13. Kiara
thirteen
Kiara
T here. That should shut her up. What was she thinking, drawing a comparison between my father and Colton? They’re nothing alike.
Nothing.
Mom takes a deep breath and says, “I really don’t understand why you need to be a pastry chef. I mean, you work all sorts of crazy hours. I’m surprised to see you keeping a man. Be careful not to go and lose that .”
The words slice through me. She has a point. Who wants to date someone who’s always working when it’s time for everyone else to have fun? She can’t know what Colton and I have is fake, but the words still sting. So many echoes to the past. To my faults. To what I supposedly broke.
Colton’s protective touch lands lightly between my shoulders, its warmth instantly relaxing me. “You honor me, Mrs. Smith.”
Mom tightens her lips. This is not the answer she expected.
“Every day with Kiara is a blessing,” Colton adds, leaning to drop a feather kiss on my temple, where it burns straight down to my soul. “I don’t take any for granted.”
Mom clears her throat. “What I meant to say was, the line of work she chose… it’s not conducive to a stable relationship.”
I open my mouth to answer, but Colton gives me a gentle squeeze on the nape, effectively shutting me up, all while saying, “I hear you, Mrs. Smith. I do.” His hand creeps up into my hair as he adds, “Lucky for my girl, I’m fine with her crazy hours. I’m fine with all her crazy.”
Eloise gasps, suddenly catching onto the conversation. “Are you going to propose?”
His breath catches and he looks at me weirdly. He can’t be serious. Come. On. He gives another squeeze, like he’s talking to me with his fingers, tenderly.
“Now, Eloise, this is Maya and David’s day. I would hate to steal the show. Come on, babe, this is our song,” he adds, taking me to the dance floor.
One arm wraps around my waist, drawing me in, while his other hand captures mine and presses it to his heart. We sway to the music, his chin caressing my temple. “I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he says.
“Thank you,” is all I can answer. If I look up at him now, I might add something stupid like I love you , so I keep my head down and lay my forehead against his chest.
“Kiara, look at me,” he rumbles.
I tuck tighter into his embrace.
“Please,” he adds.
I look up, his gaze on me setting off the wildest fire. I never thought I could feel something this strong.
His eyes drop to my mouth. “I’d kiss you right now, but with the way I want to do it, we might create a commotion.”
I shut my eyes. “That’s the alcohol talking,” I say and dip my head back down into the comfort of his chest.
“Right. You keep telling yourself that, Sweetness.”
“Don’t,” I answer, my voice harsher than I want it to be. I’m uptight, and angry, and I’m not dealing well with Colton’s assault of gentleness.
Mom’s barely veiled attacks brought back so many feelings, it’s like she low-key triggered some PTSD. Life isn’t a bed of roses. You have to make concessions . You had to go and break everything we had. And the best one: If only you didn’t read so much into things.
I shut my eyes and dismiss the thoughts. I don’t regret being who I was. Who I am. And what I did and said: the truth.
The music changes to something fast-paced, something that doesn’t require Colton’s arms, and I breathe a little better when he begins to let me go. But he’s always there, touching my hand, my lower back, looking at me like I’m the only person in the room. His jacket is long gone, his sleeves are rolled up on his corded forearms. His shoulders strain the shirt, the muscles testing the seams in a provocative way.
At some point he leaves the dance floor to get us some water, and I end up between a cousin I haven’t seen in forever and Uncle Bill. But without Colton, I feel lonesome. This is my family, and I shouldn’t feel this way, but I do.
When he comes back, Eloise has gone to bed. “I think we can go now,” I say in his ear.
“Whatever you want, Sweets,” he answers, then pats Uncle Bill on the back and leads me upstairs.
Once in our room, he shuts the door softly and says, “You okay, Babe?”
I flinch at his term of endearment but choose to ignore it. “Tired,” I lie. I’m wound up, and horny, and angry. I could use a good orgasm right now, but I’m not going to tell Colton that.
Reaching inside his pocket, he says, “Got you your phone charger.” He plugs the cable in an outlet he fishes from his bag and looks around for my phone, but I’m too stunned at the moment to make a move for it. Colton didn’t need to do this, and I almost say the words. But of course he didn’t need to. He wanted to.
