Chapter Sixteen
Lord.
A gasp tore free of Holly’s lips, followed by a ragged inhale of steamy air. Planting a palm on the wet tile, she pushed back to meet Colt’s hard thrust, heavy tension coiling between her legs. He was all over her, deep inside her, all she could breathe and feel.
Muscled forearms bracketed her head, and his harsh breath sawed across her ear, a muttered Holly. Corded tendons flexed, his hand covering hers, threading their fingers. She wanted to hang on and wriggle free of that hard grasp, all at the same time.
It was too much, pressure and pleasure and coiled need, and she dropped her head back against his shoulder, grasping his thigh with her other hand. She dug her fingers into bunched muscle. “Colt, I can’t . . .”
“Can’t what, baby?” Mouth at her ear, he slid his palm down her belly, between her legs, long fingers toying with her clit. Sharp pleasure sparked out from the contact, his dark chuckle vibrating against her skin.
The pressure came undone, spiraling like a fireworks wheel, waves of contractions between her thighs, deep in her belly, spinning and sparking along her nerve endings, erupting in his name on her lips.
He thrust deeper, harder, holding himself high inside her, swelling and pulsing against her tight inner walls, fingers grinding hers in a spasm. His ragged groan bordered on a muffled yell.
Sagging into him, she closed her eyes, heart threatening to beat out of her chest. Aftershocks pulsed in her belly, between her thighs, where he traced light patterns on her skin. He pressed a gentle kiss to the side of her neck, nuzzling her with his nose.
Unexpected tears prickled behind her eyelids. She wasn’t in control of this, any of this, and—
Another soft kiss at her jaw, and he wrapped an arm across her chest, hugging her into him. With his other hand, he brushed wet hair away from her face.
His mouth whispered over her cheek. “Thank you.”
Those manners. Lord help her. A broken laugh burst from her lips, and she leaned harder into him. “You’re welcome.”
Both arms closed about her in a hard hug, brimming with affection that made her tear up all over again. “Got to take care of the condom.”
He stepped away, steamy air chilling on her bare spine. She glanced over her shoulder, watching muscles flex in his back and arms while he peeled off the condom and washed up. Wiping water from her face, she pulled in a deep breath, grateful for the moment of space.
This was so much, and it shouldn’t be. It was just sex. And it was Colt. Why was she so overwhelmed?
He stepped out, barefoot and dripping, and reached for a towel. “Want me to go home for the night?”
Holly froze. He wanted her to decide that now? While she couldn’t quite breathe normally or think straight, while she could still feel the achy imprint of him hard and full inside her?
Scrambling for room to process, she shut off the water, a few drops pattering to the stone floor. “Let me dry my hair, and we’ll figure it out.”
Toweling his hair, he shot her a quizzical look.
She got that look — “stay the night with me” should be easy, except tonight it wasn’t, when she’d watched him agonize over his separation from Tick, when he’d just taken her apart with a powerful intensity unlike any man she’d ever known.
He’d taken her apart, and she needed a second to figure out how to put herself back together again.
The physical attraction complicated everything, too. The man needed to put some clothes on, not stand there buck naked while he rubbed at his hair, biceps and abs flexing, sex flaccid atop his balls . . . and guys’ junk wasn’t supposed to be attractive, right, or make her want to lick him all over?
Snatching up a towel, she wrapped herself in a cotton cocoon across her bare breasts. She really hadn’t bargained on the intensity of any of this.
“Holly.” A frown knitting his brows together, he propped his hand, towel grasped in a hard fist, against his hip. “Do you need me to go?”
“I don’t know.” Her throat ached. Clutching her towel in place, she waved a hand from his head to his toes. “I need you to cover up.”
The vee at the top of his straight nose carved deeper. With a pointed glance at the shower, he folded the towel about his waist.
The subtext in that look sparked irritation through her bloodstream. “I know what we just did. That was . . . this is different.”
Still frowning, he tilted his head, mouth parted, tip of his tongue between his teeth. Oh, Lord, she knew that look, knew it intimately from all those cold reading sessions Mr. Davis had put them through. He was reading her, trying to figure her out, teasing out meaning and . . .
She itched under that look.
“I just said I needed you to cover up.” She flung a hand in the air, Mona at her most imperative. “I didn’t say it made sense.”
A slow grin curved his thin mouth, and that exhale of his bordered on a huh. Good Lord, if he laughed, she’d kill him.
