Page 59 of Colton’s Mate

Fifteen minutes later, she and Colt were standing side by side in front of the turtlearium, staring down at the turtles, who were now officially named Horney and Tiger Slut. They were still turtle-fucking.

Marvin Gaye sang “Let’s Get it On” softly in the background.

Colt shook his head mournfully. “I can’t even,” he said. “I try to go slow and be adult and all that shit, and even my turtle role models betray me.”

Callie was trying to hold back her giggles. Fail.

“You’re not helping,” Colt said. “I am not relationship material. I am a disaster.”

Callie said, “Maybe the turtles know something we don’t. About seizing the day.”

Colt turned slowly to her, and looked her up and down. Callie had spent the fifteen minutes it took him to drive over changing her clothes, and she now had on a very cute, very low-cut top. With a push-up bra.

Also her short-shorts from work.

Colt was wearing an azure-blue t-shirt that made him look delicious. Not to mention his soft, broken-in jeans that molded perfectly to his butt.

Colt’s eyes had gotten that smoky look she already loved. They fastened on her cleavage.

Then he shook his head. “I can’t get a hard-on in front of fucking turtles. I mean turtles fucking. It’s just wrong.” He raised his head, listening. “God. You even put on Marvin Gaye for them. You’re a turtle-porn enabler.”

“Maybe the Marvin Gaye was for you. Did you know Spotify has a whole 70s fuck-me music playlist?”

That got his attention. His eyes went wide, turtles forgotten. “Please tell me you’re wearing a thong under those shorts. That would make all the turtle porn trauma worth it.”

Callie smiled at him, reveling in the desire she could ignite in his eyes.

Also in his package. There was suddenly a lot less room in those jeans.

She said demurely, “There’s only one way to find out.”

Chapter 24

Callie had never strip-teased for a guy. She’d never dirty-danced for one, either. Even when she’d been putting on her push-up bra and thong and short-shorts, she really didn’t think she’d have the guts to do it.

But one look at Colt’s face, the desire in his eyes, and she felt like the sexiest woman on the planet.

Wicked. Enticing. And very, very bad.

So when Colt started toward her, she put up one finger.

And he stopped.

Suddenly, just that one thing made her feel more powerful than a thousand thongs or all the desire in his eyes.

Because he didn’t take. He didn’t insist. He didn’t feel entitled. She said stop, even with one tiny gesture, and he stopped.

He tilted his head in that ‘thinking’ way she was starting to recognize, and then he backed up a couple steps and rested his hips on the edge of the kitchen island, a tiny smile lifting the corner of his mouth.

He didn’t hide his desire, it was naked on his face—and his boner was pressing against the zipper of his jeans. But he waited—for her to say when. And he was even smiling.

He deserved a reward for that.

So Callie started dancing to the music. It was sexy. Hot. Romantic. She swayed her hips, getting into the song, watching Colt watch her.

He obviously wanted her so bad, and he just leaned back, enjoying her body. Hers. She teased him, pulling her shirt up inch by inch, and then tossing it aside.

He licked his lips, the smile getting a little bigger.