CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Brett
College
Colson drives like he should be on a racetrack rather than the interstate surrounded by cornfields. He’s silent from the moment he started the engine and doesn’t speak until the skyline is a distant glow behind us. But I can’t read him yet and I don’t know whether he’s angry or just comfortable with silence. Granted, I don’t care if he’s angry. If I don’t want to kiss him, then I don’t want to kiss him.
Once there’s nothing but a desolate highway in front of us, I finally clear my throat and break the silence, “Where do you live?”
“The West side, on the river,” he replies, reaching over and resting his hand on my thigh.
He must not be too bothered by my rebuff back at the riverfront. At least I didn’t think he was until he grabbed my hair and gave me a yank like I was a puppy wandering too far off the sidewalk. It should’ve been enough for me to demand he take me home immediately, even if it meant an awkward two hours in the car with him, but it had the exact opposite effect. And I think he saw it—the twitch in the corners of my mouth that I couldn’t hide fast enough. Which is why, by the time Colson’s pinky brushes against the top of my inseam, I’m sure he feels me seeping out of my spandex.
At least they’re black. Thank God I didn’t choose grey…
“You alright over there?” he glances over at me, feeling my leg tense, “You’re pretty quiet.”
“Yeah, spacing out, I guess. Where are we going now?”
“I’m taking you home.”
I guess I was wrong. Apparently, he is that offended. My disappointment is palpable, so much so that I shift my gaze out my window and decide to stay there for the rest of the ride instead of looking at him. I should’ve just gone out with Barrett, Katie, and Emma tonight. What a waste.
Colson’s voice cuts the silence, “To my home,” he clarifies, “but I’ll take you back to campus to get your car first.”
“OK,” I draw in a shaky breath while his hand slides up and down between my thighs, “you should take King Avenue instead of Cannon because it’s blocked at night for construction.”
Colson cracks a smile, “You know what I like about you, Brett?” he asks as his hand brushes over the most sensitive part of me, “This laser focus you have. I don’t know where you get it. My hand is between your legs right now and you’re over here telling me about road closures.”
He’s not wrong. I can’t help it, it’s just how I am.
“Meantime,” Colson continues, “all I can think about is how you would look bent over my hood while I fuck that tight little pussy of yours.”
My eyes fly open and I clench my jaw in surprise.
Colson doesn’t take his eyes off the road, “I don’t know how tight your pussy is,” he shrugs, “I’m just making an educated guess. But it’s distracting.”
He slowly drags his fingers over my leggings, feeling every one of my contours. Soon, his movements follow the rise and fall of my breathing, which becomes more labored by the second.
“I didn’t think I’d get another chance after I was such a dick to you at Cade and Anderson’s,” he casts me a sideways glance, “I thought it’d be fun—string you along for a couple hours, really get you going, it would’ve been so fucking hot.”
I do a double-take.
Is he telling me how he was trying to manipulate me?
Yes, he definitely is. And he’s doing it with his hand between my legs.
“What?” I hiss, “Why would you do that?” But my attempt at confrontation sounds more like the whining of a petulant child than anything else.
“Yeah, you got really mad, really quick,” he snickers.
Is he seriously trying to have a whole conversation about this right now, confessing his transgressions toward me?
Yes, he is. And maybe you even like it.
“But then I realized that you have self-respect and aren’t going to take any of my selfish bullshit, which told me something else.”
“Like what?” I mumble between breaths.
“You have confidence,” he says as the corner of his mouth curls, “so, I bet you fuck like a filthy slut.”
My chest caves and his words render me utterly speechless.
He’s still doing it. He’s trying to manipulate you now.
“Am I wrong?” Colson asks with a hint of amusement.
“What?” Now I’ve lost my train of thought .
Is he wrong? Maybe he should ask Trey Schneider, who wanted to know how many times I came after aimlessly pounding me for five minutes in his bedroom at the Sig house right before winter break. After that, I decided to be more selective—and make sure my birth control prescription was up to date.
So, do I fuck like a filthy slut? Maybe, just not with Trey Schneider.
Colson’s hand wanders under the hem of my t-shirt, running back and forth at the edge of my leggings. He’s slow and deliberate, until finally he dips his fingers beneath my waistband and pushes them beneath my black thong. My muscles go rigid and my lungs fill with air at the sensation of his hand on my skin. He reaches further, sliding his fingers over my pussy and coating them in the thick heat already pooling there.
