Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Colton
On Saturday night, Melissa shows up at my place with confidence I didn’t expect.
She knocks once. When I open the door, she’s already smiling like she knows something I don’t. Jeans, fitted enough to be distracting. A simple top. Hair down, loose, makeup easy and light. She looks comfortable yet breathtakingly beautiful.
Before I can say anything, she steps past me and turns, pointing a finger at my chest.
“Just so we’re clear,” she says, eyes bright, “you promised that I got to plan tonight.”
I arch a brow. “I’m aware that I said that.”
She snorts. “And you have to stick to your word.”
I lean back against the doorframe, folding my arms. “And what’s your issue with me planning exactly?”
She tilts her head, studying me. “Well, Mr. Moneybags, just because you can plan everything doesn’t mean you should.”
The laugh that escapes me is real. Unfiltered. It catches me off guard.
“Mr. Moneybags,” I repeat. “That’s what you’re going with?”
She grins. “It fits.”
“It’s terrible.”
“You love it.”
I shake my head, reaching for my jacket. “Where are we going then?”
“You’ll see,” she says, already heading for the elevator. “And you’re not allowed to complain.”
I follow her while something light and unfamiliar settles in my chest.
The bar is nothing like anywhere I would’ve chosen.
Low ceilings. Dim lights. Wood-paneled walls that are worn with age. A dartboard on one wall, a pool table in the back, the faint smell of fried food and beer hanging in the air.
It’s loud but feels alive. More casual than I anticipated.
Melissa slides into a booth like she belongs here, already shrugging off her jacket.
“Beer?” she asks, not waiting for my answer.
She orders for us. Two lagers, burgers and fries. Then she leans back as she watches my reaction with obvious satisfaction.
“You look unsettled,” she says.
“I look observant,” I counter.
She laughs. “Relax. It won’t bite.”
The beers arrive cold and sweating, and I take a sip without thinking too much about it. It’s good. Refreshing. I haven’t had a beer in quite some time.
She clinks her glass against mine. “See? You’ll survive.”
After our first beer, we move to the dartboard in the far corner of the bar.
She picks up the darts like she’s done this a thousand times, rolling one between her fingers before glancing at me. “Ever play?”
“Years ago,” I admit.
“Perfect.”
She beats me on the first round. Easily.
I stare at the board, then at her. “You let me think I had a chance.”
She shrugs. “Confidence booster.”
The second round, I do better. She stands close when she explains how my grip is too tight, her shoulder brushing mine, her hand briefly covering my wrist to adjust the angle.
The contact is brief. My reaction is not.
I’m suddenly very aware of how close she is. Of the heat of her body beside mine. Of the way she smells faintly like soap and vanilla.
“Like that,” she says softly, stepping back.
I throw. Bull’s-eye.
She blinks and then laughs. “Okay, maybe you’re not hopeless.”
“High praise,” I say dryly, not used to being the weak link in anything.
Pool comes next. Thankfully a game I’ve played many times.
She lines up a shot, bending over the table, completely unselfconscious. I force myself to focus on the balls instead of the curve of her back or the way her jeans pull tight across her hips.
I step behind her to adjust her stance, pure instinct, then stop short when I realize how easily I could touch her.
I don’t, and she sinks the shot anyway.
She straightens, smiling. “You were going to help.”
“I was going to distract myself,” I say.
Her smile turns knowing, and luckily, our food arrives. We eat with our hands. Grease on fingers. Salt on lips. She steals one of my fries without asking. I don’t stop her. I like how comfortable she is with me.
We talk more than I expected to. About my residency. About stupid mistakes. About nothing important at all. I tell her a story about falling asleep standing up and hitting my head on the wall during a twenty-eight-hour shift, and she laughs so hard that she has to wipe at her eyes.
I can’t remember the last time someone laughed at my stories like this.
At some point, she studies me over the rim of her glass.
“You’re different tonight,” she says.
I shrug. “Am I?”
“Yeah,” she says. “Looser. Less … wound up.”
“I like you like this,” she adds, not pushing, not asking for anything.
We leave the bar later than planned, the night cool and buzzing as we step back onto the sidewalk. She slips her hand into mine without thinking. Her fingers are warm. They feel familiar.
The drive back to my building is easy. Quiet in a way that isn’t heavy. She hums along to a song on the radio, head tipped back against the seat.
When we get to the garage, I turn off the engine, but don’t move right away.
She looks at me, brows lifting slightly. “What?”
I lean in and kiss her. It’s slow, unhurried, tasting beer and salt and uniquely her.
