Chapter 36 #2
I nod, suddenly exhausted. “I just gotta go toss the trash and say goodnight to the boys. I’ll be up in a minute.”
“Sure, just don’t be too long,” he presses a kiss to my lips and then drags his tired ass up the stairs. I watch him go, enjoying the view for just a moment.
I’m throwing out the leftover food so that Pippy doesn’t get it. That’s when I see it.
Three tiny faces. Pressed against the sliding glass door like they own the place.
Beady eyes. Tiny hands. So much attitude.
I scream.
Like, full-throttle, hands-in-the-air, someone is being murdered in this house scream.
I stumble backward, nearly knocking over a bowl of half-eaten Cheetos. The raccoons just keep staring. One licks the glass. Another swipes at a cupcake crumb. Upstairs, I hear a thud, a crash, followed by the heavy beat of feet on the stairs.
Colter appears in the hallway like a cowboy summoned from a dream, chest and thighs on display. All he’s wearing are his black boxers that cling to him like a second skin.
No shirt. Hair messy. Eyes wild.
“What the hell’s going on? Are you okay?”
I point, speechless, at the door.
He looks. Blinks. And says, “Oh, for God’s sake.”
He disappears back down the hallway, reemerging in his boots—still only wearing boxers—and a broom. He heads out the patio door like a man ready to fight raccoons in his underwear. Which, apparently, is exactly what he’s doing.
I cover my mouth and try not to laugh too loudly as I watch from inside. He stabs the broom in random bursts of movement. Yells something I can’t hear. One raccoon scurries away. The other two hesitate like they might actually throw hands, but eventually scatter into the trees.
Colter comes back in, cheeks pink, chest heaving.
“You alright?” I ask, already grinning.
“You screamed like you were being murdered.”
“They were creepy! You know I don’t like animals working as teams. It’s like those creepy alpacas off the highway who are so synchronized.” I shudder just thinking about them.
He runs one hand through his hair and gives me a look. “I’m too young to die of a heart attack.”
“But what a way to go,” I smirk. My eyes drop to the V that dips into his boxers, and a dusting of hair follows like a ravine. Then I see the boots.
I’m equal parts amused and horny.
“Are you really mocking the man who just defended your honor?” He grins sinisterly.
I smile innocently, batting my lashes. “Of course not, Colt.”
“Good, because I think you actually owe me a thank you.” He’s on me in a second, lifting me off the counter, his hands hot on my thighs, his mouth even hotter.
The kiss is hard and messy, all adrenaline and laughter and low murmurs of teasing banter that lights my skin on fire. He carries me out of the kitchen, using his elbow to hit the lights as we go.
Once safely in the bedroom, he drops my thighs, letting me slowly slide down the front of his body.
He eyes me with open appreciation, those lean hips shifting forward, betraying his own anticipation.
He’s breathing shallows, jaw set, barely holding himself together.
When I reach up to run a finger along the seam of his boxers, he shudders and laughs, a deep, low sound that makes every promise in the world.
“Go on, then,” he says, voice hoarse. “Show your gratitude.”
I drop to my knees, and I do exactly that.
It’s clumsy at first, a little awkward. I’m giggling, and he’s trying to be stoic, but I look up through my lashes, and he’s failing spectacularly.
His hands bury themselves in my hair, then roam—my cheeks, my shoulders, my lower back.
Gentle and firm, always certain. He tastes like salt and wintergreen.
My lips slowly, methodically, explore every inch of him, driven by something not entirely mine. I flick the head of his dick with my tongue, circling his tip, and his hand tightens its hold in my hair. His thighs jump when my teeth graze him, and he tries to muffle his groan.
I hollow out my cheeks, taking him as deep as I can go before pulling back. “Fuck, Kayla,” he groans, watching as I run my tongue along the vein at the base of his dick before taking him all in again.
I moan around his dick, loving the feeling of empowerment that flows through me. Loving the feeling of his hand holding my head, a reminder that he’s giving me control when he could just as easily take it.
We’re both wound so tight it’s almost funny. I’ve barely touched him, and he’s already gulping air, whispering curses, threatening all sorts of mischief in the morning if I don’t finish what I started.
He’s undone so fast it leaves me smug. And then, out of nowhere, he hauls me up and pins me to the bed, one arm caging my shoulders. For a guy who likes to let me take the reins, he sure knows how to make surrender feel like a privilege.
His kisses sear their way down from my jaw to my neck, and then back up to nibble at my ear. I arch into him, craving more. “Colt,” I gasp, begging. My body burns, needing more.
“I got you,” he rasps, and there’s nothing in this room but the sound of skin on skin and our ragged breath.
I grind against him, greedy for friction, humming with delight at the power and the ache of it.
His hands are everywhere, possessive and sure: along my ribs, over my hip, into the tangle of my hair.
His mouth claims mine, tongue pushing past my lips to stroke, to tease, until I’m near delirious.
When he slides inside, it’s like being split open, emptied out, and filled all at once. Our bodies find their rhythm, a sweet, desperate tempo that wrings noise from me I never knew I could make. Colt grins into my neck, biting down gently when I clench around him, and I shudder.
He slows, draws out the friction, then seems to will himself deeper, ruining me in the best possible way.
I claw at his back, not caring if I leave scratches, needing to stake some claim on the man who’s ruining me so beautifully.
He murmurs lowly to me, dirty words blurring around the sensations coursing through my veins.
“Need to feel you come, Beautiful. Wanna feel you clench on my dick. Cum for me.”
He keeps one hand steady at my hip, using the leverage to rock us together and apart, over and over, until the world frays at the edges and I feel myself coming apart.
The air gets knocked from my lungs. My vision goes spotty, and I gasp.
And Colt’s right there with me. We burn together, perfectly wrecked, shaking and laughing and holding so tight I lose track of where I end and where he begins.
Collapsing on top of me, he breathes heavily. “Fuck.”
“Agreed,” I giggle, taking a moment for myself to catch my breath.
“You’re addicting,” he accuses, and I shudder as he pulls out, skin against skin friction sending a jolt of lightning through my body.
“I’m not sorry,” I shrug. He pulls me into his arms, resting his chin against my forehead, chuckling.
“Good, cause I fucking love it.”