Trust isn’t something I give lightly. I can name on one hand the number of people in my life that I hold closely, and even some of them have tested my trust. I’ve lost friendships and forgiven family members even when they don’t deserve it.
I’ve spent most of my adult life not letting people get too close. Part of the allure of my residency in Africa was that I could help hundreds. I could play a part in someone's life and have a meaningful connection knowing that our time was limited. I made friends without having to forge a deep-rooted commitment.
At one point, that was all I needed to be happy. But maybe that’s because I hadn’t met someone like Colt. Someone who has his own demons, who I would look at and say, yeah, I get why he’s an ass. I get why he’s closed off. I get why he chooses to spend his time with nameless girls he meets at the bar as opposed to a long-term relationship.
But he’s shown me there’s more to him than that. He cares about me. He worries about me. He goes out of his way to let me know that I matter. Because of that, I trust him the most out of anyone in this world.
And more than that, I believe that he trusts me, too.
“Yes, I trust you.”
He smiles a beautiful, wholesome smile before leaning down to kiss me. “Good,” he murmurs against my lips. “Lie on your back and grab the headboard, baby.”
Chills erupt on my body, and I do as he says, scooting back on the bed until I’m lying in the center with my head resting on the pillows. I raise my arms above my head, curling my palms around the slats in the headboard, and I wait.
He stalks over to me, kneeling on the bed to swing a leg over my waist. He doesn’t lower himself on me, but holds himself in place as he wraps the silk necktie around my wrists. He loops it through the wooden slats, tying it around itself, and once he’s confident the knot is secure, he gives it a firm tug. “That feel alright?”
I rub my legs together, nearly salivating with the need to have him touch me. Yeah, it’s definitely alright, Colt.
“Yeah,” I whisper, my throat suddenly feeling dry.
He smirks and leans back on his haunches to look at me, his face showing he’s pleased with what he sees. “Look at you,” he rasps, running a hand up my side to curl over my breast. “So fucking perfect, all tied up and waiting for me.” He flicks a nipple with his thumb, and I whimper, trying to wiggle to the side, but I can’t with my arms tied.
He moves down my body, and I expect him to settle between my thighs, but he pauses mid-way. He props himself up on an elbow and uses his free hand to roam my body.
With the tip of his finger and the gentlest touch, he traces invisible lines across my stomach and up between my breasts, barely brushing across a nipple on his way back down.
The act is so gentle, so delicate, it has goosebumps erupting all over my body. My instinct is to arch into his touch, to meet him where he’s at and beg him for more, but every time my body wiggles, he lifts his finger.
“Not so fast, Sparky,” he rasps. “I want to memorize you,knowyou. I want to be able to shut my eyes six months from now and picture every freckle, every scar, everything that makes you, you.”
My throat clogs with the meaning behind those words.When I’m not here.When I’m overseas. When the finality of our relationship is in the air, he still wants to remember me.
So I lie still, watching the expressions morph on his face as he does just that. With his hands and mouth, he dances across every curve of my body. He manages to find the smallest pinpoint scars that pepper parts of my body from insulin shots, pumps, and sensors, kissing each one, a reminder that he knows the most fragile parts of me.
His movements become more frantic, tongue darting out to suck on my skin and when he pulls a peaked nipple into his mouth, I cry out.
“Colt,” I whine, arching my back to give him more of me. “I want you, Ineedyou.”
He chuckles, throaty and heady against my skin as he finally shuffles down to lie between my legs. His hands clasp the back of my thighs, pushing them up and spreading me wide. “What do you need, sweetheart? You need me to lick this pretty cunt? You need me to remind you that no one will ever fuck you the way I fuck you?”
I throw my head back against the pillow, nearly thrashing back and forth. Yes. My God,yes, I want that. Just like he wants to be able to close his eyes and remember me, I want to be able to close my eyes and only think of him. I want to replay our nights together when I’m alone and needing a fix.
“Yes,” I whine. “Lick me, fuck me,breakme.”
His head snaps up at my last request, and an unreadable expression glimmers in his eyes. “I could never break you, sweetheart. Hell, I don’t want to. I want to make you come so hard it puts all of the broken parts back together.”
I swallow thickly, not breaking eye contact through his promises. “Then do it,” I whisper. “Show me what that feels like. Mark me as yours, Colt.”
Colt moves swiftly, rising up on his knees to lean back, hands coming to tug my underwear down. He shimmies them off my body and tosses them somewhere behind him. I expect him to go for my heels and my thigh-highs, but instead he runs a palm from my ankle all the way up my leg, fingertips swiping across the lace band along my thigh.
“I want to feel your heels digging into me, understand?”
Yes. Sir.
He settles again between my legs, thighs pulled up over his shoulders, and he stares at me. At the barest, most intimate part of me. He slowly spreads my lips with his finger, tracing me up, down, around, and I realize he’s also memorizingthispart of me.
That thought has my mouth salivating, and I spread my legs further, hearing Colt release a satisfied moan.
