Heart So Hollow (Dire Wolves #1)

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Brett

One Year Ago

Routines are great, until they start driving you crazy. I never thought I would be the one to believe that, but it’s true. It’s a completely normal Tuesday, which includes Colson sauntering through my office door at noon. He does the exact same thing whenever I’m here—walks into my office, shuts the door, and sits down in the chair next to the window.

Except today, when he walks through the door, I’m wondering where he’s been in my house—in mine and Bowen’s house—and when.

Did he come in through the front door? Did he walk up the steps to the back deck and come in through the sliding glass door? Did he pet Waylon on his way to the kitchen?

I’m obsessing now, even as Colson rips open his Twix wrapper, takes one bar out, and slides it onto the edge of the desk. I stare at the candy for a moment, remembering the last time he brought me something to eat. I can’t prove that he did something to that latte, or whatever it was, but I know he did.

Just like I know he left that goddamn smoothie in my fridge.

I shake it off, trying to refocus before finally picking up the candy bar, “Thanks.” I bite off the end.

He might be a deviant, but I’ll still eat his chocolate as long as I saw him open the wrapper.

“What are you doing right now?” he bites the end off of his half, “Want to get lunch?”

“I probably shouldn’t.”

I’m trying to maintain firm boundaries, especially since Colson likes to say inappropriate things, throw out ominous warnings, and then act like nothing ever happened. He’s so toxic, and I’m an idiot for putting up with his nonsense, because things like yesterday are what happen when you decide to give someone the benefit of the doubt—again. You end up with phantom smoothies in your refrigerator and start to question your own sanity.

“We don’t have to go to Cincy,” Colson glances at his phone and then slides it into his pocket, “I’m sure there’s a Burger King around here somewhere.”

I give a tight-lipped smile, “I don’t think it’s a good idea.” I’m shocked by how even my voice is while a hurricane rages in my mind.

“Why?”

“Because,” I take a deep breath, “there was a smoothie in my refrigerator yesterday morning.”

Colson just stares at me, still chewing. And I stare back, because that should be explanation enough. He swallows the chocolate, glances to the side in confusion, and then back at me.

“So, you don’t want to get lunch because you drank a smoothie yesterday?”

I blink.

Are you kidding me right now?

“No,” I clarify with a tone sharp enough to cut glass, “there was a smoothie in my refrigerator yesterday morning and I didn’t put it there.”

“I thought you liked those,” he replies, unfazed.

Now he’s just grating on my nerves. It’s bad enough that I had to deal with Hannah creeping around the house after I moved in with Bowen. I can’t just sit idly by while Colson does the same.

Quit being a coward and just say it.

I look him dead in the eye, “Did you put it there?” It’s an accusation rather than a question because I know he did it, I just don’t know how.

Colson chews his thumbnail, thoroughly enjoying my irritation. He doesn’t seem to care who I think’s been creeping around my house.

“Would it make you feel better if it was me?” he taunts.

“Just like it was you who put—” I pause, waving at him in disgust, “in my coffee? That qualifies as assault! ”

“Well,” Colson smiles with amusement, but his tone is laced with poison, “no one can ever say I don’t know what you like to drink .”

“Did you do it?” I almost plead with him, “Did you really …” I don’t even want to say it out loud, it’s too messed up and yet, so absurd.

“Guess that depends whether you remember what I taste like,” he says with nonchalance.

I stare at him for a moment, narrowing my eyes as I study his face. The longer I look at his eyes, the more I recognize the subtle glint that directly corresponds to the way the corner of his mouth twitches. Then I realize I still know him. I still know how his mind works .

“Colson, you’re so full of shit,” I sneer.

He gives a shrug, refusing to admit to anything, as usual, “We don’t have to get lunch if you’re not in the mood. I also said I’d take you to Colorado. We could still go.”

As much as I don’t want it to and contrary to my utter contempt for him, a wave of butterflies sweeps through my stomach.

I look down and shake my head, just as much to tamp down my own intrusive thoughts as to deflect his endless barrage of inappropriate commentary, “You have to stop saying things like that.”

Colson raises both arms above his head and stretches from side to side, “Why?”

“Because that’s not even a thing. You know I can’t do any of that.”

“Can’t—” he cocks his head, “or won’t?”

“ Won’t, ” I say firmly.

“Well, if you don’t have time for that, ” he lowers his voice, “I could just take you on a date—a real date—maybe even one that doesn’t result in PTSD.”

I stare at him blankly, “What for? You already do whatever you want regardless of how I feel about it— whether I know about it or not. ”

“Come on, Brett,” Colson scoffs as he stands up and meanders over to the waist-height filing cabinets lining the wall, “I’m kind of surprised you’re still like this.”

“Like what?”

