Colter turned back, watching me with that intense gaze he gave me whenever I was being open and honest with him. Or when he was deep inside me and moving slow and gentle. It always disarmed me, made me feel weirdly safe even in my most vulnerable moments.
“Okay,” he said, nodding.
“Whether you like what he said or not, he wasn’t wrong.”
“You’re not dumb, Dylan.”
“In general, no. About this kind of thing… maybe. Definitely.”
“You’re not dumb just because this is new for you and you don’t know how to handle it.”
“And he’s not wrong about me leading you around by the dick when you—”
“Oh, I’m gonna fucking kill him.”
“Tell me you haven’t thought about it.”
“About what?”
“About me using you for sex. When I know you want more.”
Colter’s head ducked at that. “I’m not gonna lie to you. We both know I’m in this. And that I’m hoping you might be too. But if this is only sex to you, trust me, baby, I’m not complaining about being used.”
“Ugh. Why do you have to be so freaking nice all the time?” I grumbled, throwing up an arm.
“Look,” Colter said, sucking in a deep breath. “You can’t make your decisions based on what you think I want.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“That’s not your problem. That’s mine, if it comes to it. All you have to worry about is what you want.”
“And if I don’t know what I want?”
“Then I’ll happily continue to get led around by my dick while you decide.”
“Don’t joke.”
“Dylan, when it comes to fucking you, I am very, very serious. Now come on. You forgot to test your sugar this afternoon.”
He slung an arm around my shoulders, curling me into him, making it hard to walk along with him. But I didn’t want to move away.
As we made it back to the hotel room, some part of me was slowly starting to accept that I might always want to be at his side.
It was terrifying.
It was also… intriguing.
But no decisions could be made until this job was done.
And as I bummed around with Colter in bed that evening, I had no idea I was just hours away from watching someone wrap a belt around his throat and strangle him.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Colter
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Saint said when I glared at him while we waited for Syn to finish saying his evening goodbyes to Sugar, and Dylan tested her sugar again after having to dose herself with insulin when she’d underestimated the carbs in dinner and had a spike. “You’re pissed at me. We gotta have words. Maybe you want my face and your fist to connect. But I’m not sorry about it.”
“You insult her like that again and I’ll show you why Slash picked me outta the dozen or so guys who got out the same year I did,” I warned him.
