55. Colt
Turning Page - Laura Steiner
Sliding a towel around my waist once I’ve stepped out of the shower, I leave the bathroom and head into the living room of the presidential suite at The Manchester.
Settling by the window, I stare at Saskatoon and take a sip of wine.
Before Zee, getting married wasn’t a priority. So, marrying twice sure as hell never made an appearance on my agenda.
The last six months of wedding organization torture were all worthwhile when I saw Zee walk down the aisle toward me in Pigeon Creek’s church.
To be fair, Kennedy Van Der Mils sure knows how to perfect ‘the big day.’ This celebration was a thousand times more special than our first—and my wife deserved nothing less than to fulfill every aspect of her dream wedding.
When Zee winds her arms around my waist, my fingers automatically bridge hers, exposing her Lord of the Ring-themed nails. All for me. As was the white cloak that channeled Arwen while also being so uniquely her that the image will imprint itself on my mind for a lifetime.
I shift in her hold so I can see her face before taking my eyes on a downward trajectory.
A baseball jersey and lacy short shorts—I’m in heaven.
Like the smart man I am, I haul her up high, grabbing her thighs and notching myself between them.
Her core settles on my abs.
Her breath immediately hitches as she secures her arms around my neck.
When she shimmies against me, I ask, “You want this, baby?”
“I want this. You.” Her throat bobs as she reaches for my hand. “Let me show you.”
She digs her heels into my ass and levers herself up then draws my fingers toward her center.
Hot.
The faint stirrings of slickness.
I slam my mouth onto hers, desire rushing through me as I chase what’s permanent—here. Now. Tonight.
She’s my wife.
Twice over.
Whatever she wants, whatever she needs, it’s my goddamn duty to give it to her.
Especially if that includes me.
The thought has me shuddering as I pin her to the wall beside the window.
Biting her bottom lip, I tug it away from her teeth then spear my tongue into her mouth when she whimpers and opens for me.
I taste her, every inch, savoring and sampling because she’s better than a Deep N’ Delicious cake. Every stroke of my tongue over hers has minute shivers rushing along her spine, making her writhe into me, dragging me to the outer edges of my control with every millisecond that passes.
Who am I kidding?
My control’s shot to hell.
I might as well have tossed it out the window the second she embraced me.
Her hands cup my head, nails digging into my scalp as she steers me, hungry for me in a way I’ve grown to anticipate.
As she thrusts her tongue against mine, she wiggles her hips from side to side then, when the friction isn’t enough, rocks her pussy over my abdomen. The notion drives me crazy because there’s fabric separating us and I could feel that delicious heat on my bare skin if she were naked.
I lever her legs from around my waist and lower her to the floor. She moans a complaint, but I don’t wait for her to voice her concerns. I snag the waistband of her short shorts and tug them down her hips.
“I need you naked,” I rasp.
Sagging into the wall once she realizes my intent, she watches as I drop to my knees in front of her and help her strip out of them.
She stares at me.
I stare at her.
“Are you wet for me, Zee?”
A broken whimper and her tossing the jersey overhead is my answer.
Did I?—
“Was that a Korhonen jersey?” I rumble.
My jaw aches with how hard I clench it when she nods.
I can’t stop myself from snagging it and shoving it at her.
The flash of my name has me seeing red as she drags it back on.
One set of fingers slides between her knees, encouraging her to part her thighs.
She obeys. “Oh, God.”
“Tell me, Zee. Tell me what I’ll find when I touch you.”
“You can feel it for yourself.”
“No.” They slide higher, skipping her pussy, settling on her sit spot. “Tell me.”
“I ache,” she groans.
My other hand mimics its twin’s hold.
I lift her a few inches.
“Where, baby?”
“My p-pussy.”
“You need to come, or do you need me to fill you?”
That broken whimper morphs into a cry as her head tips back.
“Zee,” I warn.
Her throat bobs. “Both. Can’t I have both?”
Satisfied with that answer, I rub my lips over her inner knee, enjoying how she shivers at my touch. Her responsiveness will always light a fire in my veins.
Each caress has her reacting like I sucked on her clit. My tongue darts out and I find the tender skin behind the joint. Her hips buck and she moans long and low.
“God, what are you doing to me?” The words are thick. Heavy with want. Need.
“Do you want to feel my tongue on your clit?”
“Yes, fuck. Yes.”
“Do you want to come on my mouth?”
Her broken moan isn’t enough of an answer.
I tilt her ass forward and hover my lips above her clit.
Then I wait.
“You bastard.”
“Son of a bastard, maybe,” I correct, watching her eyes narrow at me. “Do you want to come on my mouth, wife?”
“Yes,” she growls. “Husband.”
The immediacy of her answer has me sliding my tongue through her folds, her pleasure the only goal in mind.
Her slit is wet.
So wet.
God, my wife wants me.
It’s a miracle I’ll never get used to.
I feast. Sucking on her clit hard and fast, sliding my tongue over her until I thrust in as deep as I can. She cries out, nails back to digging in my hair, scraping over my scalp as she rolls her hips, chasing her pleasure.
