CHAPTER 25 #2
“I think about you touching me,” I said, the words scraped raw from my throat. “I think about your mouth. I think about what it would feel like to let you do whatever you wanted to me.”
He let out a low, shuddering sound, and my whole body went tight as a bow. His grip on my thigh tightened, and I felt his fingers flex, digging in hard enough to leave a memory.
“Jesus Christ, Blaire.”
I swallowed and tried to keep my voice steady. “You were always so careful with me, back then. I used to imagine what it would feel like if you weren’t.”
He laughed, a sound so low and wicked it sent a hot pulse straight to my core. “You want me to be rough with you, baby?”
I nodded, unable to form words, and he moved his hand from my thigh to cup me through my shorts.
The touch was shockingly intimate, but not even close to enough.
I rocked against his hand, needing friction, and he groaned, reading my body better than I ever could myself.
He pressed his thumb into the seam and stroked, slow at first, then harder when I whimpered, his other hand still anchoring me by the neck.
“You’re soaked,” he said, voice rough with awe and need. “Fuck, Blaire. You’re so fucking wet for me I can feel it through your shorts.”
I bit down on a gasp, face burning, and tried to look away, but he wouldn’t let me. “Don’t hide from me,” he insisted, and there was something pleading in it, like he needed me to witness this as badly as I did.
He slipped his hand under the edge of my shorts, fingers dragging along the wet cotton of my underwear. “Let me make you feel good,” he moaned. “Let me show you how much I want you.”
I shivered under his touch, part of me still resisting the avalanche even as the rest of me was already buried. “What if Ruby wakes up?” I whispered, some distant part of me clinging to the possibility that this could be interrupted, that if I had an excuse maybe I could regain control.
He smiled against my ear, voice dark with promise. “She never wakes up, but I know how to keep you quiet if I need to.”
He pressed a kiss to my jaw, then my throat, and then dragged his mouth down to the hollow at the base of my neck. He licked there, slow and claiming, all the while his fingers stroked me through the soaked cotton. I spread my legs wider, and he rewarded me with a little growl of satisfaction.
He moved his hand again, slipping under my underwear this time, and the bare skin-on-skin contact nearly made me sob. He found my clit immediately, circling it just right, and I clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders, the porch swing creaking as I ground down against his hand.
I’d been touched before, fucked before, but never undone like this.
Colt’s hand was still between my legs, his fingers slipping slick and easy over my clit, and every move he made drew another silent plea from my body.
I didn’t need to beg him because it was obvious how badly I wanted it.
I was panting, rolling my hips helplessly, and I was so damn wet it covered his hand.
He watched me fall apart, dark eyes hooded and hungry, but there was a control in him that made it so much worse.
Like he could tease me forever and never lose himself, like every whimper and quake made him more determined to hold the upper hand.
I wanted to break him. I wanted to see him lose that iron will, even if it meant shattering myself in the process.
He pressed his thumb in tight, tiny circles, and my head fell back against the porch swing. “Do you like that, Blaire?” His voice was a low scrape against my neck, rough and intimate. “Do you feel how desperate your cunt is for me?”
I nodded, jaw slack, eyes rolling back, and the only word I could manage was “Fuck—” as a sob. I would have done anything to keep that hand right where it was.
But he pulled away slowly, leaving my thighs shaking and my whole body on fire.
He leaned back on the swing, watching me, and brought his wet fingers to his mouth.
He licked them like they were coated in honey, slow and obscene, letting his head drop back with a groan.
Then he spread his arms across the back of the swing and widened his thighs.
“Then show me,” he commanded, voice breaking slightly. “You know how bad I want you. I need you to show me how bad you want me, too.”
All the heat drained out of me and was replaced by something colder, meaner. I could see what he was doing. He was making me chase, making me prove it, making me work for every scrap. He was always in control, and somehow that made me want to be helpless for him.
But not tonight.
I stared at his hands, wide and calloused, the same hands that had built and broken things all his life, and I realized I wanted to break him back.
I wanted to touch him until he was the one falling apart.
Suddenly, I was so damn angry at him, at myself, at the years I’d wasted trying to be small enough to fit into someone else’s life all because he’d told me to leave.