“I mean,” he takes a seat on the edge of the cabinet, “since Barrett’s a trauma therapist, and all…”

My eyes round and I jerk my head up. He remembers Barrett? And how does he know what she does? Then again, Barrett’s profession isn’t a secret and you can find out anything on the Internet. I clench my jaw and don’t respond, but my silence tells him everything.

“You never told her what happened.”

I don’t tell people a lot of things. It should be his favorite part about me by now.

“Why not?” he asks, sensing my growing discomfort.

Why are we even talking about this? I feel like I’m constantly ending up in conversations with Colson Lutz that I don’t want to have. He already tried to murder me once, why can’t we just move on and be cordial to one another?

Wow, maybe I’m more messed up than I thought.

My outrage gets the best of me and I rise from my chair and take a couple strides toward Colson. This is probably the closest I’ve been to him since I fled his house all those years ago. Even sitting next to him at meetings in the conference room, he keeps his chair a comfortable distance from mine, and walking down the hall, he always trails a few feet behind me. But now I’m the one invading his space, telling him to shut his fucking mouth and to stop making assumptions about my life and what I have or have not told my best friend.

“You have no sense of boundaries,” I hiss with as much venom as I can muster.

“Not really,” Colson shakes his head, “but, you already know that.”

“And you’re not my fucking therapist,” I say and look away, staring at a faint blotch on the carpet next to the door where I spilled an entire mug of coffee last year.

After a few moments of watching me fume, Colson bows his head and I feel him lean into my periphery, “Look at me, Brett,” he murmurs.

I shift my eyes toward him without moving my head.

“I’m sorry for what I did to you,” his voice is like a low hum, “I’m sorry for hurting you, and I’ll keep telling you as many times as you need me to.”

Colson apologized to me in the parking lot the first time he spoke to me, but I figured he had to if he wanted the conversation to last longer than 15 seconds. I’m stunned he’s actually apologizing again.

I turn my head slightly, enough to see his face, “Say it again.”

Colson’s gleaming eyes remain locked on mine. Maybe if I look at his face when he says it, I can tell whether or not he’s being genuine.

“I’m sorry for what I did to you, I’m sorry for hurting you,” I still love the sound of his voice, both dangerous and soothing, “and I’ll keep telling you as many times as you need me to.”

He shouldn’t be here, but it doesn’t occur to me to make him leave.

You should make him leave. You never should’ve let him in.

Where’s Nate and his nosey ass now, the one time I actually need him?

I hear Colson’s voice again, this time closer to my ear, “You know I’ll never hurt you again,” he leans down, brushing his nose across my cheek, “except in the ways you want me to.”

He doesn’t reach for me, but I reach for him, scratching the itch that crawls deep beneath my skin that’s born from both temptation and morbid curiosity. I pull his face to mine and when my lips touch his, I remember the way he felt in the dark and every memory and every detail comes flooding back. I instantly recognize the contour of his neck and the texture of his hair and how sweet he tastes when I run my tongue over his, sucking and biting his lip hungrily.

Colson kisses me back just as fiercely, but still doesn’t reach for me. Instead, his arms remain at his sides, hands gripping the edge of the cabinet with white knuckles. Then, without thinking, I drop my hand to his belt and squeeze the polymer buckle. The clip releases, and his belt weighed down with tools and weaponry falls to the floor with a crash.

The sudden noise snaps me out of my trance. I’m not by the river or in his bedroom in his house. I’m at work, in my office . I pull back in horror and look down at his belt laying in a pile around his boots. I jerk my head up, my mouth still lingering with the taste of his .

What did I just do?

I know what I was doing, but I don’t know how to explain it. My eyes dart to the door, still closed, expecting there to be a knock any second. Frozen, I listen for movement in the hallway, but there’s nothing but silence.

“I—” my eyes dart back to Colson, “I’m sorry.”

“Jesus,” he smiles, “don’t be sorry.”

I take a step back and drag my fingers down my jawline, speechless, “Colson, I—” I stammer, “I don’t know what that was.” There’s nothing I can say that makes any sense, except the obvious, but I’m sure as hell not going to acknowledge it.

“You don’t know?” he taunts.

The look on his face tells me he’s eating this up.

“Fine,” I concede, “I know what it was. I just shouldn’t have done it.”

Colson studies me for a moment and then his face softens. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to kiss him again, but that would be horrible and wrong on so many levels. He’s horrible and wrong on so many levels. I feel terrible. I stumbled upon Bowen, who encompasses all the things I liked about Colson, but doesn’t have a track record of attempted murder. What the hell am I doing?

Colson looks at the floor with a smile, “You know this is one of my favorite things about you?” He raises his eyes to meet mine, “Your unwavering attempts at honor and rationality.”

His voice is sweet, but his words are laced with condescension. If I could think quicker on my feet, I’d lob my own backhanded compliment at him, or if I was more impulsive, maybe just backhand him in general.

“Alright,” Colson nods to his belt on the floor, “pick it up.”