“ Oh, ” Colson breathes, “Brett’s been keeping secrets.”
He teases my entrance as his fingers glide back up to my clit, rubbing slow, hard circles around it with his newly acquired lubrication. I’m too slow to stifle the split-second moan that escapes my throat.
At that, Colson glances at his hand buried in my leggings and then gives a nod to my lap, “Does she want some attention, too?” I sink into the seat with a gasp as he feels for the wettest part and slips one finger inside me, and then another.
He gapes while he explores, his mouth curling into a ravenous grin, “Shit,” he mutters, “you’re tighter than I thought.” He tries to slide a third finger inside me, eliciting a high-pitched moan, “ Fuck, baby,” he smiles, “my dick might split you in two.”
I cock one eyebrow, “ You fucking wish. ” As hard as I try to sound scornful at his arrogance, it only comes out as desperate.
“Brett Sorensen,” Colson grins at the highway, “sweet as honey but stings like a bee…don’t worry, you’ll be good and ready by the time we get back.” He slides his fingers out and focuses on my clit, moving in rapid circles that nearly make me fold in on myself, “Do you like games, Brett?”
“What games?” I stammer as my hips grind against his hand, wishing he would just finish me.
“I ask you a question, you answer it, but if you don’t,” he stills his hand and lets the pleasure dissipate, “I stop.”
“What about you?” my voice cracks with indignance, “Why do you get to ask all the questions?”
“You can play, too. Ask anything you want.” Colson gazes at the dark highway before us, “So, tell me, Honeybee ,” I nearly melt into the floorboards when he utters this new nickname, “who was the last man to make you come?”
I notice he doesn’t ask who was the last man I had sex with…
“ What man?” I breathe, staring straight ahead.
He straightens up, “Woman?” he chirps with intrigue.
I’m instantly reminded that Colson is still a 21-year-old guy .
“No,” I say flatly.
“No one?” he turns to me, taken aback, “ Ever? ”
I give a quick shake of my head. It’s embarrassing. I could’ve lied, made up some fictional man or woman who was vaguely familiar with female anatomy. The university is huge, he would never know. But I’m a terrible liar, and it’s a lot of effort when I’m preoccupied with other things at the moment.
Even without looking at him, I feel Colson’s expression change. My cheeks flush as I try to avoid his gaze, which is impossible, considering he has his entire hand inside my pants and a couple fingers inside me at any given moment.
“What a travesty,” he turns back to the road and shakes his head with disapproval, “no wonder you’re so saucy.”
Smug much?
“Alright, what about you?” I counter, as if it’s some kind of challenge.
Colson doesn’t answer at first, just takes a deep breath and leans back against the headrest.
A sneaky grin spreads across my face and I can’t resist, “Dacia Ferguson?” I guess.
If I derailed his plans that night as much as he said I did, it seems like a logical assumption.
“No,” he replies.
I’m secretly relieved. Dacia’s preferences are none of my business, but I’d rather not imagine what Colson might’ve been doing to her ass while I was wallowing in my own anger and self-pity.
I flex my back as Colson changes pace and slides two fingers back inside me, “Then who?” It comes out as a broken moan as I dig my nails into the leather seat.
“Dana Masterson and Leah Durham,” he deadpans.
My eyes dart across the console. Colson remains focused on the road ahead, his expression unchanged. I stare at him for a few seconds, his confession competing with the distraction of his torturous game.
I crack a smile, “Both?”
He glances at me out of the corner of his eye, “Who am I to turn down such an offer?”
I bite back a smile, but it claws its way over my lips anyway and I let out a chuckle. I wonder if they were two of the flight attendants in that douchebag picture of him from Halloween…but it doesn’t matter, I am so telling Barrett, Emma, and Katie. They’ll fucking eat this up.
“Are you laughing?” Colson asks.
“Yes,” I gasp between giggles.
“Why?”
“You do sleep with all the Deltas!” I laugh, rolling my head across the headrest .
Colson slides his fingers in deeper, making my breath catch, “I don’t sleep with all the Deltas,” he replies matter-of-factly, “I was presented with an opportunity and I took it.”
“Mm-hmm…” I roll my eyes, a smile still pulling at my cheeks.
“Do you disapprove?”
“No, you’re not my boyfriend.”
“Not yet,” he shoots me a sideways glance, “but I bet you’d let me do a lot of twisted things to you if I was.”
