Alice
I stand shivering in my bedroom, watching as Colt backs out of the driveway. The spread of his shoulders behind the windshield, the grip of his hands on the steering wheel—they are blurred by the falling rain.
“Don’t go,” I whisper to the empty room.
The truck straightens, pointing down the street, and then begins its trek toward the stop sign.
“Stop,” I mouth silently. “Come back.”
My heart beats frantically in my chest, and suddenly I’m that broken-hearted fourteen-year-old again, watching Colt leave for boot camp in my parents’ SUV. And just like then, the truck continues moving, regardless of how hard I pray for its return.
I’m dripping onto the hardwood floor, rainwater puddling at my bare feet.
I turn resolutely from the window and head toward the bathroom.
My teeth chatter as I flip on the hot water, old pipes groaning somewhere deep inside the house.
As steam curls from the shower head, I strip, peeling off my clothes and tossing the sodden bundle into the freestanding tub.
Then I step under the spray, the heat enveloping me at once.
Colt’s face flashes in my mind. And then his lips.
His hands. I want to touch myself to the thought of him again, just as I have every night since we kissed.
But something stops me. I invited him inside.
My meaning couldn’t have been clearer. And he declined.
I could see that he wanted to, but wanting isn’t enough.
I decide, right then and there, that I must focus on the bookshop.
Yes, I want Colt. I burn for him. But he pulled away during the one and only time we kissed, and now he’s turned me down.
I have to focus on what does require my attention, and let go of this fantasy I have of something real happening between us.
Because Colt is either unwilling to cross lines given our history, or he’s just not that into me.
Either way, it’s time to let go, even as my body craves his touch.
I’m reaching for the shampoo bottle when a soft knock sounds at the bathroom door.
“Yeah?” I call out, craning my head to listen.
When no one responds, I fumble for a towel folded above the toilet and wrap it around my body, tucking the tail between my breasts. I pad toward the bathroom door, my mind racing with who might be—
I open the door.
Colt stands on the other side, dripping wet, water running in rivulets down his throat. The look on his face leaves no room for interpretation. His eyes are determined, hungry. My stomach flips as I take in the size of him—his towering height and wide, muscular build filling the doorway.
Colt steps toward me, and I fall backward a step, making space for him.
My breath hitches as Colt takes yet another step and then, with his eyes locked on me, he closes the door behind him. He watches me a beat longer, as if ensuring I don’t demand he leave. And then he turns just long enough to twist the lock with a soft click.
His eyes find mine once more, dropping to my lips, the towel.
He tips his chin toward the shower, his gaze flicking there for a half second before returning to me.
He starts walking. I back up, matching him step for step, following his lead until my shoulder blades press against the shower wall.
Colt follows me into the spray fully dressed, his pupils wide, eyes locked on mine with an intensity that reminds me he’s a trained soldier.
He continues moving until his chest presses into my own.
Colt stares down at me for a breath, and then his lips meet mine.
The kiss is slow at first, gentle, his lips warm and questioning.
Then he angles his head and deepens it, tongue sliding along the seam of my lips until I’m opening for him.
Heat explodes between my legs and a small moan escapes into his mouth.
He answers with a low groan, one hand coming up to cup the back of my head.
His other hand slides down my spine over the soaked towel.
The water pounds down on us, soaking his clothes until they cling to every ridge of muscle.
Colt Mitchell kisses me like he’s starving, like he waited far too long to feed himself and now he’s insatiable.
I cling to his shirt, fisting it in my hands to pull him closer, returning his kiss with every part of me because this is all I’ve wanted since the moment he returned to Holly River.
Without breaking the kiss, Colt pulls his hand down, tugging the towel free from my body.
Cool air hits my skin for a heartbeat as Colt takes a half-step back.
His gaze trails down my body, taking me in, and then it’s back on my face.
Holding my head in his hands, his eyes bore into mine, unapologetic as a thunderstorm.
And I see it then—that I was wrong about everything.
That Colt has wanted this just as much as I have, and that he’s not letting go this time.
Colt slides his hand slowly—agonizingly slowly—down my stomach, and my brain explodes when I grasp his intention.
The pace at which his hand travels downward feels deliberate, like he’s giving me time to stop him.
But I’d rather die. And if he doesn’t touch me there, where I need it most, I just may do so.
His fingers brush the top of my thigh, and then they’re sliding between my legs. I gasp against his mouth when they brush, featherlight, over my pussy.
He explores me with unhurried patience, fingertips gliding, testing, learning exactly how I feel, savoring every shiver.
I whimper at the confident drag of his fingers, and my hips jerk forward on instinct.
When I open my legs wider, his middle fingertip presses more firmly on my clit, rolling in smooth, firm circles.
I reach for him, my palm sliding over the front of his jeans.
His cock is hard, thick, straining against the wet fabric.