As Colton snatches my dead phone from the bed, it hits me. This is Colton’s love language. Fixing my car. Getting my charger from the cold. Keeping me from my family.
How long has this been going on?
My voice comes a little strained when I say, “Thank you,” but he doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does, it doesn’t show.
“Take the bathroom first,” he says, sitting on the one armchair in our room. “I’m gonna get comfortable here for the night.” He wiggles into the chair as if to find the right angle for his lower back. If he thinks he’s settling for the night, he’s thinking wrong.
I search through my bag for my pajamas and toiletries. “Colt, it’s a king bed. We’ll share. I’ll put a pillow between us or something.”
He shrugs. “I don’t mind the ch—”
“I mind. You’re not sleeping in this chair. Or the floor.” Not with everything he’s doing for me.
Friends can share a bed, right?
He doesn’t answer, and I take his silence as a yes. Standing at the bathroom door, my gaze stays on him a beat too long. He’s playing with the TV remote, his attention off me, so I steal a last look at his profile. The set of his jaw, the bump of his Adam’s apple, the planes of his face, his high cheekbones and strong nose stir something inside me that they didn’t use to. The way his mouth dips slightly down at the side, twitching up as he finds something to watch that he might like makes my stomach flutter as I witness an emotion—any emotion—pass through him.
“Did you want to tell me something?” he asks, making me jump. His gaze is still firmly fixed on the TV, and he mutes it while still flipping through channels.
“Um… no.” I take a shaky breath. He’s still not looking at me, yet his presence alone fills the whole room, makes me lose my breath and my train of thought. I could fall for him, in fact I might already have, and I strengthen my resolve to remain just friends. The one thing I value in my life is the friendships I forged, and Colton’s is at the top. I’m not risking it to satisfy a physical attraction.
He plops the remote on the couch where it lands with a soft bump, stands, and in two strides is in front of me, lightly touching on my shoulder. “Turn around,” he says under his breath before I have time to retreat into the bathroom.
Clasping my stuff against my belly, I do as I’m told. In that split second, my resolve does a one-eighty. Whatever it is he has in mind, I’m not saying no this time. Giving into Colton this evening might not have been the plan, but it ended up being so good. What if I let him take the lead the rest of the weekend… the rest of the way? Any regrets I’ll inevitably have will be for later. It’d be nice to live in the present for now.
It’s decided. I’ll say yes to anything Colton asks of me.
His fingers gently flutter against my back as he fumbles with the zipper of my dress. When he’s done with the clasp, he unzips it slowly, the sound agonizingly arousing as I imagine his gaze on my naked skin, lowering to my bottom. His voice catches when he says, “All set,” and gently pushes me inside the bathroom.
Once in the shower, I forgo the self-care I had sort of planned in my head at some point in the evening, then brace myself for the confession I’ll have to make before we go any further.
But when I come back out he’s created the Great Wall of China down the center of the bed, using the couch throw pillows in a line that runs the whole length of the bed. He’s turned the side lamps on and the main lamp off, in effect creating a romantic atmosphere at odds with the sleeping setup.
“That was fast,” he says, unfolding his stature from where he was crouched next to his duffel bag. My eyes lock onto the tattoo on his muscled back and I find it hard to swallow. He’s wearing nothing except a pair of dark briefs that mold his perfect ass. I stay frozen in place, clutching my dress in front of me.
I’m both mortified and relieved that I packed the ugliest pair of pajamas I could find as a shield to this particular situation. At least the contrast between us is evident. Mom is right. I could never keep a man like Colton. No way.
The twinkle in his eye tells me that his mind is right back where it should have been all along. Securely in friend territory. “Is that what you wear to bed, grasshopper?”
I step inside the bedroom and drop my dress on top of my bag. Looking down at my tattered, baggy pajamas, I answer, “When I’m sharing a room, yes.”
His mouth twitches. “Do you own any other pajamas?”
“Do you own any pajamas?” I ask back.
He shakes his head. “I sleep naked,” he answers, then quickly adds, “but for you I’ll make an exception.”