“What?” I ask, taken aback.

Colson’s not smiling anymore, a shadow cast over his pale blue eyes as he waits for me to comply.

When I don’t respond, he nods at the floor again, “You took it off, you can put it back on,” he says with a sinister tone.

I tighten my jaw, “No.”

Colson’s expression doesn’t change, “OK,” but there’s a hitch in his voice, “then finish what you started.”

I stare at him for a few moments, trying to decide if he’s serious or not. He sounds like he means business, but I’m not in his house or his car or somewhere else where he can do whatever he pleases. Picking up his arsenal from the floor is the lesser of two evils, by far, so I’d rather just take the hit to my pride and get it over with—if I can even lift it, that is. It’s so heavy and awkward, he’ll probably get a good laugh watching me try to do anything with it.

With a roll of my eyes, I start to reach down, but he grabs my shoulder and pulls me upright, giving me a start, “Uh-uh,” he flashes his eyes with a malevolent smile, “on your knees. ”

My stomach drops, “ You fucking wish, ” I growl with indignance.

I’ve said these words to him before, and the look in his eyes tells me he remembers them all too well.

“That’s right,” Colson murmurs insidiously, “ my wishes tend to come true whenever you come around.”

I tip my chin up, “What are you going to do?” I seethe, looking him up and down.

“Baby,” he smirks, “you know firsthand the things I can do. You think I give a fuck who’s on the other side of that door? Because I’ll gladly remind you that you stopped being so well-behaved the moment you laid eyes on me.”

“You’re not seriously asking—”

“I’m not asking you shit,” his jaw tightens, “so do as you’re told. Now. ”

When I look down, I see Colson’s arms bent at the elbow and his palms face up, ready to help me kneel down in front of him.

Such a fucking gentleman.

I shoot him a loathsome glare and ignore his twisted attempt at courtesy, my stomach turning inside out as I sink to the floor. He could just be fucking with me, but the odds of that are getting slimmer by the second. His black leather boot looks huge next to my knee and the thin Berber carpet offers next to no comfort. Inches away, his black belt loaded down with equipment lays in a pile—mace, handcuffs, flashlight, multitool, and no less than four extra magazines.

My eyes move up his leg to his thigh, where his black standard issued Glock sits snapped into its holster, right at my chest height. It’s nothing I don’t see every day, but none of my other coworkers have ever put their weapons to my head. His gun doesn’t bother me as much as I thought it would, probably because I see Bowen’s all the time, tucked into the back of his pants, and that’s where it stays.

Colson breaks my concentration, “Your sneakers look really cute.”

Did he just compliment my shoes?

“So’s your shirt,” he adds, “it looks really nice from up here.”

I glance down at my black and white Vans, crisp and barely scuffed, then at the rest of my outfit; black skinny pants and a fitted, hunter green t-shirt with a wide neck. If I tuck my chin and look down, the edge of my beige bra is visible.

“Brett, look at me,” I feel Colson’s fingers under my chin, tilting my head to meet his eyes, “you’re nothing if not honorable and rational. That’s why it’s going to be so fun for me to ruin you—again,” he drags his thumb across my lower lip, “and make you my slut— again. ”

A chill skitters over me and even though he’s saying the most god-awful things, he almost looks angelic, stroking my jawline with his thumb and gazing down at me with a depraved sense of admiration .

“You’re my drug,” Colson murmurs, “created just for me, that wrecks me but can’t kill me. And I’m your addiction you’ll never be able to shake because I’ll never let you go. You’ll keep trying to be good and deny yourself everything you really want, but it won’t work,” he pauses and runs his tongue along the inside of his mouth, “because you’re still my good girl…” then he leans down and rotates his wrist, squeezing my throat between his thumb and forefinger, “ Honeybee ,” he hums against my lips.

The last word flips a switch somewhere deep in the primal caverns of my brain. My thighs tense and I reach up with one hand and hook my fingers over the waist of his black pants. With the other, I tear the top button loose and yank the hem of his shirt up and out of the way.

“You still love fighting me, don’t you?” Colson mutters, stroking my cheek and dragging his thumb back and forth over my mouth, “Makes it that much better when I tear you up.”

“ Shut the fuck up, Colson ,” I hiss, smacking his hand away from my face.

As much as I want to call him a liar, Colson is right. I refuse to be a cowering waif threatened into submission. Instead, I want to be consumed by whatever sinful and treacherous entity is possessing me, not have a conversation about it with the devil himself. I don’t want to acknowledge what’s going through my mind or what’s making me ache in a way I shouldn’t be. I just want to shove it deep down into a ball of cancer in my soul.

“Yes, ma’am ,” he groans, leaning back against the cabinet.

