Fuck, I’ve never been kissed like this.
I’ve never been handled in such a mind-blowing way that tears prickle in the corners of my eyes from the combination of millions of unknown emotions I’ve never experienced.
Fear.
Lust.
Desire.
Hate.
Pleasure.
He brought the entire storm to play with my lightning.
A groan vibrates his chest, pulsating through my sternum. My sensitive nipples are strained against the lace bralette, begging to be freed and caressed by his teeth or twisted by his fingertips.
Surprisingly, he pulls his mouth from mine, leaving my lips swollen and wet. His hand releases my throat, and his other hand lifts from my hip as he rises from the couch.
Our heavy breathing is the thunder.
The enormous rumble after the lightning strike.
Loud and terrifying.
Colten’s hands drag down his face in apparent ire.
And then he’s gone.
Colten rapidly paces out of the living room and through the hallway on the other side of the stairs. The back door slams, thetremor shaking the house’s bones, rattling me even more than I was.
What the actual hell?
He has some nerve, not bothering to utter a word or spare me a glance after he nearly ground our bodies to a climax and dominated my lips.
My tongue.
My damn mind.
I push myself off the couch, reaching for his glass of scotch, and down the whole thing in a few gulps. It scalds my throat, but my skin ruptures into flares from how angry I am, numbing the pain. The alcohol swirls and swirls, festering in my stomach with rage.
Letting the liquor give me some audacity, I set the glass down and take the four flights of stairs back up to my room. Hurling open the bottom drawer, I remove the hot pink lace underwear he left on my dresser.
Fuck him.
It takes less than a minute for me to erupt through the back door and march down the grassy decline to his sidewalk. Rossco emerges from his doghouse, wagging his tail.
And Colten’s rules can kiss my ass. I’m taking Rossco back up to bed with me tonight.
No porch light is on, but the moon is full and bright. All of his curtains are pulled closed, but my ire is directed at his door as if I have a problem with it and not him.
I batter my fist against it and wait a second. My patience wears thin when there’s no answer. But my anger doesn’t let up. I keep knocking and knocking, knowing at some point he’ll have to come to the door and deal with me if he wants to get any sleep.
TWENTY-SEVEN | COLTEN
Istill taste her on my tongue.
Her breaths.
