26. Colt #2
“I’ll say!” Maggie says, shoving her phone into her purse. She hugs Alice and then gives me an awkward shoulder pat that turns into her squeezing my bicep. “Jesus!”
“Maggie,” Alice laughs.
Maggie throws up her hands in surrender and slinks off, calling over her shoulder, “You kids enjoy yourselves. See you at the meeting tomorrow!”
The rest of the dinner passes uneventfully. We eat, we listen to the pianist play, and we even order a slice of pecan pie, which Alice says I am not to tell June about.
When the check arrives, I pay without argument and then walk Alice home, itching to wrap my arm around her when I notice she’s cold. We’ve just reached the front door when Grant comes charging out, yanking on his jacket.
“Where are you going?” Alice stumbles backward out of his way.
“To see a client,” Grant yells, already jogging down the sidewalk.
“Now?” Alice checks her phone. “It’s almost nine.”
“I’m seeing a client!” Grant hollers back, shoes slapping pavement as he disappears around the corner.
Alice and I meet each other’s eyes, and the realization hits us at the same time: the house is empty.
No Grant. No interruptions. We rush up the porch stairs and I shove open the door—guiding her inside—and then slam it shut, sliding the deadbolt into place.
I still have my hand planted firmly against the door, as if assuring myself no one is coming through it, when I turn to look at her.
Alice takes two measured steps backward, a playful smile on her lips.
I shake my head at her retreat and crook a finger toward me.
She squeals and runs for the stairs.
I’m barreling after her before she can make it five feet. Laughter pours out of that beautiful throat as I catch her halfway up the stairs and haul her up into my arms.
“No running from me,” I say.
Alice pretends to faint, holding the back of her hand to her forehead. “Please. Someone save me! I’ve been abducted by a barbarian.”
I release a long caveman grunt at this and let my footsteps fall heavier on the stairs as I ascend them. When we reach her bedroom, I set her on her feet, wondering if we’re still playing. I am up for absolutely anything this woman wants to do.
The smile dies on Alice’s lips, replaced by a look I’ll remember as long as I live. She walks past me, taking her time, and shuts the door. Then she clicks the lock and turns to face me, her eyes flicking to the chair in the corner.
She nods toward it. “Sit down.”
I turn to look at the chair and then at her, trying to understand where this is headed. Without hesitation, I do as she asked. The leather chair creaks beneath my weight as I lower myself into it. I spread my boots on the floor and pat my lap, already aching to feel her weight against me.
She strides closer, pausing to remove her shoes one at a time, her eyes never wavering from mine.
When she gets near enough, I reach for her hips, wanting to push that skirt up around her waist. Wanting her to straddle me.
I want my hands on every last inch of her skin, and I want Grant to forget his own address until I’m done with his sister.
But even more than that, I just want Alice.
I want her easy smile and her generous heart and the way she makes me laugh until my sides ache.
I want her unflinching honesty and her faithfulness to those she cares about.
Touching her, feeling her body between my hands, it’s a way of assuring myself that she’s close.
I start to guide her toward me, but she grips my wrists, stilling my movements.
“No,” she says softly. Moonlight drifts through the window, illuminating her delicate features, her big blue eyes.
“I know what you were going to say at dinner.” She opens her mouth, and it takes her a moment to voice the rest, as if she’s not entirely certain she’s right.
“You think you’re not good enough for me? ”
It comes out like a question, but it shouldn’t. Because she’s dead right.
Her hand finds my cheek and I press into it, my eyes closing. “You look at me like I’m something you don’t deserve. But you are worthy of me, Colt Mitchell.” She’s silent for a beat. “You are worthy of so much. Much more than you’ve been handed.”
I open my eyes to see Alice sinking to her knees between my thighs. My breath catches as she pushes my shirt up, her warm palms finding my stomach.
“Alice,” I say.
She presses her lips to my abs. “You made me feel like I had value for who I was.” She kisses me again, lower.
“You are impossibly strong, and brave. You’re a soldier, and I feel safe when you’re around.
” Another kiss, this one directly above my waistline.
“You make me feel capable.” Kiss. “You make me feel protected.” Kiss.
“You make me feel unstoppable.” Alice grazes her fingers down my abs, stopping at the button of my jeans.
I’m rock hard, straining against my zipper, her words landing like a spark on tinder. I reach for her again, wanting to pull her up, to taste her, to make her feel how she’s making me feel. But she gently pushes my hands away.
“Do you not trust my judgement?” Her blue eyes search mine.
“No,” I rasp. “I didn’t mean to imply—”
“Then let me do this for you. Let me show you how you make me feel. I want to, Colt.” She pauses, lips brushing the line of hair disappearing beneath my belt. “Unless you don’t want me to.”
“I do.” The words arrive rough, immediate. “God, Alice, I do.”
She presses her hand to my chest and pushes until I’m leaning all the way back.
And then, with slow, resolute fingers, she frees me from my jeans.
My cock springs out, heavy and aching, the head already slick.
Alice wraps her hand around the base—warm, firm—and leans in.
Her breath ghosts over me, teasing. And then her lips part, and she takes me into her mouth.
I suck in air between my teeth because the pleasure is instantaneous, and overwhelming.
Slowly, deliberately, she slides down until I feel the back of her throat, and then she eases back up with a soft moan that makes my head fall backward against the chair.
Her tongue swirls around my cockhead on every pass before pressing flat and firm against the vein underneath.
I groan from the sensation, one hand sliding into her hair, feeling the silk strands between my fingers.
“Alice...” Her name comes out wrecked.
She hums around me, the vibration shooting through my body as I claw the armrests.
Alice takes me deeper, cheeks hollowing, eyes lifting to meet mine.
Her mouth moves in long strokes that rise and fall like the tide, hand twisting gently in time with her lips.
I fight to keep my hips still. To let her set the pace.
But my thighs are trembling from the restraint of not thrusting upward into her mouth.
Pressure forms low and tight, every nerve firing at once.
Alice pulls off just long enough to kiss the underside, tongue tracing from base to tip, then she takes me again, faster now. My fingers tighten in her hair, anchoring myself. “Alice, I’m… Fuck, I’m close.”
She doesn’t stop. Her eyes stay on mine, determined, telling me without words that this is exactly where she wants to be. The sight of her—lips stretched around me, lashes dark against her cheeks, soft hand pumping my cock—it pushes me over the edge.
I come with a groan torn from my chest, hips jerking. She swallows every pulse, every throb, mouth working me through it until I’m shaking and empty and entirely hers. As the pleasure begins to recede, she eases off, pressing one last kiss to the sensitive head before resting her cheek on my thigh.
I stroke her hair, chest heaving, the world obscenely quiet outside the window. There are no words. Just the two of us, an empty house, and the truth settling into my bones—that I would burn the world to the ground for the woman at my feet.
And that even when Alice Sinclair is on her knees, she fucking owns me.