My palm brushes over his muscles, tense with anticipation as I hit the edge of his vest and tug his pants lower on his hips. I didn’t want to look before when I was eyeing his weaponry and wishing I’d slammed the door in his face, but now I’m eye-level with the outline of his cock, straining against the black fabric, and all I want to do is take it out and make him say more filthy things to me in his tantalizing voice.

But, hell, if I’ll make it that easy for him.

Slowly, I run one hand up the front of his pants, feeling his length, tight and constricted. When I do, his abs tense and his fingertips turn white on the edge of the cabinet. I hope it’s painful. I should just get up and leave him like that, but I probably wouldn’t make it halfway to the door. So, with one final tug, I free him with my other hand.

God. Damn.

I shouldn’t like what I see. I shouldn’t start salivating as soon as I see Colson Lutz’s enormous cock right next to my face. As if I don’t remember it…

I should shut my eyes and curl into a shameful ball on the floor. Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do? But, instead, a shiver runs through my core down to my legs as body memory kicks in. I remember every inch of him and what happened the last time I started taking off his clothes. And now, I just want to play his game and be as much of a prick as he’s being to me .

When I glance up, I notice he’s gazing down at me, biting his lip hard.

I feel a smile threatening to betray my scornful exterior, “What’s the matter, Colson?” I taunt him, my tone brimming with malice.

There’s a flash of excitement in his eyes as he shifts his weight and his mouth curls into a cruel smile, “You know I love hearing your pretty voice say my name, but you have five seconds to open your mouth and put my dick inside it.”

I glare up at him, “You might lose it.”

“Baby, baby, baby … ” Colson whispers melodically with a shake of his head, “we both know you’re a terrible liar. Five…” he starts counting, “ four …three…”

“Or what?” I shoot back.

Colson exhales with exasperation and reaches down, combing his fingers through my hair at the back of my skull. In an instant, he clenches his fist and gives my head a jerk, drawing a yelp from me.

He tilts my head back and leans down, “Or I choke you with it like a good little cum slut,” he snarls.

With a twitch of his shoulder, his muscles flex and he smacks me across my left breast. My jaw drops in shock and I wince, letting out a muted cry at the sudden sting radiating through my chest. Colson clenches my hair tighter, holding me still.

“You remember what that’s like, don’t you?” He cocks his head, “If you wanted me to face-fuck you, you should’ve just said so.”

Drawing a deep breath through my nose, I shift my eyes to Colson’s arm resting on my shoulder. I slowly exhale, my face softening when I meet his eyes. A moment later, he loosens his grip, understanding the subtle change in my demeanor. Part of me hates that we can still communicate through facial expressions alone. I hate even more that I lean into his hand when he starts gently massaging my scalp until the pain dissipates and all I feel are his fingertips sending electrical currents down my spine.

He releases my hair and drops his hands back to the edge of the cabinet. Fisting his base, my mouth falls open and I slide his cock over my tongue. All of a sudden, it’s four years ago and I’m back inside his Bronco, next to the river, on that dark highway, and inside his house. It’s just me and him in the dead of night and I don’t want to leave.

A dull hum builds in Colson’s chest as I lean into his hips and tongue the underside of his shaft, “God, baby, you’re still so good,” he groans under his breath, “ so fucking good …”

A heatwave rushes through my stomach and down between my thighs. I should be disgusted, but his voice is like a mainline of dopamine. My hips relax and I sink further down, letting my jaw go slack so I can take him deeper. Goosebumps explode over my back while my muscles flex and contract with each utterance and sound he makes. My own body is betraying me. Reaching up, I run my other hand up Colson’s shirt, beneath his vest, to feel the contours of his muscles with each labored breath. And then I get curious.

As gently as I can, I slide my hand down to pull his pants lower on his hip, and then I feel them. My fingers brush over the familiar, raised streaks of flesh that aren’t like the rest. His muscles tense and he winces at my touch, but he doesn’t pull my hand away. His fingers wrap around my wrist and press my hand against his bare skin. I move my fingers ever so slightly, feeling the smooth tracks, but there are also rougher ones.

Much newer ones...

The tighter he squeezes my wrist and the more I feel his body heat against my palm, the more my heart feels like it’s going to liquify in my chest. It shouldn’t, but it does. It’s not supposed to, but it does. And before I can catch myself, an involuntary moan escapes my throat, making me cringe. But I can’t stop, the desperate breaths pour out, trailed by muted whimpers.

Colson curls one hand around the back of my neck, “Keep making noise for me,” he moans, “and finish me like a good girl.”

When he says it, I swear I feel myself gush and my legs almost collapse under me. I want to crumble into a million pieces all over the carpet. When I let out another whimper, he pulls me forward until his cock hits the back of my throat, eliciting a muted curse under his breath.

He weaves his fingers through my hair, “God, I need your throat,” he groans through his teeth, “show me how tight you get when you choke around me.”

