and bachelorette party. But the second Colt flashed me a glimpse of his dominant side again, I was done for.
Put a fork in me.
He makes me weak.
It’s not just lust, it’s chemical. Molecular. Cosmic, even. Every cell in my body is pulled toward him like a magnetic force I can’t, and don’t want to, resist. Being with Colt isn’t just a want, it’s a need. A biological certainty.
He shifts slightly behind me, his breath hitching in that half-snore, half-snort way that’s somehow adorable. His hand glides up from my waist to my breast and settles there like it belongs.
I smile.
Even in his sleep, his hand finds its favorite place.
I glance over at the clock—it’s just turned eight. The world is spinning, and I’m not brave enough to try moving just yet, soI place my hand over his and close my eyes again, praying for stillness.
Bang.
My eyes fly open. Something crashes downstairs, followed by a round of giggling and frantic shushing. Once my heart rate drops below defibrillation levels, I smirk. Whoever’s awake down there is clearly still drunk.
When I glance back at the clock again, it’s now eleven. Colt’s hand is still on my boob, and I giggle, interlocking my fingers with his.
He stirs, groaning. “Ugh… my head…” His hand flies to his forehead as he squints one eye open. “Morning, baby,” he croaks, pressing a kiss to my neck.
I roll over, biting back another giggle when I see how pale he is. Maybe even a touch of green. “Morning.”
He blinks. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been hit by a work van and impaled by metal tubing,” I mutter with a dry laugh, then instantly regret it.
Colt’s eyes go wide, and his hand snaps to my stomach in complete panic mode. “What’s wrong? Are you okay? Is it hurting?”
Fucking shit.
“I’m fine! God, I’m sorry. That was meant to be a joke. Obviously a bad one. I just meant I feel like hell, hangover-wise. My stomach’s fine, just a little seedy.”
He exhales, leaning into my touch, but his brows pull together in that way that tells me I’ve screwed up. “Dee, why would you say that? It’s not even funny.”
I bite my bottom lip. “I know. I wasn’t thinking. I guess I’m at a place now where I can talk about it, maybe not laugh, but, also not let it break me. I didn’t realize how raw it still was for you.”