Good to know.
My feet are stuck on the floor right now, so much so that I’m unable to move as he brushes past me on his way to the bathroom. Embarrassed by the way I look, I scamper to the far side of the bed, get under the covers, turn my night light off, and pretend to be asleep when the bed dips slightly under his weight and he clicks his light off.
I can feel him awake next to me but don’t dare move. I try to force my breath to a slower rhythm. Eventually, he clears his throat, the bed moves, and his breathing slows. After a few minutes, his leg jerks, then he turns. I risking a glance over the wall of pillows. His back faces me, rising and falling in a slow, even rhythm. Asleep.
Settling on my back, I stare at the ceiling. Colton’s manly presence isn’t helping me relax. I should’ve taken care of business in the bathroom. Now I’m on the edge. Forcing myself to close my eyes, I relive the evening’s events in flashes of light, stills of emotions and situations. Colton’s strong profile at the table, talking about me like I’m really his soon-to-be fiancée. Colton at the bar, telling my sister something that makes her pale. Colton on the dance floor, exuding sexual tension and directing it at me.
Despite my protestations, he made me feel safe. Beautiful. Wanted .
None of this felt fake. And yet—it was, wasn’t it?
Lying silently next to him, the sound of his deep breathing slowing my heartbeat, I take a calming inhale, drinking in his scent—coconut shampoo and the sweet musk of his skin. Then I silently creep my head up the pillows again, and with my eyes now adjusted to darkness, let my gaze roam his shape.
How would it feel to run my hands in his hair, to caress his strong shoulders, to draw the outline of his tattoo? How would it feel to be tucked inside his embrace, wrapped in his strong arms, sleeping the night off knowing that come morning, he’d have my back again?
His black hair is splayed on the pillow, and I don’t even know if it’s soft or coarse. Does he always sleep on his side or is it only to avoid me? And that line about sleeping naked—was it just to rile me up?
I could reach out to him. Extend my fingers and touch his ridiculously defined bicep and tell him I’m fucking scared. That I want him, but I’m scared to lose him.
But what good would that do? He’d say the right thing in the moment, and I’d live to regret what would happen next. Present me might be itching to take the risk, but future me will be thankful in the end that I took the reasonable course of action.
“Something bothering you, grasshopper?”
Stifling a yelp, I duck back to my side of the bed. “Thought I heard some noise,” I lie, my voice muffled by the pillow I’m smothering myself with in an effort to kill my embarrassment.
“No other noise than the sound of your overthinking,” Colton says in a sexy-as-hell sleepy voice. The bed moves under his shifting weight. Keeping my head under my pillow, I turn my back to him and hug the edge of the bed, one foot sticking out the covers.
I wake up startled by sharp rasps on the door, the kind made by a metallic object. “What the fuck time is it?” Colton asks.
Rubbing my eyes, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and draw the curtains open, ignoring whatever’s going on on the other side of the door. It’s a gray morning, the sun losing its battle against the clouds, bathing everything in a milky light with no sparkle.
“Kiara!” Maya’s voice hisses outside the door. Is that really her? What does she want now?
“Want me to get it?” Colton asks, his voice thick with sleep.
I glance at him. He’s on his back on the bed, one arm folded under his head, the other pulling the sheets over his midsection. His gaze is on all of me at once, it seems. With his torso splayed out, his morning stubble, his hair disheveled as if I did manage to play with it, he looks like a cover model for one of the books Millie liberally dispenses at Easy Monday to keep us coming back.
As my glance turns into more, the gleam in his eye sharpens, the corners of his mouth turn up, his head settles into the pillow, turned toward me to get comfortable.
He’s tempting and he knows it.
“I got it,” I answer.
I nervously run a hand through my hair then down the front of my pajamas, like that’s going to help make me look prim and proper to my sister.
I look like shit; what else is new? Taking a deep breath, I crack the door open.
She lets an airy laugh out when she sees me. I don’t need her to tell me what she finds so funny, but she spells it out for me anyway (because why would she pass on that kind of fun?). “No wonder you can’t keep a guy.” She giggles.