Then Colson takes whatever shred of control I thought I had and decides to break me with it. He shows absolutely no mercy, pulling back and thrusting his cock into the back of my throat before I can even take a breath. My gag reflex catches and I lurch forward, grabbing the waist of his pants to brace myself. Tears well in my eyes and, no matter how hard I push against his hips, he has me in a vise grip. His pace changes and moments later I feel him shudder as a surge of warm liquid fills the back of my mouth.

Before I can catch my breath, Colson jerks my head off of him until I’m looking at the ceiling. He holds my head too far back for me to swallow, forcing me to breathe through my nose so I don’t drown in his cum. The corners of my eyes are wet with tears, his release dripping down the corners of my mouth and pooling on the back of my tongue. I’m still squeezing fistfuls of his pants, trying to keep my balance as my chest heaves.

Pushing off the cabinet, he plants his boots on either side of my knees and bends down, still gripping me by the hair and hovering directly over my face, “You still love when I fill your mouth, don’t you?” he murmurs, bringing his other hand up to squeeze my jaw in the crook of his thumb.

While holding my head steady, he sucks in his cheeks and shifts his jaw back and forth a couple times. Then he lowers his face to mine and spits a mouthful of saliva into my open mouth. I squeeze my eyes shut, huffing a breath through my nose when I feel his spit sliding into the back of my throat.

Colson releases my jaw and hooks his index finger over my teeth, swirling it around over my tongue and against the inside of my cheeks. When he takes it back out, he drags his finger across my mouth, smearing it over my lips until they’re painted with his slick opaque gloss.

“Swallow,” he commands.

Kneeling motionless between his legs, he lets me tilt my head forward again. I swallow hard, tasting his cum diluted with saliva, and a moment later, he jerks me to my feet and pushes me back onto the cabinet until my shoulders hit the wall.

“I knew you still liked drinking me straight,” Colson teases, “now lick off the only makeup you need to look pretty,” he flicks my bottom lip with his tongue, “and then thank me for it.”

He hovers over me, his hungry gaze drifting from my eyes to my mouth as he waits for me to comply. I close my eyes and clench my jaw in defeat, then slide my tongue over my lips, tasting his slick release again as I lick them clean.

He brushes his nose back and forth against mine, “Let me hear it.”

Maybe I can allow myself one moment, one moment where I don’t feel completely guilt-ridden and mortified. Would that be so terrible?

Yes, it would.

I’m already here, aren’t I? I’ve already taken his cock halfway down my throat and let him play mad scientist and treat my mouth like a test tube.

Fuck him, you didn’t let him do anything.

I try to rationalize—just like he said—try to decide whether to indict him or myself for what’s happening. But the longer I feel the heat radiating off his skin and inhale the sweet scent emanating from the heavenly place between his chest and throat, the voice of reason gets more distant. And when he opens his mouth again, I can’t hold back anymore.

“I don’t have all day, baby,” he breathes against my cheek, sending an agonizing current down my back and between my thighs.

“ Thank you ,” it comes out as a shaky whisper as I squash my trepidation and give in to temptation.

Clenching his t-shirt at the shoulder, I pull Colson to me and devour him, wrapping my other arm around his neck while his tongue explores my mouth in long, deep strokes. The deeper he kisses me, the more I feel my hips rolling into him. Until finally I lift one leg and wrap it around his waist, pulling him even closer as his knives and keys and the rough Kevlar scrape against my chest through my thin shirt.

I wish he’d take off his body armor, but at the same time I hope he doesn’t.

I flinch when my knee bumps against his weapon, but he doesn’t seem to care. He grabs my thigh and lifts it clear of his holster, swinging it around his waist. My ankles lock around his back as he jerks my hips against his, making my chest cave when I feel how hard he is again.

He starts grinding against me, hard and slow, making me squirm beneath him, “You want me to take you right here, don’t you?” he smirks.

I shake my head no, but I can’t even look him in the eye. My conscience has decided I’ve fucked around long enough, but I still can’t bring myself to let go of him.

“I can’t imagine how wet you must be right now,” he slides his hand between us and starts pulsing against my clit with his thumb, “maybe enough to fit me on my first try.”

“ Colsss— ” I hiss, digging my nails into his shoulders.

“You remember the fun I had with your tight little cunt?” he smiles bitterly, “Now that I know what you can do, I’m going to ruin myself on you,” he latches onto my neck, “soak myself in your pussy and fuck you numb, right here.” He grabs my ass and slams my groin against his cock, “You want me to tie you up again and fuck you like a good girl?”

Against every fiber of my being, I start nodding. His words alone are going to make me come all over this cabinet. Gritting my teeth, I will myself to reverse course and shake my head like I can redact my thoughts. I must look like a crazy person.

Whatever—he’s used to it.

Colson stills and relaxes his body, “Good,” he lets his arms fall away from me, “then think about which hole you’d like me to fill next, while you’re picking out that pretty, white dress.”