Colson’s voice is enough to bring me right to the edge. I reach up and curl my fingers around his wrist, moving him up and down with the roll of my hips. But he stills his hand, letting the tension fade away. I exhale in frustration, digging my nails into his flesh, which only seems to amuse him.
“What do you like, Brett?” he runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek, “I bet you have more kinks than a garden hose.”
He’s out for blood now. Probably because I laughed instead of getting jealous about him fucking two girls at once. Well, good, I’ll laugh at the details of his sordid sex life all night long if it gets under his skin.
“C’mon, don’t be shy,” Colson starts circling my clit again as I hiss a breath through my teeth, “what do you think about when you touch yourself?”
He’s so vengeful, clearly paying me back for the comment about the Deltas. I could lie about this, too, but…I don’t really want to. What’s the point? And as much as I don’t want to admit it…I want to tell him.
With an exhale, I relent and let my legs fall further apart. Colson’s satisfaction is audible as he relaxes his hand and fills the dripping space between my thighs.
A chill runs up my back, “You,” I murmur as I bite my lip.
I don’t want to look at him. Saying it is enough. I can’t believe I’m admitting this to anyone, especially him , but I can’t resist. And, besides, he’ll probably know if I’m lying.
“What was that?” Colson stills his hand except for his middle finger tickling my clit, catching my breath and making me writhe in my seat.
Son of a bitch , I gasp, trying to maintain some shred of focus, just say it. He already has his hand down your pants.
“I think about you,” I say between broken breaths, “when I…touch myself…”
Colson’s eyes narrow, but remain on the dark highway, “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
“OK,” I clench my teeth as he stills his hand, “what do you think about?”
Quid pro quo, motherfucker.
“When?” he asks with feigned ignorance.
I press my lips together in frustration as he toys with me.
“ Oh, sorry,” Colson grins, “well, you know when you chew on your pen in class? You do this thing with your tongue where you slide it up and down the underside of your pen, and it’s really fucking hot because you don’t even know you’re doing it. I just have to sit there and watch you for an hour and a half straight every Tuesday and Thursday. It’s pure torture.” He speaks slowly, drawing out every word, “So, when I want a really good one, I imagine you on your knees, looking up at me with those big, beautiful, hazel eyes, and swallowing my dick like it’s your last meal.”
My jaw falls open and I let out a whimper when he finally slides a third finger inside me. I can feel the orgasm building like the slow burn of a wick crawling toward a stick of dynamite.
“ Fuck, baby, you can’t imagine all the sick things I’m going to do to you,” he’s thinking about it now, the low hum behind his drawl giving him away, “when I get you in my bed, you’ll spread those legs wide for me and beg me to fuck you until I’m dripping from every hole you have.”
Sensing the quake deep in my core, Colson speeds up his cadence. With a desperate cry, my muscles contract and I dig my nails into his forearm. My head snaps back and my other hand slams into the door, my fingertips turning white as they claw the thin leather below the window. I grind against Colson’s hand with garbled curses on my breath as every nerve in my body fires at once.
When it’s over, I cling to his arm, drawing in deep breaths and basking in the euphoria I’ve never experienced from another human being. It feels different—when something is given rather than taken without a second thought.
Colson lingers until my grip loosens and then gently retracts his hand from my lap, “And, that , Honeybee, is how it’s supposed to be done.”
I watch in awe as he reaches up and slides his index finger into his mouth, sucking it clean. He does the same with his middle and ring ringers and the longer I watch him, the harder it is to sit still.
“Pull over,” I say flatly.
It catches Colson off-guard, but he complies without a word. Three minutes later, he veers off at the next exit onto a dim stretch of road lit only by sporadic light poles rusting into the asphalt.
He pulls the Bronco into a deserted gas station with peeling white paint and broken-out windows. The sign has long faded into a blank, sun-bleached canvas and the pavement bursts with grass and weeds. The only light emits from the street lamp near the road, casting the entire lot in an eerie glow. It looks like the setting of a slasher movie, and a campy one at that. I should be repulsed, terrified we’ll be hacked apart by some masked maniac in the overgrown honeysuckles behind the building, but I’m not.
It’s perfect.
“Get out,” I deadpan as soon as he shifts into park.
Colson pauses momentarily and then cuts the engine, “Yes, ma’am,” he pulls the keys from the ignition and tucks them into his jacket pocket .
