Page 91 of Colt

“I was eighteen. Out of the house for the first time in my life. I”—my breath catches when he gently plucks my nipple between his thumb and forefinger—“it was an act of rebellion. I was sick of being as harmless as I was in high school. So yeah. I got my nipple pierced.”

He groans. Quiet enough that Dean won’t hear it inside, but the sound sends a shiver through me nonetheless.

“Never would’ve guessed.” Colton explores the piercing with a tenderness that sends my pulse into a tailspin. “You. Perfect princess. With a nipple piercing. Fuck, honey. Just…fuck.”

I let out a pained chuckle. “I’m not perfect. And I’m not a princess.”

“Prove me wrong.” He sinks his teeth into my neck.

My right knee gives out. Literally turns to Jell-O. One minute into this encounter, and I’m already a shaking, wrung-out wreck.

This man wrecks me. In all the best ways.

Then he’s trailing his mouth down my throat. He’s giving my nipple a gentle pinch before reaching between us to slide a hand inside the elastic waistband of my skirt. I have to thank the universe for that stroke of luck.

It’s like she was looking out for me. Making sure I was easily accessible for, well, this.

“You ain’t gonna let me kiss you here.” His other hand moves from the house to my lips, his first finger pressing against my mouth. “Can I kiss you here instead?”

Without hesitation, his hand moves inside my underwear and finds my center. We both gasp when his middle finger glides through my slit with ease.

A dead giveaway.

A confession of sorts.

My face burns. I close my eyes.

“You can hate me all you want, Dallas.” His fingertip catches on my clit, and I dig my fingernails into his side. “But your body don’t lie.”

Pressure. So much pressure behind my closed eyes and between my legs. It tightens. Is edged with pain.

I want to come so badly I could cry.

“Lemme kiss you here,” he repeats, circling my clit. “Say yes.”

My legs shake. “Please, Colton⁠—”

“That a yes?”

I nod. “Yes, goddamn it.”

Another dark, velvety chuckle as his thick finger moves back and slips inside me. “So fuckin’ soft for someone who’s so hard on herself.” He pushes his finger farther, a burning stretch blooming to life there. “So hard on me.”

I rock my hips so that I’m riding his hand. His finger is large enough to hurt a little. But I like it.

“That’s rich,” I pant. “Coming from you.”

He straightens his neck so that he can look me in the eye. “I’m hard on you because⁠—”

“You’re hard on yourself too.” I cup his face with my hand, reveling in the feel of his scruff poking into my palm. “That’s what I meant.”

His expression flickers. Nostrils flare. All the while, he pushes his finger deeper inside me, then starts thrusting it.

He’s angry.

He’s thinking.

“Why don’t we leave that shit at the door tonight, then?” His jaw keeps ticking. “We ain’t all that good to ourselves. But maybe we can be good to each other.”