He takes a step back and, suddenly, the shame smacks me across the face like a rogue wave. I’m left sitting on the edge of the cabinet, submerged in a violent whirlpool of humiliation and fury. Hot tears well in the corners of my eyes, but I clench my jaw and manage to stave them off. When I finally meet Colson’s eyes again, they’re burning a hole through my forehead.

His mouth twitches with malice and he nudges his belt toward me with his boot, “Now, put your man back together again.”

A tremor runs through my chest as I shift uncomfortably.

Fucking asshole.

“You aren’t my man ,” my voice cracks with indignation.

“Aren’t I?” Colson snarls, his tone turning to poison.

“Put your own goddamn clothes back on,” I seethe through my teeth.

Something ignites behind his eyes and for a moment I’m petrified I’ve awakened some nightmarish beast. Colson takes a step toward me, so close that his Kevlar touches my chest, “Unless you want me to start taking you apart,” he looks me up and down, “ move .”

I tell myself I shouldn’t be afraid of him, but my sense of self-preservation is strong and I know what he can do. It’s complicated and bizarre, but I still remember what it’s like to be on the receiving end of his wrath—accidental or not .

Taking a deep breath, I grab the belt loops on either side of Colson’s hips, giving them a harsh jerk upward. He leers at me as I reach around his waist to pull his black t-shirt down and start tucking it back in. I work my way around his waist to the front, refusing to look at him.

“You’re really good at this,” his voice switches back to a gentle tone.

I jerk the front of his pants toward me to button them, “Being bullied by you?”

“Don’t act like you don’t enjoy it,” he slides his hand around the side of my neck, “that you’re not still soaking wet for me right now.”

He leans down and nudges my head to the side, brushing his lips along the nape of my neck as I slide my hand down the front of his pants to smooth down his shirt. He’s still hard, like nothing ever happened.

You already know he gets off on shit like this.

Colson pulls back and smiles as I finish tugging his zipper up as roughly as I can, “ Now you can put my belt back on.”

Kneeling down again, I sift through all the equipment until I find the buckle. Once I pull it straight and find the other end, I toss the entire monstrosity behind his boots and start walking it up the backs of his legs. Once I finally reach his hips, he’s no help, whatsoever. Instead, he stands with just enough slack that when I pull the belt taught, his hips press harder against mine. He takes it as an invitation to snake around the side of my head and brush his tongue along the edge of my ear.

“I can’t see,” I say through clenched teeth, debating whether to smack him or drop his belt onto the floor again.

Neither would probably end well.

“Just concentrate, baby,” he whispers into my ear.

But I can’t. It takes every iota of willpower I have not to drop his belt and pull him back on top of me, and he knows it. Because he lives on some twilight plane of existence where he can vacillate, at-will, between spite and adoration, between fire and ice.

I long blink, trying to focus when he reaches up and hooks his fingertips in the neck of my shirt. He gently pulls it to the side to expose my collarbone and leans down, brushing his tongue over the contours and slowly kissing my shoulder. I recoil when his hair tickles the side of my face and I feel his teeth on my skin. When he starts pulling my shirt lower, I give him a sharp shove in the chest with my shoulder.

“Stop it,” I clip, barely keeping hold of his belt buckle.

Colson straightens up, smiling as he smooths my shirt back over my shoulder and chest, “Feels nice, doesn’t it?”

“What?” I mutter, not looking at him.

“Dressing me.”

“I’ll never dress you,” I balk at the thought.

“I bet you will,” he muses, tipping his chin up, “one day.”

“Maybe in a straight-jacket… ”

“If that happens, it means they took us to the asylum together. Wouldn’t that be nice, being locked away with me with no escape?” He bows his head and leans in closer, lowering his voice to the same lulling tone as before, “You and me, every day and every night, fucking each other senseless. Then you wouldn’t have to hide your crazy so much.”

“ Shut. Up. ” I give a harsh tug with each word and finally pull the strap tight enough to snap the clip, “The only reason I’m doing this is so you don’t get me fired.” It’s a lie, and he knows it.

Colson’s expression changes to one of genuine concern, “I would never get you fired,” and the look in his eyes tells me he means it. Then he hesitates and the way he looks at me says something totally different, “but I’ll gladly rearrange the rest of your life.”

My breath catches and my tone turns to desperation, “Why are you doing this?”

“To punish you,” he deadpans, “this time, for breaking your promises.”

After a stunned pause, my face twists into an indignant scowl, “ What— ”

A sudden pop cuts through the office. I wince in pain, my eyes popping as a stinging sensation radiates across my left ass cheek. Now Colson seems to tower over me, his expression turned almost resentful.

“ Shh ,” Colson taps his fingertip against my bottom lip, his face like stone.

My eyes round and I stare up at him in shock.

His tone is quiet and measured, “I know you remember every single moment of that night. You remember what you told me?”

