I’ll let him do whatever he wants.
Because he’s right.
No one owns me.
Except him.
The kiss doesn’t end. It splits, multiplies, spreads like heat through my jaw and the down column of my neck. Colton bites my lower lip, sucks it until the ache borders on pain, then licks the sting away. I shudder. His tongue is rough, not gentle, scraping the roof of my mouth as if he wants to memorize the shape of me from the inside out.
He breaks away and the night rushes in, cold enough to burn. I gasp. His mouth is at my throat now, licking, biting, open-mouthed and hungry. I think for a second he’s going to leave a mark and I almost ask him to.
He says, “You’re still shaking,” and I can’t tell if it’s a complaint or a compliment.
I try to laugh but it comes out as a whimper. My hands are in his hair, pulling, desperate for something to anchor me.
He grabs my wrists and pins them to my sides, his grip so tight I lose feeling in my fingers.
“Is this what you want?” he asks, but doesn’t wait for an answer.
He kisses me again, harder, and I want him to have everything.
I hear the party behind us, the scrape of heels, the violin. I know if anyone steps outside we’re done. I don’t care. I want them to see. I want them to know he’s mine, that I’m his, that no amount of humiliation or pageantry can destroy me.
My only destruction will be because of my own doing. Nothing more. Nothing less.
He lets go of my wrists and his hands are everywhere. One in my hair, yanking my head back. One on my ass, lifting me, crushing me against his chest.
My feet leave the ground. He sets me down on the railing ledge, and I’m weightless, except for the pressure of his body and the edge of the rail digging into my thighs.
He hikes my dress up, smooths it over my waist, and slides his hand under my underwear. His fingers find me instantly, two knuckles deep before I can even gasp. I’m wet, embarrassingly so, and he grins when he feels it.
“Fuck,” he mutters, “You’re so ready.”
I flush, but I don’t look away. I want him to see me.
He strokes, slow at first, then faster. He’s not gentle. He’s not even pretending to be. His fingers are thick, callused, pushing against that spot that’ll make me see stars.
My head drops to my chest, hair falling in my eyes. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I can only feel.
He curls his fingers and I moan, loud enough that I’m sure someone inside heard.
He doesn’t stop.
His thumb presses against my clit, circles it once, twice, then curls his fingers again and again. I arch off the rail, my legs shaking.
He leans in, mouth at my ear. “Look at you, pretty girl. You’re going to come just like this, out here where anyone could see.”
I want to say no, to fight, but my body has other plans.
He keeps working me, relentless. Every stroke is a command.
My thighs are trembling, my knees buckling. I grip the rail so tight my knuckles go white.
“Colton,” I manage, and he just laughs and murmurs what a good girl I am.
He pulls his fingers out, slick and shining, and licks them clean.
“Goddamn,” he says, “you taste perfect.”
