Chapter 27 Collette
COLLETTE
“I’m yours too.”
The words leave my mouth, and something shifts in his eyes. Something dark and hungry that he’s been holding back for months. His hand slides up my thigh, where my legs are wrapped around his waist, and the heat of his palm through my jeans sends a jolt straight through me.
“Say that again,” he says, his voice dropping low.
“I’m yours.”
His mouth crashes into mine. This isn’t the gentle, testing kisses we’ve shared before.
This is months of tension, anger, and longing detonating at once.
His tongue slides against mine, and I moan into his mouth and pull him closer with my legs, my good hand fisting the front of his shirt.
He tastes like beer and want, and I can’t get enough.
He pulls back just enough to look at me. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“If you stop right now, I will actually kill you.”
“Just checking.” He grins, and then his mouth is on my neck, my jaw, that spot behind my ear that makes me gasp. His hand slides under my top, fingers spreading across my stomach, warm and rough as I arch into him.
“Bedroom,” I breathe. “Now.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice. He stands, pulling me with him, my legs still wrapped around him.
I cling to his neck with my good arm as he carries me down the hallway, his mouth never leaving mine.
He kicks the bedroom door open and lowers me onto the bed.
The same bed he woke up in a lifetime ago.
I reach for his shirt and pull it up with my good hand.
He helps, yanking it over his head. And fuck.
I’ve seen him shirtless before, on the ice, in the locker room corridor, but never like this.
Never for me. Never with permission to touch.
His chest is broad, his abs defined, the V-cut disappearing into his jeans.
Bruises from hockey are scattered across his ribs. He’s beautiful.
“Stop staring and take your clothes off,” he says.
“I only have one good hand,” I tell him.
“Then I’ll do it.” He reaches for my top and pulls it over my head carefully, working around the bandage on my forehead.
His eyes drop to my bra, plain black, nothing special.
But the way he’s looking at me makes me feel like I’m wearing something from a magazine.
“Fuck, Lettie,” he says on a breath, unhooking my bra and letting it fall.
His hands cup my breasts, thumbs brushing over my nipples, and I shudder.
“You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about this.
About you. About what you look like underneath all that attitude. ”
“And?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper.
“Better than every fantasy I’ve ever had.” His mouth replaces his hands, his tongue circling one nipple while his fingers work the other, and my back arches off the bed. My good hand grips his hair, and he groans against my skin.
“More,” I demand.
“Patience.”
“I have zero patience. I’ve been patient for months. I’m done being patient.”
He laughs against my breast, and the vibration makes me squirm.
His mouth trails lower, kissing down my stomach, his hands working my jeans open.
He pulls them down, taking my underwear with them in one move, and I’m naked underneath him.
He stops, kneeling between my legs, hands on my thighs, staring down at me like he’s trying to memorize me.
“What?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious.
“Nothing. I just need a second.” His voice is rough. “I’ve been picturing this for so long, and the real thing is so much better.”
“Fish.”
“Justin,” he corrects. “When we’re here, it’s Justin.”
“Justin.” The name feels intimate on my tongue, different from the locker room, the ice, the cameras. This is just us. “Take your pants off.”
He stands and unbuckles his belt, and I watch every movement. The jeans drop, the underwear follows. And ...
Oh.
Oh my god.
The Reddit reviews were not exaggerating. Big Fish is not just a nickname.
“Your face right now,” he says, grinning. “That’s going in the memory bank.”
“Shut up.”
“You’re literally staring at my dick with your mouth open.” He smirks cockily.
“I’m assessing the situation.” I try to picture if that thing will fit.
“And?”
“Will it fit?” I ask.
“Babe. Will it fit?” He chuckles darkly.
“I’m going to need a minute,” I tell him.
“Take all the time you need.” He’s so fucking smug, and I hate that it’s attractive.
He climbs back over me, settling between my thighs, his cock hard and heavy against my stomach. He kisses me, deep and slow, while his hand slides between my legs. His fingers find me, and he groans into my mouth.
“You’re soaked,” he murmurs against my lips.
“I’ve been turned on since you carried me to the sofa. Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Too late.” He slides one finger inside me, and my hips buck. “Fuck, you’re tight.” He adds a second finger, curling them, finding that spot that makes me see stars, his thumb circles my clit, and I cry out.
“Right there. Don’t stop.” I moan.
“I’m not stopping. I’m never stopping. I’ve waited too long for this.” His mouth drops to my neck, teeth scraping against my pulse as his fingers work me. “Tell me how it feels.”
“So good. God, Justin, so good.”
“Yeah?” He pumps his fingers harder, faster, his thumb pressing against my clit with exactly the right pressure. “You going to come for me?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I want to feel it. I want to feel you come on my fingers before I fuck you.”
Fuck, his dirty words are doing things to me.
“I’m close.” I gasp, my hips grinding against his hand.
“Let go. I’ve got you.”
And I do, I shatter underneath him. My whole body tenses, my back arches, and his name falls from my lips in a moan that I sure as hell hope the neighbors can’t hear. He works me through it, not letting up until I’m trembling and oversensitive and pushing his hand away.
“That’s one,” he says, kissing my jaw.
“One?”
“I’m just getting started.” He grins.
“I might not survive more than one.”
“You’ll survive. But you won’t walk straight tomorrow.
” He reaches for his jeans on the floor, pulling a condom from his wallet.
He rolls it on, and I watch, biting my lip, because the sight of his hand wrapped around himself is enough to make me want to come again.
He settles between my thighs, his cock nudging at my entrance, and he braces himself on one arm, his other hand cupping my face.
“Look at me,” he says.
I do. Those blue eyes. Dark now, blown wide with want, but underneath all of that, tenderness. The same tenderness from the corridor. From the couch. From every moment he’s ever looked at me like I’m the only person in the room.
