My Ellie (The Perfectly Paired #1)

Chapter 29

Ellie

The pillow underneath my head is harder than I remember it being, but it smells like cedar and spice and it’s cradling me perfectly. Rays of light trickle over my face as the morning sun peeks through the blinds in my room.

I don’t have blinds in my room... I have blackout curtains that I specifically requested so I wouldn’t have this problem—

An arm tightens around my stomach, pulling me closer against a warm, hard body. The skin on the back of my neck tingles as Colton breathes deeply.

I was so tired last night I must have fallen asleep as soon as my head hit his pillow.

How embarrassing .

Though, it’s a little hard to think about how embarrassed I am when there’s something rather sizable digging into my back. I wriggle against him, delighting in the way his arm tightens further. His other arm, the one I mistook for a pillow, is resting underneath my head. His forearm is draped around my shoulder, his hand lying tantalizingly close to my breasts.

I feel content lying here. I think that was the best night’s sleep I’ve had in months, but there’s a part of me—not just the small, throbbing part—that desperately wants to wake him up.

I press my backside to his front again, earning a rumbling groan.

“If you keep doing that, I’m going to have to do something about it.” He says into my hair, pressing himself harder into me as I match his movement.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” I giggle, basking in the feeling of him pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

“Two questions,” He grumbles, his rough, morning voice making my core heat to dangerous temperatures. “One, please tell me you don’t have to run off and feed Remi?” The arm he has around my stomach flexes, and I take that as one of the many signs that he really doesn’t want me going anywhere right now.

“You’ll be pleased to know,” I smile like an idiot, grateful he can’t see my face, “Whoever’s working this morning knows to take care of him if I haven’t done it by 8 am.” A system we put in place last year after I ended up with a few nasty hangovers on Saturday mornings—courtesy of Friday night drinks.

“Wonderful,” He breathes deeply, head still nestled in my hair as he presses another kiss to my head.

“And the second question?” I ask, moving my hips in a circular motion that makes him shudder a little.

“Please tell me I can touch you?”

I try and fail to imagine a universe where I might say no to that question, or to anything this man might ask of me. This kind-hearted, broad chested, cowboy-boot wearing, sex-God of a man could ask me to recite the pledge of allegiance, and I would take a stab at it.

In answer, I reach for the hand lying near my chest, slowly pulling it closer to my breasts until he’s cupping me. I’m still wearing the bralette I had on last night, but I can feel his skin through the thin fabric as he drags his thumb over my sensitive nipple. I feel him take in a sharp breath, his cock twitches where it’s pressed into me.

“Please,” I whisper, “I want you to touch me.”

The hand at my breast starts to squeeze gently, before moving onto the other. His other hand drifts up to my stomach and begins to trace lazy circles there. My skin feels electric in a way I’ve never experienced before, like the air before a storm, charged and full of energy.

I start to turn my body, to face him and do some touching of my own, but he stops me.

“Let me explore first, please.” He presses himself closer to my back, still palming my breasts and stomach as he raises himself up slightly. His head is above mine now, a better vantage point, I realize, as he pulls the duvet cover away from my body

“You’re not cold, are you?”

“No.” I breathe. I leave out the fact that I feel like my core is literally aflame, molten lava would feel cool to the touch at this point.

“Good, because I want to look at you— need to look at you.” The hand on my stomach trails lower, his touch featherlight as he makes it to the hem of my underwear. I press myself into his touch, coaxing his fingers to move below the fabric. I hear and feel him chuckle at my back.

The gentle, squeezing hand around my breast releases for a second, a sorrowful moan escaping my mouth until his fingers pry the lace fabric down to expose my peaked nipple. My moan turns into something far from sorrowful as he works the bud, softly, methodically.

He presses a kiss to my temple, moving to the other nipple as he hums into my skin.

“So beautiful,” he breathes, the hand above my panties stills as he grazes the fabric, “And, do you want me to touch you here?” His voice is softer, still gravelly with the early hour, but like he knows it’s a line we can’t uncross.

“Please, Colton.” I place my own hand on his wrist, gently tugging him past the hem of the lace.

He shudders again and his hips buck into me as his fingers brush over my clit. I’m almost embarrassed by the liquid I feel pooling down there, but those feelings are doused as he hums in approval, his fingers exploring me unhurriedly.

It’s my turn to shudder when he begins to work my nipples and clit at the same time. I moan as he peppers kisses along the side of my face, tilting my head back so he can continue down my neck.

“Oh that’s—that’s so good, so—,” My body takes over, my hips moving in time with his fingers as they roll over my clit.

“I want to wake up like this every day.” He groans into my hair before plunging his fingers into me, his thumb moving in gentle, rhythmic circles around the bundle of nerves. My body spasms at the sudden jolt of pleasure and he continues to work each of my breasts as I moan incoherently.

Is this what an out of body experience feels like? Because my body has never felt like this before.

I’ve had sex before, and I’m quite familiar with my own pleasure, but to have somebody else make me feel like I’m going to shatter into a million tiny pieces is completely new to me.

“Please don’t rush, baby, but I need you to cum for me.” His voice is no longer soft and there is no hint of a question in his demand. His cock presses harder into my backside as he drives his fingers into me over and over again. The hand at my breasts continues to tease my nipples, making my back arch into his touch.