There’s nothing I want more than to give it to her.
Jesus, I don’t think there’s anything I’ve ever wanted more.
Like I haven’t done this a thousand times, I investigate every inch of her, hunting the parts that are the most sensitive. I seek each one, desperate to hear her cry out my name.
I savor her unique taste, her scent, revel in it as her responsiveness makes this a 4D experience—the thought makes me grin.
When she finally cries out my name, I double down. Now that I’ve heard it once, I want to hear it again. And again. I suck harder. Flick faster. Bite instead of nip. No longer teasing in answer to her cries.
She freezes against the wall, a still tableau as she finds her crest. It ripples through her and chokes off her air until she lets it loose in a scream.
But I don’t stop.
I can’t.
“COLTON!” she shrieks as I continue to eat her out. “No more, no more, no more!”
When she shudders, muscles twitching as she fights my hold on her hips, that’s when I relent.
I pull back.
Settle her feet on the floor.
Catch her when she collapses.
In a smooth movement, I surge high, snagging her and dragging her to the bed, only pausing to appreciate her in a jersey with my name on it.
Then, I drop the towel and snag a condom from the nightstand. Once I’m naked and I’ve covered myself, I clamber on top of her, parting her thighs and letting my cock rest on her slit.
I give her my weight for a second until I press most of it on the forearms I settle on either side of her face.
The heat of her is an aching torment.
“Zee,” I rumble.
When her eyes flutter open, I see the moment she recognizes what’s happening.
Her chin dips a quarter-inch.
And I thrust home.
She cries out, pussy clenching around me as that one thrust triggers another tinier orgasm. Her knees dig into my hips, nails clawing at my back as hers arches, sharp enough to toss me off if I were a lighter guy.
My wife has the heart of a wild horse. The trappings of society, of her situation, might have formed her, but in her soul, she was born for the range, and I can feel mine clamoring for hers.
But that’s not what this is about.
“God, move, Colt! Please!”
Since she asked so prettily, I thrust into her.
Slow and long. Making her feel every inch. Not pounding into her. If I do, this’ll be over and that’s the last thing I want.
I take her to another pinnacle with my thumb on her clit, aware I shocked her as she squeaks out my name. Her pussy tightens around me, clutching and clinging and clamping down. Doing its level best to get my cum.
It doesn’t work.
I want another one.
I won’t stop until she gives it to me.
Then, when she’s so hypersensitive she starts crying, I tease a final one out of her. This time, she’s wrung dry. Sobbing. Sweating. Our skin cleaves together where it touches.
A single swirl of my tongue to her nipple has her shrieking as if I stung her. Then she cries, “Please, Colt. Please. I can’t again. I can’t. Come for me. Let me feel you. Please? Please. Please. Please!”
The urge to find my own release is so ridiculously prevalent it’s a miracle I can see straight, yet I can’t help but think this is one way of making a memory that’ll last a lifetime. One that’ll supplant our original wedding night with ease.
So, like the dumbass I am, I withdraw from her.
Entirely.
She lets loose a sob at the sudden emptiness.
Then, my hands push on her knees as I butterfly her to the bed and I’m back where I was earlier.
“You sure you can’t come once more for me?” I demand, not touching her at all aside from her knees. “Not one more?”
“I can’t. I can’t!”
“Are you lying to me? I bet this pretty little pussy has one more in it.”
She shudders.
“Show me that gorgeous slit.”
Her eyes are wide at my words. “H-How?”
“Spread it with your fingers.”
Her brow puckers. If she doesn’t do it, then I’ll relent, but I know she’s?—
Her fingers part the lips, showing me the soft gape from where she took me.
I tell her as much: “You took me so beautifully, baby.”
“Then why did you leave?” she keens.
Because I never want you to forget this night—what I can make you feel…
“I wanted to taste us. Don’t you want that too?”
Her tits bob, the nipples taut buds that beckon me nearer.
“I can’t come again.”
“I think you can.”
“No, no, no,” she moans.
“Touch your clit.”
She shudders but her fingers slide higher.
“There’s my girl,” I whisper, enjoying how her eyes flare at the words. “Tell me what you want.”
Her bottom lip pops out as she circles her clit. “I’m empty.”
“I’ll fill you soon,” I promise.
Her other hand tests her slit. “What will make you come back to me?”
My cock bobs with need. “Another orgasm.”
A soft whine escapes her though she nods. Hesitantly. But she gives me permission…
The second my tongue finds the hypersensitive nub, her whimper makes my dick throb.
She fights my hold and nearly suffocates me as she squeezes her knees together and rocks from side to side as I flutter my tongue on her clit. Focusing there because I need her to get off again.
It’s a point of pride.
Her sharp shriek tells me I’m close. How she jerks her hips is another clue.
Just before she hits it, I stop and maneuver out of her chokehold on me.
“I hate you,” she screams, body straining until I blanket her.
My dick settles on her weeping pussy.
The scream bites off.