“I love you,” he says. “I need you to know that before we do this. This isn’t just fucking, not for me.”
“I know.” I reach up and trace his jaw. “It’s not for me either.”
“Good.” He pushes in.
We both groan. He’s big. The stretch is intense, and I gasp, my good hand gripping his bicep, nails digging in. He pauses, jaw clenched, giving me a second to adjust.
“You okay?” he asks through gritted teeth.
“Yes. Move,” I beg.
He pulls back and thrusts in, hard. Deep.
I cry out, and he swallows the sound with his mouth.
He sets a pace that’s punishing from the start because we’ve waited too long, and neither of us has the patience for slow.
His hips slam into mine, each thrust hitting that spot deep inside me that makes my eyes roll back, the headboard hits the wall, and the bed groans.
I don’t care. I don’t care about anything except the feeling of him inside me, filling me, stretching me in a way that borders on too much but is exactly what I need.
“Fuck, Lettie.” He groans against my neck. “You feel incredible. You feel like you were made for me.”
“Harder,” I demand.
“Yeah?” He picks up the pace, and I nearly come off the bed. “Like that?”
“Yes. God, yes. Just like that. Don’t stop.”
He doesn’t stop. His hand slides down my thigh, gripping it, hitching my leg higher around his waist so he can go deeper. The angle changes, and I scream. His mouth finds mine again, swallowing the sounds I’m making, his tongue matching the rhythm of his hips.
“You’re so fucking loud,” he says, grinning against my mouth. “I love it.”
“It’s your fault.”
“I know. And I’m going to make you scream louder.” He pulls out suddenly and flips me over onto my stomach, his hands grip my hips, pulling them up. I’m on my knees, face pressed into the pillow, and before I can catch my breath, he slides back in from behind.
“Oh my god.” The angle is deeper. So much deeper. His hand fists in my hair, pulling my head back just enough so he can hear every sound I make, his other hand grips my hip hard enough to bruise.
“Tell me who you belong to,” he growls.
“You.”
“Say my name.”
“Justin.”
“Again.” He thrusts harder.
“Justin.” I’m practically sobbing into the pillow. “Please. I need to come. Please.”
“Touch yourself,” he commands. “I want to feel you come on my cock.”
My good hand slides between my legs, finding my clit, circling it in time with his thrusts. The combination is overwhelming. His cock hits deep, my fingers work my clit, his hand is in my hair, and his breath is hot against my shoulder.
“That’s it,” he encourages, his voice wrecked. “That’s my girl. Let me feel it.”
I fall apart. My whole body clenches around him, the orgasm ripping through me so hard I can’t breathe. I bury my face in the pillow and scream his name.
“Fuck, Lettie, I’m …” He follows me over, his hips stuttering, a low groan rumbling through his chest as he comes. His forehead drops between my shoulder blades, his body draped over my back, both of us breathing like we’ve just run a marathon.
We stay like that for a long moment. His lips press against my spine, once, twice, soft and reverent. A completely different energy from what just happened. Then he pulls out gently, disposes of the condom, and collapses beside me, pulling me against him.
I’m boneless, wrecked, every muscle in my body has turned to liquid. I curl into his chest, press my face against his skin, and listen to his heartbeat hammering.
“So,” he says after a minute. “The reviews.”
“What about them?”
“Accurate?” he teases.
I tilt my head up to look at him, his hair is wrecked, his lips are swollen, and he looks obscenely pleased with himself.
“A-plus-plus,” I say. “Now where’s my pizza?” I joke.
He grins so wide it takes up his entire face. “I can order pizza.”
“Okay, maybe later, I can’t move.” I moan as I press kisses to his bare skin.
“Guess the drought has broken,” he teases, placing a kiss on my temple.
“Well and truly.” I grin as I snuggle into him.
“How’s the head?”
“What head? I don’t have a head anymore. You fucked it clean off.”
He laughs so hard his whole body shakes, and I’m bouncing on his chest, and I’m laughing too. It’s ridiculous and messy and perfect.
“Best review I’ve ever received.” He pulls me tighter against him. His hand traces lazy patterns on my back, the room has grown dark, the city glowing through the window, and everything is quiet except our breathing and the distant hum of Manhattan below.
“Justin?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t go home tonight.”
“I told you, I’m not going anywhere.” He presses a kiss to my forehead, careful of the bandage. “You’re stuck with me now.”
“Good.” I close my eyes. His heartbeat is steady under my ear. His arm is heavy and warm around me. I feel safe. I feel found. I feel like I’ve finally stopped running. Fuck him out of your system, my sister said. I don’t think that worked.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. I reach for it with my good hand.
Jo: Just checking in. Are you okay?
Collette: I’m fine. Better than fine.
Jo: Is he still there?
Collette: Yes.
Jo: Did you take my advice?
Collette: I took your advice.
Jo: And?????
Collette: I’ll talk to you tomorrow.
Jo: Collette!!!
Jo: Fine. Talk to you tomorrow.
I laugh and put my phone down.
“Who was that?”
“Jo,” I tell him.
“I may have texted Evan, too, didn’t want him to worry about me. Plus, he has my location, and he had questions.”
Oh my gosh, that is so cute. “And?”
“He’s happy for us.”
“So is Jo.”
“Are you happy?” he asks.
My stomach decides at that moment to growl. “I’m hangry.” I giggle.
“Okay, let’s get you fed so I can fuck you again.”
“Again?”
“Babe, now that I’ve had a taste, I’m addicted.” He kisses my cheek as he gets up, fully naked from my bed, and walks around to his jeans to grab his wallet. “What?” he asks, catching me staring at him.
“I think I like you walking around naked.”
“Yeah?” He grins.
“Yeah.”