“Like proof,” he says simply, his voice low, husky.
The way he says it makes my stomach dip, my breath catch. He isn’t talking about words or explanations. He’s talking about touch, about control, about the thing that hums between us like a live wire.
Before I can stop him, his hand slides from my arm to my waist, fingers splaying possessively across my hip. I inhale sharply, but he doesn’t give me room to retreat. He nudgesme backward until the edge of the wide kitchen island catches behind my thighs.
“Colter…” My warning is thin, trembling.
“Don’t lie to me.” His thumb brushes the hem of my dress, the lightest graze of skin against silk. “You’ve been craving this as much as I have. Haven’t you?”
I hate that he’s right. Hate it so much my nails bite into the smooth granite of the counter behind me.
He leans in, his lips a breath away from mine, his voice molten. “Say no. Right now. Push me away, and I’ll stop.”
But I can’t. My body is already arching into his, betraying every ounce of restraint I thought I had.
His mouth claims mine, hard and demanding. The kiss leaves me dizzy and my knees buckle slightly. His hands grip my waist and in one effortless motion, he lifts me onto the counter, spreading me across cool granite. The contrast of cold stone under me and searing heat over me makes my head spin.
“Fuck, Peyton,” he rasps against my mouth. “You undo me.”
My fingers thread into his hair, yanking him closer, because if I don’t, I’ll shatter. His lips trail down my jaw, my throat, each touch searing a path I’ll never erase.
Every shift of his body presses me deeper into the counter, grounding me and consuming me all at once. I can’t tell where fear ends and want begins, only that I’m drowning in him, and for the first time, I don’t care if I come up for air.
His mouth is everywhere. At my throat, my collarbone, that delicate place beneath my ear where every nerve is alive. I clutch at his shirt, tugging desperate for more, and he gives me what I don’t dare say out loud.
The sound of fabric shifting fills the kitchen, sharp against the low hum of my breathing. Colter pulls his shirt over his head in one smooth motion, tossing it aside like it’s nothing. But it’s not nothing. Not to me. The sight of him, broad shoulders andtaut muscle carved by years of something harder than ranch work, steals the air from my lungs.
He steps closer, slotting himself between my thighs, and his heat engulfs me. My fingers splay against his chest, the warmth of his skin under my palm shocking in its intimacy. His heart thunders there, steady and strong. A reminder of how alive and dangerous he is.
“You don’t even know what you do to me,” he murmurs, voice roughened with restraint. His hands grip the hem of my dress, gathering the fabric slowly, deliberately, like he wants me to feel every second of what’s coming.
The silk slides upward, whispering against my thighs, my hips until I’m bare beneath his gaze. His eyes darken, molten with something that looks too much like possession.
“You’re mine,” he says again, lower this time, like a vow, like a curse.
And then his mouth crashes back onto mine, all hunger and fire. His hands roam, strong and insistent, stripping away the last layers between us. My clothes fall away, piece by piece, leaving me vulnerable under the weight of his stare.
For the briefest heartbeat, the world stills. Me on the cool granite, him standing over me, the storm in his eyes daring me to run while his hands promise I never will.
“Colter,” I whisper, though it sounds more like surrender than protest.
His thumb brushes my cheek gently contradicting the violence of his kiss, the brutal way he’s claimed every piece of me tonight.
“Say it again,” he demands softly, like my voice is only the tether keeping him from unraveling completely.
28
“Colter.”
The way she breathily whispers my name nearly makes me come undone. Her skin is soft beneath my touch, velvet under calloused fingers that don’t deserve her. I trace the line of her jaw, down the curve of her throat, memorizing every tremor, every hitch of her breath.
Her eyes flutter closed, lips parted, and I swear I’d kill for the right to see her like this. Unguarded, waiting, trusting me with a kind of innocence I’ve long since burned out of myself.
I lean in, brushing my mouth over her teasingly. Punishing myself as much as her. She tilts forward, chasing me, but I pull back enough to keep her wanting. The small sound she makes lodges in my chest, and I feel it ripple through me like fire catching dry grass.
My hand skims lower, over her shoulder, down her arm, slow enough she can stop me if she wants. But she doesn’t. She arches into instead, bare thighs pressing against my hips where I stand between them, a silent plea that unravels the last thread of restraint I’ve been clinging to.
“You don’t even know,” I rasp, my forehead resting against hers, “what you’re doing to me.”