I slam the door and meet him at the driver’s side, grabbing the front of his t-shirt and pulling him backward to the decaying brick wall. He lets out a groan as I attack his mouth, closing my mouth around his bottom lip and sucking slowly.
He grabs my ass with both hands and presses me against the wall, “Is this what I have to do, little Honeybee,” he starts grinding against me, “buy you books and finger you in my car when I make you angry?”
I grab the back of his neck and move with him, trying to chase that high again, “It’s a start.”
The thin layers of cotton and rayon between us are a joke. He’s so hard that I can feel him moving against me like there’s nothing there, making my nerve endings fire all over again. Then I remember why I told him to stop here. I grab his shirt again and spin him around, pushing his back against the wall as I sink down to my knees.
The outline of his cock strains against his pants, making me salivate, “What kinds of sick things are you going to do to me?” I smile up at him while unlatching his belt buckle.
He takes a wide stance, bracing himself against the wall, “I’ll use that belt to make you my pet,” his eyes are still vast oceans, even in the darkness, “put you on a leash for the night, maybe longer.”
I’d be your pet…
Colson raises his arms and clasps his hands over his head, mouth ajar and chest heaving as I tear his button and zipper open. When I grab the sides of his pants and pull them down, his cock springs loose, nearly smacking me in the face. My thighs tense and suddenly his asinine comment in the Bronco turns into an ominous warning. He wasn’t lying...
Wrapping my hand around his base, I tip my head back and drag my tongue up the underside of his shaft, closing my mouth over his tip when I reach the top. Holding my breath, I take him as deep as I can, pumping his cock against the back of my throat before sucking him hard.
“ Fuck me... ” Colson groans, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back against the crumbling brick.
Spit seeps from the corners of my mouth as I slide him over my tongue, all the while the ache between my thighs builds like a slow burn. My knees grind against the grit and gravel, but I barely feel it as he runs his hand around the back of my neck, tilting my head up.
“If you’re good, I’ll mark you as mine,” Colson murmurs salaciously, “then I’ll bind your hands, so you won’t run when I start telling scary stories.” I let out a moan loud enough for him to hear as he clenches his fist at the base of my skull, “Take a deep breath and show me how good you are.”
I inhale deeply and, as soon as I do, he pumps my head faster, pushing his cock deeper with each thrust. When he hits the back of my throat, I lurch forward. Tears flood my eyes as I gag against the onslaught, which only makes me open wider .
I claw at his thighs, my arms useless except to brace myself against him as he thrusts into my mouth so hard that I think my jaws will split apart. He holds my head firm until a slow moan reverberates from above, getting louder each time he slams into my throat. Seconds later, a deep grunt cuts the silence and I let out a muffled squeak when I feel his thick, warm cum hit the back of my throat mid-suffocation.
Cursing under his breath, he pulls out a couple inches, allowing me to breathe again but keeps my mouth closed around him. I collapse onto my heels, strings of spit and cum leaking from the corners of my mouth as my nostrils flare and my chest heaves.
“Breathe, baby,” Colson exhales, the corners of his mouth curling, “you can swallow now.”
I look up at him through foggy, tear-stained eyes while he watches the muscles in my throat tense and empty my mouth. Then he slowly slides his cock out and tugs his pants back up to his waist.
After clasping his belt, he kneels down in front of me and cups my face, “Look at me,” he speaks softly as he holds me still and swipes his thumbs under my eyelids, gently wiping away the remnant tears mixed with mascara. When he’s finished, he offers me his hands, “Come on.”
Colson hoists me up onto my wobbly legs and then grabs me under my thighs, lifting me up to his waist. I drape my arms around his shoulders, resting my forehead against his temple as he carries me around the front of the Bronco.
He brushes his lips over my ear, sending a wave of butterflies through my stomach, “You are the best girl, you know that?” He ambles to the passenger side and opens the door, “Now, I’m going to take you home with me and see how many times I can get my name to come out of that dirty little mouth.”
I press my lips to Colson’s, drinking him in like I’m dying of thirst. He sets my feet back down to the gravel and slowly lowers me back onto the seat, his mouth still devouring mine. When he finally pulls away, he pauses to brush the stray hairs away from my eyes.
“I have to tell you something, Brett,” his eyes darken and suddenly he’s like a predator sizing up its prey, “I care about you more than you’ll ever know,” then he leans closer, his eyes deep blue and sinister, “but for the rest of the night, I’m going to fuck you like I don’t.”