Words feel like a foreign concept and I’m unable to speak as pleasure coils in a deep, aching spot within me.

“You’re so close, take your time.” He breathes, taking his coated fingers and working my clit for a few seconds before driving them back into me.

But I don’t need time, I need to see his face—need to look at him as he drives me off the cliff’s edge.

I turn my upper body slightly, pressing my shoulders as flat against the bed as I can manage while his fingers continue to thrust in and out of me.

His eyes are hooded as he drags them from between my legs, pausing at the hand that gently plays with my nipples before they reach my face. Strands of tousled, brown hair fall into his face as he holds my gaze.

My eyes are fluttering now, the coiling sensation reaching a crescendo as I raise a palm to his face. His features contort slightly, in a way I imagine they would at the peak of his own pleasure. The fingers that ravage my entrance pump into me with renewed fervor and I manage to open my mouth and breathe, “Colton—” before the coil in my core snaps and I’m falling over the edge—into oblivion.

I’m not sure if I shout, beg or even breathe in the seconds that follow my release. The one thing I’m sure of is Colton’s presence, his attentiveness to me as he milks every last ounce of my pleasure with both of his hands.

My body continues to spasm, legs quaking from the intensity as he whispers, “That’s my good girl, just like that.” His fingers slow, thumb stilling its movement as the orgasm banks.

My breathing is heavy, labored as my vision returns to me—perhaps I closed my eyes, but I genuinely think my brain short circuited after that world-shattering climax.

Colton is still watching my face, my hand still resting on his right cheek as he smiles down at me .

“I, too, would like to wake up like this every morning.” I pant, all too aware of the hand resting ever-so casually at the apex of my thighs.

He laughs, his dimpled smile turning into a toothy grin. “That can be arranged.”

I move my free hand to the other side of his face and begin to pull him down to me just as someone pounds on his bedroom door.

Our bliss dissipates and our expressions turn from elated to concerned in the space of two seconds.

“El!” A voice hisses at the locked door.

“San?” I hiss back.

“Yes, it’s me you idiot! Your mum is on the warpath, she’s looking everywhere for you. Get your arse out here before she pulls you out of there by your hair.” I hear her footsteps recede as she shouts, “I think I saw her in the garden earlier, Mrs. Stirling, why don’t we check there.”

I struck gold when I met Sanya, I really did.

I’m still holding Colton’s face, his hands are still in all the places that I’d ideally like them to stay. “I should go,” I sigh, though my body makes no move to leave the bed.

“You should go.” He nods, a small smile returning to his face before he leans down and kisses me tenderly. It’s a soft kiss, not at all the kind of kiss I had wanted from him before Sanya almost barged the door down, but it’s perfect .

The hand at my breasts expertly fixes the lace bralette he peeled down just a few, short, sensual moments ago.

He pulls away from me, my palms drop from his face as he slowly, reluctantly, removes his hands from my body. We both rise from the bed at the same time, and I realize, with no small amount of horror, that I came to his room last night in a silk dressing gown and lacy underwear.

“Here,” He chuckles, padding over to me with a hoodie and a pair of jogging pants. “If anyone sees you, just say you’re long overdue for laundry and this is all you’ve got left.”

I smirk up at him before taking the hoodie and pulling it over my head. I’m swimming in it, but I couldn’t give less of a toss because it smells just like him. I press the oversized sleeves to my nose before inhaling. Cedar and spice and all things nice .

Colton quirks a brow at me, but I just accept his jogging pants and hoist them up to just below my bralette—this man is a giant.

I pull the hood up over my messy hair as he takes my hand and leads me to his bedroom door. He catches me off guard by pulling me to him and pressing me against the door, taking my mouth with his once more. His hands grip my face within the hood, tilting my mouth upwards to meet him as he claims me. My hands have a mind of their own, roving over his shirtless torso before traveling down, towards his tented pyjama pants.

“You should go,” He pulls away from the kiss, breathless and a little shaky, “If you don’t leave now, you’ll be here for the next few hours.” He presses his forehead down to mine before we both reach for the door handle.

He takes a step back, my hands dropping from his lower stomach as I pull the door open, watching him while I step out into the quiet hallway.

“I’ll see you later?” My voice sounds pathetically hopeful, but I’m beyond caring.

“Oh, absolutely.” It sounds as if he was never even considering the alternative, “I’ll be thinking of you until then.” A dimpled smile grows on his face, my still-recovering core heats at the look of promise in his eyes.

My feet are glued to the spot, eyes unblinking as he grips himself through his pajama pants.

I’m sure my mouth is gaping as I watch him pump his considerable length once, then twice. I’m leaning so far forward that I might just stumble back into his room and never return to the outside world.

My eyes track up his body, past his well-built chest, past the chin that looks like it was chiseled by an incredibly gifted craftsman, past the lips I could spend all day exploring, to the brilliant blue eyes that captivate every inch of my being.

He winks, slowly raising his hand to his face. His eyes lock onto mine as he presses his middle and ring fingers into his mouth, sucking deeply with a wicked grin and a satisfied hum .

I’m still gaping at him as he swings the door closed, still gaping at the door as I hear his shower switch on and filthy images of what, exactly, he could be doing under the spray of water—what we could be under the spray of water—play on a loop in my mind.

I force myself to turn and walk down the hallway, cursing myself with every step that takes me farther away from that shower and the man within it.