Chapter 22
Twenty-Two
Colt
“What did Damon say to you?”
I set my spoon down, put the bowl that holds the remnants of the sundae Kylie ordered for me to the side, and debate on what to tell her.
She snorts, fixing the strap of the tank top she put on when we changed into pajamas.
It’s silky blue, almost matching the sexy as fuck dress she’d had on earlier, but she’s paired it with something fucking adorable—flannel pants patterned with hula-hooping wombats.
“Nope. No way.” She narrows her eyes at me.
“No prevaricating. I’m not going to give you time to come up with a plausible lie. ”
“Would it be plausible if I said we discussed the team?”
Another snort. “No.” A beat. “Don’t even try it.”
Grinning, liking this sassy side of her, the lack of fear on her face, in her body, that she feels comfortable giving me shit, I lean back against the headboard. “I think you know that brothers will always have conversations with their little sister’s boyfriends.”
She scowls. “That’s barbaric.” Then she sighs. “And it’s also Damon.”
“I don’t know if I’d call your brother barbaric, per se.”
“No.” She sets the empty bowl of her sundae aside then moves to the bed, mirroring my position against the headboard. “He’s not. But I just mean I wouldn’t put it past him to have a conversation with a man who calls himself my boyfriend.”
“Calls myself?” My lips twitch again. “What? I haven’t convinced you yet?”
Her nose wrinkles. “You haven’t even taken me on an official date yet, buster. How can you be my boyfriend?”
“I’ll have to fix that.”
“Yes, you will.” She gives me a pert smile then shifts in a rush of movement.
One second, she’s mock-glaring at me. The next, her smile is making me hard, and I’m barely able to ignore that as I try to stay charming and funny, even as the need to touch her, hold her, take her is eating me up inside.
And then…she’s sitting on my lap.
On my fucking lap.
And I was already hard.
But now the cradle of her pelvis is—
“Starfire,” I rasp, hands on her hips, trying desperately to hold her in place rather than pull her closer and grind up against her.
Because I’ve gone from hard to granite.
“Why do you call me that?” she asks, settling more firmly against me, making a groan rumble up my throat. I bite it back, my dick so fucking hard it’s a wonder I have any blood left in my brain to form words.
Still, I manage to have enough remaining to ask, “What?”
Okay, it’s not exactly Shakespeare and when she settles more heavily against me, I can’t hold back my groan, can’t stop my hips from jerking up against her.
Fuck.
Too much.
Too fast.
“Easy,” she murmurs, dropping her hands to my chest, running them lightly up and down.
Fuck, but what I wouldn’t give to have her do that while we’re both naked.
But…patience.
I don’t want to scare her.
I won’t scare her.
“I’m okay,” she says softly.
“You’re—” I shake my head, trying to clear it. “I don’t want to—” I try to find the strength to lift her off me. Really, I do.
But it’s like my muscles have stopped functioning.
“I’m fine,” she says. “I promise.”
“But—”
She bends and brushes her lips over mine. “Fine. Now, did Damon threaten to murder you if you so much as laid a hand on me?”
“No,” I say and it’s more groan than actual word because she’s begun rocking against me.
“No?” she asks.
“No.” Fuck, she’s beautiful, light in her eyes, hair cascading down around her shoulders. “He said I’d be dead already if he thought I’d hurt you.”
She freezes, her pelvis lifting from mine, and I fucking hate the loss of her body from mine.
So much so, my hands flex and I drag her back down against me.
Her gasp slices through me.
Fuck.
Too much.
Too fast.
“Honey,” she whispers, still stroking my chest. “I’m fine.”
I close my eyes, exhale sharply. “I’m not in control. I don’t want to hurt you or scare you.”
“I trust you.”
My lungs seize. “Baby.”
“Now,” she murmurs, palms sliding up to cup my jaw, “tell me about starfire.”
“It’s because you’re that,” I blurt.
Her brows drag together.
“You glitter in the dark, so fucking beautiful and bright despite the shadows trying to close in around you.” I cover her hands with my own. “You burn with so much life, so much joy, so much fucking strength that the world could throw anything at you and you’ll still survive.”
Her face has gone blank.
Her body completely still.
And I realize what I’ve said, what I’ve given away, what—
Her eyes dance with mirth. “So what you’re saying is that I’m a giant ball of gas?”
I blink.
Then again.
Fuck.
Only, then she’s grinning and bending, slanting her mouth over mine, her pelvis rocking against me, driving me fucking insane.
“Kylie, baby,” I begin when our lips break apart.
“I like you.”
Her words sear through me. “Baby.”
“Kiss me.”
“Yeah,” I growl. “I want to do that.” I plunge my hand into her hair, dragging her down to me. Our mouths meet in a tangle of lips and teeth and tongue, intense and needy and…
Forever.
Until she moans, her head falling back, her lips dropping away from mine. Her hips are still moving as she grinds herself against me. “It feels so good.” Harder now. “You make me feel so good. What you say. How you say it. How you mean it.”
I’m about ten seconds away from coming in my pants.
But she says it feels good. So good.
Thus, I can no more stop her than I can head off my incoming orgasm.
Another searing kiss as she grinds against me, her moan skating along my tongue, down my throat. But when she goes to pull back, I dive my hand into her hair, draw her down to me.
I can’t stop tasting her.
I fucking can’t.
Not even as my orgasm draws far too close.
She breaks away, gasping in a breath, her eyes hazy as they drift to mine…and desperate. “I can’t, Colt. I need… I don’t know how—”
Pink on her cheeks.
Eyes dilated.
Lips swollen and stubble-burned.
She’s close too.
And I can give her more good, can make her feel good.
Her hips jerk, a frustrated groan tumbling off her lips. “I—”
“Let me help you, baby?”
She stills and I brace. I won’t push, but fuck I hope she’ll—
“Yes,” she says an instant later. “Please help me, Colt. Please keep giving me more of your good.”
A red haze intrudes on my vision, my orgasm sliding even closer, my control slipping just a bit more. But I rein it in as I grip her hips, order gently, “Shift over, baby.”
She doesn’t hesitate, just rolls to her back, hands going to the hem of her tank top.
And when she shimmies, drags the material up, exposing several inches of gorgeous silky skin…
That fragile hold on my control snaps.