“You know the best part about this?” Humor and sympathy blended into a hot light in the depths of his brown eyes. His fingers flexed where he held the towel in place. “You want to give me shit about my issues, make me work on myself, like it’s nothing. Not as easy as it looks, is it, babe?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t use that term of endearment in a sarcastic tone with me, Colton Eugene.”
He touched the center of his chest. “Am I supposed to be intimidated because you’re using my government name?”
His pfft wormed under her skin, and she pressed her lips together. If he hadn’t told her to quit, she’d slug him. She folded her arms over her chest, gripping her elbows hard.
An exhale moved his chest, and his expression softened. He jerked his chin at her. “Come here.”
Eyes narrowing to slits, she shook her head. “No.”
“Holly.” His voice took on that patient tone she deplored, the same one Tick used when he thought she was proposing something harebrained and he wanted to avoid it.
Was this how Lamar felt when she pushed him to do something he didn’t want to?
Crap, she might have to rethink that construct. “Come here.”
“I really hate you sometimes.” She took a step toward him, then another.
“Sure you do.” Firm fingers closed around her wrist and tugged her close, strong arms folding around her to tuck her into his chest. He propped his chin on her head, with her dripping wet hair and all. He circled a soothing caress at the small of her back. “I’m the guy you hate.”
She didn’t slug him, but pressed her fist against the side of his arm. The firm muscle didn’t give, no matter how hard she pushed. “Don’t do that.”
He flexed his arms, a subtle hug that didn’t suffocate her or hold her too tightly.
“This is ridiculous.” Resting her forehead on his shoulder, she closed her eyes. Her chest hurt. “It’s just sex.”
He stilled, almost like he held his breath, before he sighed against her head. He picked back up the small circle at the base of her spine. “Well, yeah. Sorta.”
Frustration vibrated out of her in a groan. She didn’t want to analyze anything tonight. She just wanted to . . . damn it, she didn’t know what she wanted. A replay of AP Lit wasn’t it, though. “What are you talking about?”
“So, yeah, it’s just sex, except you’ve probably been telling yourself that all the time with Barlow, too, but it’s never just sex, especially when there’s tension between a couple–”
“We were not a couple.” Someone had made that more than clear years ago in St. Simons. Crystal-freaking-clear.
“It’s called coupling for a reason, smartass.” He pinched her butt, thick cotton preventing any real sting. “But you didn’t trust him, probably couldn’t trust him because he is who he is, to keep you emotionally safe, so every single time you two had ‘just sex,’ it hurt you.”
Tension bled out of her. Oh, she really did hate him right this second.
“He needs his ass kicked.” Taut anger vibrated in his voice, at odds with his gentle touch on her spine. “I might be the one to do it.”
With a huff, she lifted her head to pin him with a look. “Because physical violence makes everything better.”
One brow arced high, and he pointed at his left biceps. Her cheeks burned.
“It would make me feel better since I’m cleaning up his mess.” His mouth thinned until his upper lip basically disappeared. “Maybe your daddy’s mess, too.”
“So I’m a mess.” She planted her hands on his chest and levered a step away. “That you have to clean up.”
“Did I say that? No.” This time, his eyes narrowed.
“Don’t put words in my mouth. You’ve been hurt over and over, so you have a hard time trusting men.
You’ve made the choice to trust me, and that means the sex gets emotionally heavy because it’s not just your body with me.
I kinda get that, so if you need me to go so you can take a breath and process, say “Go home, Colt.’”
“I don’t want you to go.” She dragged a hand through her damp hair. “I just need . . . I don’t want you to go.”
His gaze softened before he thumbed the end of her nose. She knocked his hand away, his quiet laugh tickling her ears. “Dry your hair. I’ll go check out what’s on the TV.”
He turned away, and unknown words crowded her throat with urgency. “Colton.”
“Yeah?” He looked at her over his shoulder, one thick brow lifted.
“I . . .” When was she ever at a loss for what to say? She moistened her bottom lip, still able to taste him from earlier. “Thank you.”
Humor and something hotter, steadier, gleamed in his gaze. “You’re welcome.”
Pivoting, he walked into the bedroom, and Holly sagged, a slow breath bleeding between her lips.
Holding her slipping towel in place with one hand, she stared at her other, at her trembling fingers.
Emotion curled around her heart, gripping tight, so her chest ached.
They were friends and this was supposed to be easy, not too challenging or too deep or too messy. And this was not . . . that.
In the bedroom, the television flicked on, that actor’s deep voice in another language. She closed her eyes. Subtitles again, symbols and subtext, a language she didn’t understand.
What the hell had she done to her life, to herself, getting involved with him?