Her feral eyes find mine.
Her nails drag along the breadth of my back, scoring lines into the skin in a way I’ll check out in the morning.
I kinda like the idea of setting off on our honeymoon in the States with her claw marks etched into me.
Seems fitting.
And everyone’ll know I’m hers and, from the hickeys I intend to leave on her neck, that she’s mine. If any of those goddamn baseball players catch a glimpse of her—yeah, baseball players—they’ll see she’s hands off.
Zee picked the honeymoon so we’re going around the US, touring all thirty MLB baseball stadiums. The prospect must be hell for a hater of baseball, but when I complained that it wouldn’t be fun for her, she kissed me quiet. Now, she’ll tour each and every one of the stadiums in this jersey.
Talk about a gift that keeps on giving.
Before I can sink home, she rasps, “Wait.”
Her fingers, once gripping my shoulders to hold me close, shove me away.
Floored, I back off.
Then, she slides her fingertips over my shaft, finding the end of the condom. As she rolls it up, I catch ahold of her wrist and still her.
“Zee?” I caution, panting because her touch is not only driving me crazy, but the promise of what she’s doing makes me want to blow my load.
Her eyes lock on mine. “I’m ready, Colt. And I know you are too.”
She’s not wrong.
The past couple years have been hectic but great.
Clyde’s sentence for first-degree murder and insurance fraud was thirty years. If he only serves twenty-five of them, I’ll be pissed, but some of my vengeance for the shitty father we got will be appeased, even if it doesn’t come close to righting the wrong that was losing Loki, Betsy, and our other horses. I know Zee feels the same because getting him behind bars at all was worse than a dogfight.
After his arrest, Lydia’s victims came forward. Turns out Marcy’s diary housed a lot of secrets—those were what pinned Clyde down. His big drunken mouth was the source and they fed Lydia’s blackmail operation. And it was an operation because she extorted enough people to cover the debts on her house and more.
Clyde threw Terry under the bus and a welter of other officials in an effort to reach a plea deal too. At least we’re down one corrupt cop in town.
The breeding program is up and running, and my brothers are doing… well, they’re doing.
Mom’s practicing as a vet again after she went through the process of renewing her license, and she and Mrs. Abelman finally stopped hiding what they mean to one another.
After Juliette’s passing, the triplets moved in with us, bringing their brand of mischief along as I attempt to teach them how to ranch—they declared a ceasefire with Callan, though they exist at opposite ends of the house.
The Bar 9 and the Seven Cs no longer exist—we merged in more ways than just our marriage, and now we live on the Bar 7.
But we still haven’t fulfilled the contract because neither of us needed to.
Our marriage may have started by uniting two ranches, but it became about us.
Holding off on having a baby was our way of reclaiming our relationship.
Today’s wedding was about Zee’s reintegration into Pigeon Creek—she would never have gotten married in the church there before.
But this isn’t before anymore.
It’s now.
Now, Pigeon Creek is her home.
By choice.
And on our second anniversary, it seemed only right to renew our vows in the town where our ancestors were enemies and where our descendants will be family.
“You sure?” There’s no withholding my grin.
It’s loaded with my joy.
Sure, this is a topic worthy of discussion, but hell, I love her more than I did yesterday, and raising a family with her is all I’ve ever wanted, without knowing that’s what I needed.
Her grin is as wildly joyous as mine. “I’m beyond sure.”
I remove my grip from her wrist and let her fingers draw off the condom.
As she drops it on the floor beside the bed, I find her and slot the tip into her pussy.
Sinking back in, skin on skin, something we haven’t done since that day at the lake, a shudder wracks through me at how damn good she feels.
“Oh, Colt,” she cries, her hands at my shoulders, nails clawing at me again.
That small pause forgotten as we get back to where we were.
Her.
I.
Us.
Forever.
That we could make a kid tonight exhilarates me.
I never asked to be a father. Certainly never expected this. But there’s nothing I want more than to be the daddy of a mini Zee.
Rocking my hips, I bite her bottom lip. “God, you take me so well, baby. Every fucking inch.” I bottom out. “You feel so fucking right. So perfect.”
She whimpers, spine arching as her head tips back on the pillow. Then, heels digging into my ass, she growls, “I want you to fill me.”
From whimpering to growling in less than one minute?
I’d be a fool not to obey.
I give her what she wants—my hands grab her upper thighs and I use that grip to sink my cock into her.
“Colt,” she moans.
“Zee,” I rumble.
She sobs through it, heavy and thick with fulfilled need as we both reach a peak that has us seeing stars.
And as I fill her with my seed, I thrust. Gently. Slowing down. Savoring the moment as I claim her.
Without my brain registering that it’s the only claim I’ve ever wanted to stake.
As both of us implode and explode, each of us picking up the other’s pieces, I rasp, “You are mine, Zee Korhonen.”
Her eyes drift open. One of her hands shifts higher, the tips rubbing along my jaw. “Are you mine, Colton Korhonen?”
I nip one of her fingers. “Since I was seventeen years old.”