I open the door a tad more so I can lean on it for emotional support without slamming it in her face. “What do you want?”
“Just checking—oh, hey,” she says, her gaze moving somewhere behind my shoulder.
Colton fits himself right behind me, clasping his naked arm around my midsection. With a deep, contented sigh, he reaches under my pajama top and palms my belly. Then he leans into me, kissing the top of my head, trailing down the side of my face, nudging me to give him access to my neck.
Which I do. I tilt my head so he can full-on kiss, nibble, and lick.
Maya’s eyes round a bit, but she keeps control. She always seems to have control.
She takes us in, the image of a couple in love caught in a moment of intimacy, and envy colors her features. This is her engagement, yet still she wants what she thinks I have.
We must play our part really well, because her nostrils flare as she narrows her gaze on the shape of Colton’s hand under my pajamas.
His thumb splays out, reaching the lower swell of my breast. “Hey, Maya. Whassup?”
As she bites the inside of her lip, I straighten to break the contact, but he growls and fully cups my breast. “You coming back to bed, baby?” he says to me, not waiting for an answer.
Maya clears her throat but still can’t seem to bring her eyes up to mine.
I grip the door harder, because my knees are becoming less and less dependable. “What’s up?” I repeat Colton’s question, trying to keep the quiver off my voice. As if Colton fondling me in public is perfectly normal. As if his calloused hands gently stroking my most sensitive parts was something so ordinary I don’t even notice it anymore.
Her gaze lifts to my face but never quite makes it to my eyes. “Brunch is in thirty minutes,” she answers crisply. “You never RSVP’d to it, but since you’re here…” she trails off, her gaze dropping back to the outline of Colton’s knuckles.
I’m really not in a position to make any decisions right now. I’m fighting an orgasm by nipple stroke—not something I knew could occur. I’m wondering what’s going to happen when this door closes, brunch or no brunch. “Um…” Taking a page from Colton’s book, I improvise. “You wanna go to brunch, Romeolicious?” I turn my face to him. Seizing the opportunity, I stroke his forehead, scooping the hair out of the way, getting a good feel for it in the process.
I expect a chuckle at the nickname, a lift of the lips, maybe even a what-the-fuck that will expose our charade. I get none of that. Instead, I’m thrown off-kilter by the look he gives me. By the way our gazes lock for a split second.
Maya sighs. “It’s not really optional,” she clips. Her tone hits something deep in me, something primal. It’s the tone she uses to lecture me. Judge me. Put me down. I know that tone. I don’t need to hear whatever’s coming next from her to feel defeated already—not good enough.
I turn back to tell her we’re coming—anything to make her go away, really—but Colton beats me to it. “Tell you what,” he says, still possessively cupping my breast, his front intimately pressed against my back.
There’s no way I can ignore the hard beating against my upper hip. I lay the hand that’s not gripping the door on Colton’s arm, maybe in an attempt to stop him fondling me, or maybe to say this is totally cool. In all honesty, I don’t know what I’m thinking anymore, much less what I’m doing.
“I never heard of an engagement party to begin with,” he says. “I’m ready to puke just thinking about you guys’s wedding. Your sister called out of work to be here, looking fucking gorgeous which in turn makes you look good. This is the first we hear about your fucking brunch, so you’re going to give her all the time she needs to get ready, and if that includes me giving her an orgasm to undo all the stress you’re giving her, then so be it. We clear?”
Maya swallows visibly, the red on her cheeks almost as deep as the dress I wore last night. Without a word, she dips her head down and scampers away.
My head falls back against Colton’s chest as I stroke his arm still wrapped around me.
He shuts the door softly, pulling me closer into him as he does so, his erection beating against me. We stay like that a few moments that feel like forever, then he says, “You okay?” while the hand he still has under my jammies starts making slow circles on my breast.
I clear my throat, but no sound comes out and no coherent thought forms in my mind. All I can focus on is how good he smells and how warm he is and how strongly he’s holding me up, when in normal circumstances all I’d want to do would be to pack my stuff and run away and regret coming here.
I don’t regret coming here with Colton.
I don’t regret sharing a room with Colton.
