I moan softly, press my legs together, ignoring the ache there, the way moisture is gathering.
But not ignoring that touching him is turning me on, that there’s no fear, that there’s only…
Colt and me.
Tonight. Tomorrow. For?—
I stop the word from sliding through my mind. Too soon. Too much knowledge in the world and all the ways life can go wrong.
Love can go wrong.
My fingers tighten as I slam the lid on that too.
“Kylie!” he groans, hips jerking again.
And then I’m not thinking about words I’m feeling but shouldn’t think, words that are terrifying and wonderful…
I’m thinking about Colt and how he reacts to my touch.
“Like this?” I ask, tightening again as I pump.
“Harder.” His hand covers mine, squeezing far more fiercely than I would have ever dared, and we stroke him together, stroke him until his neck arches further and his hips thrust up into our touch and his breaths come in a staccato tattoo.
And all the while, the moisture between my legs grows, the ache in my belly swells.
“Stop,” he rasps.
I do.
Despite the ache, the need, I would never not stop if someone asked.
“Am I hurting you?” I ask softly, noting his dilated eyes, the sweat on his forehead.
He sucks in a breath, tugs at my hand. “In the best fucking way, baby.”
I shudder, have to swallow down my moan. “Then why?—?”
“Because I’m going to come, Teach.”
“Why is that a bad thing?” I clench harder, eliciting another groan from him. “I want you to come.”
Closing his eyes again, he groans. “I’m trying to be good, baby. Trying to?—”
“Right.” I tug at his sweats, freeing the hard length of him. “No more of that.”
And then I wrap my hand around his cock and give him what he gave me.
Pleasure.
A tight fist. Hard strokes. And not stopping until?—
“Kylie!”
He comes apart, the hot jets of his cum splashing onto his stomach, covering my fingers. It’s instinct—or maybe temptation—to lift my hand, to flick my tongue over the evidence of his pleasure, but it’s not until he growls that I realize he’s watching me.
“What do you think?”
“About what?”