My stomach drops as the words echo through my head, words I’ve tried to forget over and over again, but I never can. The truth is in the eyes, and Colson sees it in mine.

“Yeah, you do,” he drawls with a cruel smile, “because Brett Ashley Sorensen never forgets anything. What was it?”

I look away as a sinking feeling creeps into my stomach. I can’t describe it with any other word except…shame? But why should I feel ashamed? I haven’t done anything wrong—at least to Colson. I should feel a lot of shame for what’s just happened.

What have I done?

After a minute of excruciating silence, I hang my head and wish I could crawl under my desk and disappear. But Colson’s not going to let me off that easy. He reaches up and rakes his fingers up my scalp. When he clenches his fist, my eyes fly open with a gasp and my cheeks feel hot.

He leans closer, “ What. Was. It. ”

I bite the bottom lip. I can still keep fighting him, but to what end? I know what I did, and I know what I said.

“You’re—” I cringe and my voice cracks until it’s only a whisper, “ you’re my only. ”

Colson slowly nods and releases my hair as I struggle through each word, “I kept my promise to you. I came back to you, but you — ”

My jaw drops and outrage flashes across my face, “No, you— ” I cut him off, but before I can continue, I hear another smack and feel another sting across my ass that renders me silent.

“ Shh ,” Colson hisses.

I press my mouth together with a long, seething blink. I comply, but avert my eyes when he speaks.

“But you, ” he cocks his head and scrutinizes my face, “you’ve been a bad, bad girl, Honeybee.”

My heart is still pounding, but I finally find the nerve to look up into his eyes again. He’s still, but the muscles around his eyes twitch like he’s searching my face, waiting for me to give something away.

“Is that why you’re following me again?” I finally croak, asking what I’ve been wanting to for so long, “Is that why you broke into my house?”

“Well,” Colson smiles like he half expected my accusation, “I can’t blame any man who is,” he grins, “you probably have a few admirers, don’t you?”

“A stalker , you mean?”

“ Addict might be more appropriate,” he shrugs, “or paramour…” I feel something on my hand, and when I look down, he’s spinning my sapphire engagement ring around my finger with his thumb, “I also can’t blame this one for trying to lock you down.”

“Yeah, well,” I rip my fingers out of his hand, readjusting my ring, “this happened before I—” I bite back the rest of the words before they can leave my throat, but I’m too late.

Colson tips his chin, peering down at me with a smirk, “Before you what?”

“Nothing,” I mutter, but he knows. He knows what stupid, idiotic, thoughtless words almost spilled out onto the dull grey carpet between us.

“Before you knew I still wanted you?” he guesses.

“You’re such a liar, Colson,” I growl, “as if you haven’t slept with another girl in three years.”

If he hasn’t, then there really is something wrong with him…

“Jealous girl,” he gives me a once-over, “not since I came back to you. So, one might say you’re the liar,” I swear, he looks like the devil right now as he leans into my ear, “ sleeping in another man’s bed. ”

I suck a breath through my teeth. I don’t like his tone. I don’t like his arrogance and self-importance implying I’ve wronged him somehow. Everything that happened—that is happening—is his fucking fault. All he does is make me doubt myself, and I hate it.

“I’m not usually a forgiving person,” Colson continues, adjusting his belt on his hips, “but we do a lot of things for the ones we love, don’t we?”

“Are you done?” I scowl, dead set on ignoring anything else that comes out of his mouth.

“You tell me.” His voice returns to its normal, even tone, “You’re the one who can’t decide on lunch without having an existential crisis. ”

“Anything else?”

He hesitates with a smile that looks anything but sweet, “I have been curious about something. Do you still think about how my belt feels around your neck?” I shouldn’t have asked… “Or how my knife feels on your skin?” he leans closer, murmuring into my ear, “Because I can’t stop thinking about the panic and the pain in your eyes, or how good your blood tastes on my tongue.”

He’s sadistic.

“You know,” I glance up at him with a scowl, “I thought you were telling the truth when you said you wanted to start over—be friends, and all.”

Colson smiles with amusement, “Oh, Honeybee,” his words drip with condescension, “I’m going to be a lot of things to you, but a friend isn’t one of them.”

I feel a tug at my waist and look down in time to see him hook his fingers over my belt buckle and pull the waist of my pants out far enough to fit his hand inside. With one twist of his wrist, his hand disappears and he pulls me close to him so I can’t move. I grab his forearm against my stomach, but his fingers are already between my legs.

“God damn, ” Colson groans as he slides his fingers inside me, slick and aching for release, “you act just as hateful as you did back then, but you’re still so weak for me, and I love it. ” He opens his mouth wide with each word, his teeth clicking against mine as he shoves each syllable down my throat.

“ Colson, ” I creak out, squeezing my eyes shut.