I took a shuddering breath and got off the swing, my legs barely holding me. I stood between his knees, looming over him, and he had the nerve to look up at me with a lazy smile.
“Is this what you want?” I whispered, and without waiting for an answer, I straddled his lap, knees on either side of his hips.
The swing rocked hard under the sudden weight, the chains whining. Colt grunted in surprise but didn’t move to touch me, just let his hands fall to the seat, as if he was scared that one wrong move would make me vanish.
I kissed him hard, biting at his mouth as he kissed me back.
There was nothing gentle or sweet about it, nothing that Grant or any other man would have recognized as desire.
It was pure hunger, and Colt’s hands jerked to my hips, fingers digging into my flesh as he pulled my body tighter against him.
I could feel his hard length beneath me, and I ground down against him as I raked my hands through his hair, clutching the back of his head.
He broke the kiss with a gasp, jaw clenched, eyes black with need. “Fuck, baby.”
I moved my hips harder against him, needing the friction as Colt’s hands clamped around my waist, rough and greedy.
I reached down, grabbing the hem of my T-shirt, and pulled it over my head.
The warm summer air hit my skin, and even though it was just the two of us under the night sky, it felt like the most reckless thing I’d done in a very long time.
My shirt hit the porch behind me with a soft thud, and Colt went still, staring at my bared skin. I watched the effect of it rip through him, felt the way his cock jumped beneath me.
“Goddamn,” he breathed, and I could practically see his control snapping before my eyes. He leaned in, mouth already open and wet, but I shoved both palms against his shoulders, slamming him back into the swing.
“Wait,” I gasped, and he blinked.
“What are you doing?” he asked, and his fingers dug hard into my hips.
I was still pushing down against him, the ache between my legs so overwhelming I could barely finish my sentence. “We need ground rules.”
He let out a sound that was half snarl, half laugh, and let his head drop back, exposing his throat. I wanted to bite it. “Now? You want to talk ground rules now, Blaire?”
The swing rocked beneath us. I tried to slow down my hips, but I couldn’t. “This shouldn’t be happening,” I said, and the words sounded hollow even to me. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”
He snapped his head up and caught my eyes with his. “I think it’s a little late for that, don’t you?”
“I’m serious, Colt.” I let my hands slide up my body, over the bare skin of my ribs, and cupped my breasts. I arched into my touch, rolled my nipples between my fingers, and let my head fall back as I whimpered. “This can’t be anything more than casual.”
“Casual.” He bit out and his hands shook against me.
I forced myself to look at him, to keep my eyes open even as the pleasure ratcheted up. “We can’t do feelings,” I said, and my voice broke slightly. “Not again.” I kept moving on him, rolling my hips like I had all the time in the world, but I could feel my orgasm barreling toward me.
He watched my hands, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, and then he gave me a smile so slow and full of himself it set something inside me alight.
“You think you’re in control here, don’t you?
” His hands shot up, grabbing my wrists, and yanking them down behind my back in one fluid motion.
I gasped, thrown off-balance, and he grinned as he forced my chest forward, his mouth latching onto my nipple with a rough, punishing hunger.
I cried out, the sensation so engulfing it made my vision blur. He sucked hard, then bit down just shy of real pain, dragging his teeth across the sensitive skin before letting go with a pop.
He hauled me in, crushing me against his chest, both hands greedy and unapologetic as they roamed from my hips to my ribs to the curve of my ass.
Then he buried his face in my hair, nose pressed to my ear, and said, “You want ground rules, you got them. As long as we’re fucking, this is mine.
” He grabbed my ass with one hand and ground his cock upward so hard I moaned as my whole body clenched.
“No one else touches you. No one else gets to see you like this. No one else makes you come.”
He bit my earlobe before he licked the sting away.
“Do you hear me?” he asked, and there wasn’t an ounce of teasing in his voice.
“If you want this to be fucking casual, then fine. But you’re still mine.
” His fingers dug into my flesh, marking me, claiming me.
His eyes met mine, and there was so much possession in his gaze that it both terrified and thrilled me.
“If this is the only way I get you, then I’ll brand myself into your skin until you can’t remember anyone else’s touch. ”