Colt sucks in a sharp inhale as I grip him, stroking him through the denim.
For one dizzying moment, he thrusts into my hand with a groan.
And then he’s capturing my wrist and pinning it against the tile above my head.
With his other hand, he keeps rubbing intoxicating circles over my clit, never breaking rhythm.
I whimper my discontent and reach for him again, but he spins me toward the shower wall in one smooth motion, pressing my front to the cool tile.
My cheek rests against it, breath fogging the surface.
His strong arm bands around my middle, holding me steady.
The other returns to my pussy. Colt slides one thick finger inside of me, so slowly that I find myself begging.
When I press back against him with a moan, he adds a second finger and increases the pace, curling them slightly.
I’m overcome by the sensation, nearly incapacitated though my legs shake beneath me.
Colt’s lips brush my ear, his voice low and commanding. “Move against me, Alice.”
I obey, rolling my hips, chasing the friction.
“More,” he growls.
I abandon any semblance of self-control. My fingers grip the shower shelf and I grind shamelessly, rubbing myself against his palm, desperate, greedy, caring nothing outside of chasing the pleasure from his touch.
“That’s it,” he praises. “Just like that.”
His fingers hook inside of me, stroking a spot I’d never managed to find on my own.
The heat of his body consumes me, pinning me against the wall in the most delicious way.
His cock is pressed into my lower back, his arm locked around my middle.
He works me steadily, relentlessly, until the pleasure coils so tight I’m nearly blinded by the oncoming orgasm.
Somewhere far away, over the roar in my ears, I hear Grant’s voice calling my name.
My body tries to freeze, but Colt’s mouth is at my ear again.
“Keep going, Alice,” Colt demands. “I want you to come on my fingers.” He kisses the shell of my ear, then my neck, open-mouthed and hot.
His free hand slides up to cover my mouth—firm but gentle, muffling the sounds I can’t hold back.
“Come for me, Ali,” he growls. “Give it to me. Now.”
I shatter. The orgasm crashes through me so violently that my vision whites out. I cry against his palm, hips jerking, thighs trembling. Colt keeps moving his fingers through every pulse, drawing out my pleasure until I’m folding in on myself, gasping, forehead resting on the shower shelf.
I sag back against him as the aftershocks fade.
He eases his hand away and turns me to face him.
Water streams down his face, long dark lashes spiked together.
He takes my face in both hands and kisses me deeply, reverently, one thumb stroking my cheekbone.
Then he steps out of the spray and hands me a fresh towel.
The fog of pleasure lifts and reality slams into me. My eyes widen, darting to the bathroom door. “Grant is downstairs,” I whisper, snatching the towel from Colt and wrapping it around myself. “Your truck is down there!”
Colt glances down and to the right, thinking. Then he meets my gaze, the solution coming easily. “I’ll go out the window and come in through the back.”
I shake my head, keeping my voice low, hoping the running shower will drown out any sound. “It’s raining. We’re two stories up. You’ll hurt yourself.”
To this, Colt laughs, his chin dropping to his chest. He looks back up at me, cupping my cheek, thumb brushing my lower lip.
“Ali. Baby. I’m a Marine.” With that, he presses one last kiss to my forehead before cracking the bathroom door open, peeking out, and slipping through on silent feet.
I hurry to lock the bedroom door as Colt eases the window open and deftly maneuvers out, silent as a shadow.
“Well, that’s a little creepy,” I mutter before rushing to pull on leggings and a sweater. I’m still twisting my hair into a wet bun as I jog down the stairs. When I reach the kitchen, Colt is already coming in through the back door, behaving as if he’s been outside this entire time.
Grant stands at the counter, frowning. “What were you doing outside?”
“Making sure the chickens were in their coop,” Colt replies, unruffled. “It’s coming down pretty good.”
Grant narrows his eyes. “You went out there shoeless?”
Colt glances to where his boots sit near the front door. He looks back at Grant. Shrugs.
Grant stares at him for a beat longer, slack-jawed. And then he shakes his head. “You’re fuckin’ weird, man.”
I clear my throat, trying to act natural.
Trying not to act, in fact, like my brother’s best friend didn’t just finger me in the shower.
And that I’m not literally floating on air, my feet hovering twelve inches off the ground.
Because Colt came back. And because I just had the best orgasm of my life.
And because this bookshop, the bookshop that I’ve dreamed about for a decade, is coming together far better than I dared hope.
“What’s that?” Colt tips his chin at something Grant’s holding.
Grant glances down at it. “Oh. Something from the city, I think. It was taped to the front door.”
Colt crosses to him in a single stride. He plucks the paper from Grant's hand and starts reading. I step up beside him, close enough that our arms brush.
Colt scans the page, jaw tightening.
“What is it?” I ask, leaning in.
Colt meets my gaze, his eyes blazing. “It’s a stop work order.”