“Just needed that,” I murmur against her mouth.
She smiles, soft and pleased. “Good.”
Upstairs, the penthouse is quiet and dark, city lights spilling in through the windows. She kicks off her shoes and wanders toward the glass, hands tucked into her pockets.
“God,” she says softly, “this view is spectacular.”
I join her, standing close enough that our arms brush.
“You did good tonight,” I tell her.
She glances up. “I know.”
I laugh, resting my forehead briefly against hers.
And for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like I’m bracing for impact.
Instead, I step into her space again, slow and deliberate, giving her every chance to pull back, but she doesn’t. Her eyes lift to mine, lips already parted, like she knows what’s coming and is daring me to do it.
I kiss her.
Not rushed. Not hungry the way I usually am. This is exploratory.
My mouth moves against hers like I’m learning her all over again. Her hands slide up my chest, fingers curl into my shirt, rooting herself there, like she needs the contact as much as I do.
I run my hands down her sides, over the curve of her hips, memorizing the way she fits under my palms. She exhales into my mouth, a soft sound that hits me low and hard, making my dick strain in my jeans.
“Colton,” she murmurs, not a question. Not a warning.
I pull back enough to look at her. Her cheeks are flushed, eyes dark, breath uneven. She looks like she wants this. Like she wants me. And that realization hits hard enough to steal my breath.
I kiss her again and guide her backward, not breaking contact as I walk her toward the bedroom. My hands slide under her top, skin warm beneath my fingertips. She shivers in my arms.
When we reach the bed, I let her sit first so I can look at her for a second longer. The city lights spill in behind her, casting her in silver.
I drop my forehead to hers, breathing her in.
“Tell me if you want me to stop,” I say.
She smiles at me softly. “I won’t.”
I lean down and press my lips against hers, slower this time, deepening the kiss. The rest of the world falls away as we move together hands everywhere, clothes becoming irrelevant.
And when I finally let myself fall with her onto the mattress, I know that this is about choosing her. About being close to her.
The thought should scare me, but I’m too caught up in the moment.
I kiss her neck and trail my lips down to her breasts. Never in my life have I been this obsessed with someone’s breasts before. I could spend hours licking and kissing them. But this time, I settle for a brief time, then move down her stomach.
I spread her pussy open and take one long lick from her back up to her clit, then flick and circle my tongue there. She moans instantly and grabs my hair.
I love how carefree she is with her expressions when I do this. It makes my cock so damn hard.
I feel her wetness hit my chin and know she’s close. She nearly squirts for me every time, and I’m determined to get her to do it fully at least once for me. I push three fingers inside of her, and she goes off, tugging at my hair and talking gibberish.
I pull away and open the drawer of my nightstand and grab a condom, then tear it open and roll it on.
She reaches for my cock and places it at her entrance.
I look down at her face. Her cheeks are flushed and lips swollen from our kisses. Her blue eyes shine brightly as they look up at me.
I push in an inch or two and watch her mouth open slightly. I know I’m thick, and it’s been a while for her, so I give her a second to adjust.
She nods her head. “I’m ready for more.”
I have to force myself to focus on what I’m doing and not how hot it is to hear those words out of her mouth.
In one quick movement, I slide all the way in. She gasps as I bottom out. Her delicate hands squeezing my bare shoulders.
Her pussy feels like it was made for me. It grips my cock perfectly. My forehead falls to her shoulder.
“Holy shit, Mel,” I whisper.
Her hands begin to run down my back and then slowly glide back up as she waits for me. I take a second to regroup, caught off guard by the intensity of it all.
Then I pull myself up to my hands and move inside of her. I start with slow thrusts, rounding my hips when I push all the way in, studying her face so I know what she likes. Know what gets the best reaction.
Then I begin to move quickly. Hitting her hard over and over again.
She wraps her legs around me, and I lean down for a kiss. Our tongues move together wildly as we both moan into each other’s mouth.
It becomes nearly impossible to hold off my approaching orgasm, but I wait. I wait until I feel her walls tighten and spasm against me as her kisses become more frantic.
We break our kiss as both of us gasp and huff out our own releases. My thrusts become jerky and unsteady until we both finish. Then I lose my strength and fall down on top of her.
I stay here for a moment, my cheek against her shoulder, listening to the way her breathing slowly evens out beneath me. The room feels different now. Heavier, like something irreversible has settled between us.
She runs her fingers through my hair, and my eyes flutter closed.
I’ve had sex before. Plenty of times. But this doesn’t feel like that. This feels like a line crossed, one I won’t ever be able to step back over.