“Yes, baby?” he starts rubbing gentle circles around my clit, making me squirm against him, “Do you want me to stop? Before you come all over my fingers and can’t come up with an acceptable explanation why?”

There’s a sharp knock at the door. Startled, I push away from him and he releases me. I quickly adjust my pants and smooth my hair, my eyes darting between Colson and the door. Thankfully, my hair usually looks like a curly mess anyway…

He takes one long step away from me, “Or maybe you just prefer that we see each other…” he pauses with a glint in his eye, “ not here. ”

“Come in!” I call.

A flash of platinum blonde pops through the doorway and Abby’s bright blue eyes search the room for me.

Jesus, Abby.

I can’t decide whether I’m annoyed or relieved that she’s here.

“Hey, sorry,” she apologizes in an exaggerated whisper, “do you have a minute to come to my office and go over these templates?”

Colson glances over his shoulder at her, “I’m done, she’s all yours.” He starts backing away from me, “So, yeah, just let me know.”

He winks at me before stepping past her. And as soon as he does, he reaches up and pushes his index and middle fingers into his mouth as far back as they’ll go. Then he slowly slides them back out, sucking his fingers clean before he disappears into the hallway.

As soon as I return to my office an agonizing 15 minutes later, I grab my phone with shaking hands, my fingers spastically searching for my text thread with Barrett. It’s a short text, but it takes me three tries to type out.

ME (2:05PM): I need you.

I’m supposed to see her, anyway. It’s Thursday dinner, after all. But I feel the need to warn her about the disaster she’s about to encounter. I also need a strong drink, the sooner the better. This is only reenforced when another text comes through a few seconds later. I grab my phone, thinking it’s Barrett, but it’s Hildy, and she’s asking me more questions about dresses and wedding cakes. All I can do is slam my phone down and bury my face in my hands, trying not to dissolve into a blubbering mess.

Sipping my whiskey on the rocks while recounting the afternoon to Barrett serves two purposes; halfway through the glass, my hands stop shaking, and all the talking makes me drink at a slower pace so I’m not blitzed by the time I finish. Barrett sits across from me in complete silence, a constant look of tranquility on her face punctuated by brief eye and cheek movements. She doesn’t give knee-jerk reactions full of wide eyes, slack jaws, and horrified gasps. She might have, years ago, but not now, not when she hears stories with equal or greater shock value every day.

When I’ve finished, Barrett takes a deep breath and stares off into the distance, a sure sign her brain is in analytical overload. And she has thoughts.

“OK, two things. First of all, whoa ,” she says before taking a heavy sip of her Sauvignon Blanc. “That was my best friend response. And, second, do you feel unsafe around Colson because of what happened today?”

“I don’t know,” because I don’t, “I felt better he told me more about what happened in college. But after the Rickhouse, the smoothies, and what happened today…” I shake my head, unsure of what to say next.

“Did he admit to doing those other things?”

“No,” I give a laugh and then scrunch up my face in a scowl, “I even got up the nerve to ask him, point blank, but he never actually answered the question.”

“ Perfect ,” Barrett purses her lips with an eyeroll, “so, do you think that he’s trying to intimidate you with his behavior?”

“I know he is. But it’s more than that,” I jiggle my empty glass back and forth, making the condensation drip through the table slats onto the concrete, “the whole time, it was like he was rubbing my face in it.”

“You mean because he can do what he wants without consequence? ”

“That, and…” I trail off, having no idea how to say what I’m about to say, “honestly, it’s like when a douchebag guy doesn’t like something you do, but he won’t just leave, so he acts like a dick to get back at you for it.”

“So, what’s Colson getting back at you for? You haven’t had a relationship with him in three years— of any kind. And the one you did have was pretty superficial and lasted for about five seconds.”

I stare down at the table, chewing the inside of my cheek and debating whether to open Pandora’s box. If I do, I’ll have to tell Barrett the rest of the story—the whole story—that no one else knows. Barrett thinks Colson was a crush, a run-of-the-mill hookup, a fuckboy who’s acting like a creep now. Yes, I’d told her what happened at the end of that night, when I woke up with him on top of me and a gun to my head. But I didn’t tell her what happened before.

I didn’t tell her why it was so hard to let go of Colson Lutz, and why my logical brain is locked in mortal combat with my reptilian brain—and the lizard is winning. I didn’t tell her about the things he told me, things I wander back to in the dead of night when I can’t sleep, things I visit in the deep recesses of my mind and then judge myself for afterward. And when I found some of those things in Bowen, I clung to them—clung to him —because they remind me of what I lost. And for that, I have overwhelming guilt.

“There’s a reason all of this sounds so insane to you,” I say while tearing at the edges of a napkin.

Barrett leans back in her chair and drapes her hands over the wrought iron arms, “Look, unless you’re going to say Colson’s been walking around with someone’s head in a box and gifted it to you, I don’t think you need to worry about how anything sounds to me.”