I do, however, regret having to tell him what follows.
Letting my head fall forward, I run my fingers down his veined forearm. “You can let go, now, Colt.” My voice comes out husky—not the intended effect. It seems even my vocal chords are affected by what Colton’s doing to me.
He whispers in my ear, “Do you want me to let go?” My whole spine shivers as he punctuates his words with his lips trailing down to where my neck meets my shoulder.
“I think you should.”
“You’re so tense, though.” He brings the hand that was on the door to my hip, then teases the pants’ waistband open with the tip of his fingers. “I wasn’t kidding. You need an orgasm.”
Fuck yeah. I do.
“Colt…” My voice comes out a low rasp. Nothing in it indicates I’m not agreeing. I clutch his arm closer to me while my head rolls back on his torso again.
His dick beats against my back, and reality hits me. I can’t let this happen. “We can’t.”
“Who says anything about me?” he murmurs. “I’m just a friend doing you a favor. Let yourself go. Come on my fingers, grasshopper. You know you need it. Ignore my morning wood.”
My hips move forward and he takes it for what it is—yes.
“You’re not coming in front of the door,” he says, scooping me up and setting me on the bed.
I make quick work of my pajamas. Colton’s hard-on, even if he called it morning wood, boosts my confidence a little. I can’t look that bad to him, especially if the way he’s looking at me is anything to go by.
Swallowing hard, he licks his lips and rakes his gaze over me. Is he going to change his mind? I trail my fingers between my thighs. I do need this orgasm. His eyelids get heavy, and he drops to his knees, hooking my legs to pull me to him. Then he gently removes my hand from my center and dips his mouth to my folds.
In the milky light bathing the room, I wonder if maybe I’m dreaming. I run my fingers in his hair (it’s thick and soft) and cling to it as he runs his tongue around my clit. The tease is unbearable. “A little more to the right,” I finally whisper.
He lifts his head and looks at me, a smile lifting his mouth to one side. Brushing up the insides of my thighs, he says, “You think I don’t know where your clit is, Sweetness?” at the same time the pad of his thumb rubs me right in the center, making me arch and cry out. The sensation is more than electric, the orgasm building up but not quite there.
“There,” I sigh.
But he removes his hand, bringing it back to my thigh. “Not yet,” he growls as he lowers his face between my legs.
“The fingers… the fingers were fine,” I say.
“I thought you wanted an orgasm.” He peppers kisses on the insides of my thighs.
“I do. Please. You said-you said…”
“I said I’d give you an orgasm.”
“But you said I’d come on your fingers,” I whine. This teasing is really torture.
He looks up again, smiling like I’ve never seen him smile. He’s soft yet arrogant, dominant yet on his knees. His dark hands on my body are strong enough to snap me in half, yet he’s taking all my strength away just by the power of his tongue. “I changed my mind,” he says as he dips back down between my legs.
His tongue draws lazy circles on the outside of my labia now.
“This is not… this is not…” I sigh in exasperation, trying to bring his head back where I want it.
“Beggars can’t be choosers,” he says, the rumbling of his voice making my center clench. He breathes softly into my folds, an exhale that’s both admiration and want.
Ohgodohgod, he’s going to want to go all the way with me. Panic seizes me, then relief. Then worry. This is exactly what I didn’t want.
“Get out of your own head, Sweetness,” he says.
I snap my gaze down to him. His hair is covering part of his eyes, his hands are cupped around my hips, thumbs stroking me gently. The strong ridge of his nose is a stark contrast to his full lips hovering over me. “Never tasted anything so good. Now show me how you sound when you come on my face.” He dips back down, sucking and teasing and growling, then narrows down on my clit, getting what he wants.
The sensation is like nothing I’ve ever had, from my curling toes, to the electricity coursing through my entire body, and the shock waves that shake me. I hold his head down, committing everything to memory—the sight of him, his shoulders rolling as he strokes my thighs, the smell of my sex mixed with his fresh sweat, his palms cradling me as if to worship me.
When I come down from my high, I spread my legs wider to welcome him and open my mouth to say something.
