Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
Colt
The first two days are dedicated to shopping – the girls need some things to make their spaces really theirs, and my house is not one that has ever been equipped for a six year old.
When Emmett was six, I was a broke twenty-three year old working my way through school in a shitty little apartment, trying to figure out how to invest what little I had into stocks.
The most decoration his bedroom had was a couple of sports decals I stuck onto the walls and a set of blue bedsheets.
It’s more complicated today, but also a lot more fun.
Macie isn’t hard to convince when it comes to filling a shopping cart or two with whatever toys, décor, and bedding she wants, and her joy while she does it is contagious.
I can’t remember the last time I had the freedom and abandon she has as she flies through the aisles of the stores, throwing shit into the carts.
Rowan proves to be more of a challenge, trying to insist that she pay her own way, but all I have to do is throw on an authoritative tone and she buckles quickly - though she only grabs the absolute necessities. That’s fine, I’ll get her some other things later.
Between work and school, the next few days are for unpacking, decorating, and settling in.
We throw a coat of paint on the walls of their bedrooms to give them a little life, a break from the fifty shades of neutrals I keep throughout the rest of the house, and top them off with some art – or in Macie’s case, some posters.
Rowan frames a few photos of herself with her sister and a family photo with both of her parents, all of which she gently props up on her dresser with love.
It’s nice to see a young person so sentimental.
She keeps the rest of the room simple – decorating with soft floral patterns and little quotes that seem to make her happy, and that’s enough for me.
It’s almost scary how easily we settle into a new normal – eating a real breakfast together every morning, usually prepared by Rowan unless my ‘world’s best’ pancakes are requested.
Rowan and I decide to keep driving separately to work, so I insist that she use one of my cars.
Her insurance company dubbed hers as a total loss, and I’m not terribly upset about that.
I hated her driving that hunk of junk around.
The thing was an accident waiting to happen.
I’m just thankful she wasn’t in it when it finally did.
I walk past Rowan’s room every night – at first, I just happened to be going to bed later than she did and I passed her room on the way to mine, but once I heard her crying, it became more of a nightly check-in on her without wanting to be too invasive. I probably shouldn’t do it, but I worry.
She cries every night, alone in that room. As badly as I want to barge in and try to fix it, I figure it isn’t any of my business, and if she needed me, she would tell me. I don’t want to be pushy.
Tonight, her cries sound different. Quiet, stifled. I press my ear to the door and realize it sounds different because it is different.
She’s not crying, she’s whimpering. A soft moan trails out from under the door and I think my head might fucking explode.
I fight the urge to throw the door open and jump on her, and I do a pretty decent job of it until I hear my name slip out of her mouth, trailing out from under the door like a fucking siren song.
“God, Colt...yes.”
Jesus, fuck.
I slowly, carefully, turn the knob and crack the door open. The light is dim, but I can still easily make out the shape of her laid out on her stomach, one hand braced against the headboard and the other nowhere to be seen.
It’s impossible to miss the movement of her ass rocking up and down beneath the bedding. My cock is already hard, fighting for freedom against my pants, as I slip quietly into the room and close the door behind me, eyes glued to her while I listen to her moaning.
She startles when I climb onto the bed next to her and her eyes fly open when she sees me. Withdrawing her hand, she gasps, “Colt!”
“Shhh,” I whisper. “Don’t move.”
When she obeys, I draw my fingers to my mouth and pull them over my tongue, wetting them, then I slide them underneath her, trailing down her stomach to find my way between her legs.
She doesn’t need my help; she’s already so wet I can feel it all over her inner thighs. Almost on instinct, she pulls her knee back up, hiking her leg to give me easier access, and I slide two of my fingers inside of her, forcing a gasp out of her.
“Colt,” she whines.
She’s so tight, I let out a groan, imagining what she would feel like around my cock.
I press my fingertips against the sweet spot inside of her and keep my voice low and commanding.
“Fuck my hand like you were fucking yours.”
She lets out a gasp, almost as if she wants to protest, but her hips start to roll against me, and I work my fingers to reward her, matching her gentle rhythm. The hand previously against the headboard reaches up to grip it again like it’s a lifeline. I press deeper into her.
“Faster.”
Following the command, she moves faster against my hand, panting into her pillow and letting out sweet little moans that make me ache.
“That’s it, baby,” I tell her. “There’s my good girl.”
“Oh god,” she breathes, “don’t stop.”
Her hips continue to buck against my hand until she’s holding onto the headboard with a white-knuckle grip and sounds like she’s damn near on the verge of tears, her body shaking, but she won’t let herself go. She’s enjoying it too much to give in.
I pull my fingers out, earning a whiny ‘Colt’ in response, and I pull her body until she’s sitting in my lap, her back pressed against my chest.
I reach around the front of her and slide those fingers back inside.
She gasps, reaching behind her to grab onto the back of my head.
My free hand slides up her baggy t-shirt – I’m almost positive it’s the same one of mine that she wore her first night here – and I palm her breast before gently pinching at her nipple.
“I- Colt, ah-” she gasps.
I curl my fingers around that sweet spot and work them hard against it, moving my hand from her breast to push against at her lower stomach.
Her body tightens in response, making me growl into her ear. I move my lips to her neck, biting and sucking at her skin, then trail my tongue from the crook of her neck to just below her earlobe.
“Say my name again, baby.”
“Colt!”
“Good girl,” I tell her. “Now come for me.”
Her ass grinds against my aching cock as she dives headfirst over the cliff, orgasm coursing through her. Her fist stays wrapped in my hair, pulling as she rides the wave of it, crying out.
As she comes down, her grip loosens on me and I withdraw my fingers from her. I pull them into my mouth and suck away every drop of her pleasure stuck to them, groaning my approval in her ear as I do.
Just as sweet as I thought she would be.
She slides off of my lap and turns to look at me, stunned and breathless, and I reach my hand up to cup her face. “Now get some sleep.”