IlovehavingColsonhere. Not justhere,as in my apartment—but here, in my bed.
My king-sized bed is dressed in matching sheets—soft cotton, light blue with a navy comforter. The bed is one of the things I splurged on when it came to the breakup with Nick. It felt ridiculous to sleep in a bed we shared together, planning a wedding in, after everything.
So, I got a new one. Bigger. Better. Completely Nick-free.
Colson is stretched out across the mattress like he was always meant to be there, one leg bent, one arm thrown over his head. He’s shirtless, a pair of basketball shorts slung low on his hips and his muscles are making my mouth go dry. The man has abs. Ones you could count, touch with your fingers.
Seeing him in my bed does something quiet and fierce to my chest. It feels like I’m about to get sucked into his vortex. Jokes on me, though, because I’d probably throw myself in at this point.
The A/C kicks on—I love sleeping in the cold—and I hope Colson doesn’t reach for his shirt. Because that would be a travesty. A lamp glows low on my dresser, turning his skin golden,almost like we’re at the beach. The bed looks right like this. Full.
I lean against the doorframe, arms crossed, pretending I’m not staring.
“You know,” I say finally, because silence feels dangerous and I don’t trust myself not to climb onto the bed if I wait too long, “this should be a crime.”
He shifts slightly, lazy, comfortable. One eye opens. “What?”
“You,” I tell him, nodding toward his entire body. “In my bed. Looking like… that.”
His mouth curves, slow and knowing. “What do you mean?”
I gesture again, helpless. “I don’t think my brain is receiving oxygen right now,” I add. “Just wanted to flag that.”
His lips pull up on one side in a lopsided smirk, one that makes me ache. Fuck. How does he do that?
My body forgets that it’s tired. I've been working all day cleaning up the storm damage from the rec center, trying to keep the project on pace. My muscles and bones should be heavy, but Colson’s here, and we have the whole night to ourselves.
I’m at the edge of the bed, lifting one leg up and then the other until I’m straddling him. The way he grins at me makes me feel confident and sure in my skin. His hands find my hips, the side of my ass as I dip forward, putting my lips to his.
I shift instinctively, settling more firmly over him, and the sound he makes—barely there, like he didn’t mean to let it out—goes straight through me. The kiss deepens, slow at first then hungry, like we’re both testing each other’s resolve.
I place my hands on his chest, warm skin under my palms, his heartbeat fast and solid. The kiss isn’t gentle. It’s pent-up and charged, making up for what feels like wasted time.
His hands move to my back. I love how massive they are—how they cover me. I lean in deeper, trying to get everything I can from this kiss. Colson tastes me, his tongue grazing mine, and I don’t know if I’ll ever get enough of this.
My lips find his neck and I kiss down until I’m at his chest. The muscles? Unreal. Kind of unfair. Not sure my bed will ever look better than it does right now.
Colson grabs the hem of my tank top, lifting it up and off me.
“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he moans while putting a nipple in his mouth.
My fingers dig into his scalp, pulling his hair while he works me. He sucks and nips, which has my hips grinding into him. He’s already hard.
I’m biting my lip, tipping my head back and pulling his head closer to me, when I say, “Take these off.” I move a hand to tug on his shorts.
Slowly, he pulls away. I sit to the side while he does what he’s told, which kind of surprises me.
“Good boy,” I croon. It’s part sarcasm until I realize how hot it makes me feel. Talking to him like that. Watching him take instruction.
Colson’s dick springs forward and I don’t mean to audibly moan, but something like that deserves audible praise.
“My girl likes being the boss?” His brows lift as he props himself up on his elbows. “Tell me what’s next, Sadie.” His voice is low and it feels like it washes over my skin syllable by syllable.
“I want to taste you,” I reply, doing my best not to lose my nerve.
He growls, pushing his head back into the pillows, the column of his throat veiny and blushed. “You’re the boss.”
I move between his legs and grab his length with a hand, my fingers barely able to fit around him. His muscles flex at my touch and being able to elicit this type of reaction from him makes me feel powerful.