But then he stands, his dick straining his briefs, takes quick strides to the bathroom and locks himself in.
The shower starts running, and I’m left wondering. My body is spent in the most delicious way. I try to sit up, but my legs barely cooperate, so I plop back flat on my back, one hand on my belly, listening to his sounds behind the closed door, feeling the deep relaxation that’s spread to every one of my bones.
When he comes back out, wrapped in a towel, he doesn’t look at me right away. His hair is a mess I’d like to untangle now, but I’m not sure where this leaves us.
There’s no going back, though.
His lips tilt up. “Feel better?” he asks with humor in his voice.
“What just happened?”
“I gave you what you needed.” He drops the towel, giving me a first-row view to his muscled ass as he steps into a fresh pair of briefs. “Ready to tackle Cruella and the gang?”
I sit up, and suddenly self-conscious of my nudity, cover myself with the sheet. “I mean,” I start, then hesitate, lick my lips, and add, “where does that leave us?”
He grabs a dark green Henley and pulls it on, then fixes his hair by running his fingers through it. “Whaddaya mean?”
“Well…”
“I did you a favor. That’s what friends are for. No?”
I blink several times. An idea forms in my hazy brain. “So are we like, friends with benefits?”
He pauses to think about that. Or maybe it’s just that the jeans he’s attempting to put on have a sock stuck somewhere in one of the legs, and he seems utterly puzzled by this. He doesn’t answer.
“Colton?”
“Huh?”
“Are we, like, f—”
“Not sure about labels, grasshopper,” he interrupts, seeming suddenly upset. “Are you gonna get ready or what?”
Why the mood change? This is not like him. “Ready for what?”
His features soften as he puts his hands on his hips and tilts his head to me, a small smile forming on his lips. “The brunch. We don’t have to go. Your call.”
Oh shit. I forgot. I jump off the bed, trying to hide my intimate parts as I look for my jammies.
Colton rolls his eyes, shakes his head with a smile, and plops on the couch, grabbing the remote, his gaze away from me.
I gather some clothes, get in the shower, and think this through.
Despite how physically attracted I am to Colton, how my body craves his and a part of me is obsessed with how he feels and makes me feel, I can’t let myself fall for him. I won’t let another man I care deeply about come into my life only to disappear from it.
While for me, giving fully into my attraction for Colton would mean forever, it wouldn’t for him and that’s okay. It’s understandable. His sudden mood change after… what he did proves my point.
I can rationalize that. Colton is a very masculine, sensual, sexual guy. He never was attracted to me physically, until he made the mistake of fake-kissing me. For a guy like him, that would have awakened the desire for more. It’s a mechanical chain-reaction. Guy kisses girl, guy wants more, guy pursues girl until he gets what he wants, then guy moves on to next girl. It’s the way of the world, and what happened earlier is proof of that. Colton won’t stop until he gets what he wants from me, and I can’t in all consciousness fault him for that. It’s how men are wired.
But what if I could control the outcome to our mutual benefit? He wants me. I’ll admit, I want him too. It’s the heartbreak I can’t deal with. We both want to remain friends after.
The solution to our predicament presents itself to me in its beautiful simplicity. One time is all we need to both get what we want. Well, to be fair, Colton will be on the winning end of that bargain. Because I’m certain I could have an infinite number of other times with him. It’s the breaking up that I’m not okay with, and I understand it’s unreasonable of me. Going in knowing it’s just one time guarantees I never have a breakup with Colton.
I’ll let him scratch the itch he has with me, and I’ll get to be entirely with him without any further expectation to shatter. One time with me is all Colton will need to move on. And since I’ll go in knowing this is what I get, I’ll be perfectly fine with it. I’m actually looking forward to imprinting every last detail of him in my memory forever. It will be our mutual little gift.
It really is a win-win situation.
Now all I need is to get Colton on board. I’m expecting some resistance if I open with the assumption that he’ll be done with me after one time. He’ll think I see him as superficial. Truth is, I’m being realistic. But I don’t want to hurt his feelings.
So instead, I’ll use Colton’s passion for fixing things. I can be his little project.
I think it’ll work. Hell, he might think it’s genius.