16. Colby #2
A picture of us. Front row. The guys in mid-chaos. Dex with his hands in the air. Mason yelling. Bryce’s sunglasses somehow still on. Me clapping like I’m watching a game-winning goal.
The caption reads:
Raina was incredible tonight. And look who else are apparently huge fans.
Below it, more posts. Different angles. Different phones. The same moment.
Sloane lets out a breathy laugh that sounds dangerously close to happy tears. “This is… this is huge.”
“For her?”
“For her,” she says quickly. “For exposure. For the label conversations next month.” She looks at me, eyes bright. “You have no idea how much this helps.”
I shrug. “I think I’m starting to.”
She shakes her head, smiling to herself as she keeps scrolling. “People are tagging her. Asking who she is. Following her already.”
She looks up again, softer now. “Thank you.”
I don’t make a joke this time. “You don’t need to thank me.”
“I do,” she says. “Tonight mattered.”
We walk a few blocks in comfortable silence before she gestures toward a corner bar still glowing with late-night energy.
“This place is nice. Let's go here.” she asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “Let’s celebrate.”
Inside, it’s quieter than the theater. Low music. Dim lights. The kind of place where conversations lean closer by default.
We sit in a booth in the back of the bar. She orders a cosmopolitan. I order a beer.
She exhales once the glass hits the table. “I was nervous.”
I glance at her. “Didn’t show.”
“I always am,” she says. “I just hide it better now.”
“Well,” I say, lifting my bottle slightly, “Congratulations. Raina crushed it.”
Her smile turns proud. “She did.”
“And you did too,” I add.
She studies me for a second, then looks down at her drink like she needs the moment to land.
An hour slips by without either of us noticing.
She finishes her drink and sets the glass aside. “Ready to leave?”
“Yup."
I pay the tab and when we leave, the night has cooled even more. She tucks her hands into her jacket sleeves.
“I can walk you,” I say.
She hesitates only a second. “Okay.”
We walk along the quiet sidewalks. Streetlights are casting warm halos. Her shoulder brushes mine once. Then again.
By the time we reach her building, she stops at the door.
“I don’t want tonight to end,” she says.
The words hit harder than a kiss would have.
Neither of us moves.
Then she turns, keys already in hand. “Come up?”
***
The elevator ride is anything but quiet.
She reaches for me the second the doors slide shut, like the restraint finally snapped.
Her mouth claims mine, open and urgent, the kiss stealing the air from my lungs.
There’s no easing into it this time. No checking the temperature.
It’s heat on heat, breath tangling, the kind of kiss that says we both know exactly where this is going and don’t care.
My hands find her waist and pull her closer until there’s no space left to pretend. She makes a soft sound against my mouth that goes straight through me, and I groan before I can stop myself.
“Colby,” she murmurs, like my name belongs in her mouth.
The elevator dings. We don’t break apart.
We barely make it inside her apartment before we’re laughing again, breathless, tripping over each other as the door clicks shut behind us.
“We are terrible at pacing,” she says.
“Never been my strong suit,” I admit.
She tugs me back into her, palms warm, confident, sliding under my jacket like she’s done waiting for permission. The kiss deepens instantly. Slower now. Heavier. My hands skim up her sides, memorizing curves I already know but suddenly need again.
I barely register the apartment around us, just flashes of soft light and cozy corners, something unmistakably hers, before we’re shrugging off our jackets and letting them fall wherever they land.
“Nice place,” I murmur, sliding my hands to her hips. “But I’m way more interested in what’s waiting in that bedroom.”
"Me too."
The walk to the bedroom is a blur of mouths and hands and half-spoken words. She pushes me back onto the edge of the bed, eyes bright, daring, and for a second I just look at her.
God, she's sexy.
She steps closer, straddling my knees, kissing me again until the world unravels. My grip tightens on her ass, grounding myself in the feel of her because everything about this moment feels like it’s slipping deliciously out of control.
When we finally sink onto the bed, it’s not careful.
It’s need.
Clothes are discarded without ceremony. Fabric forgotten. Hands everywhere. Her breath stutters when my mouth finds her throat, when I trace kisses lower, slower, until she arches instinctively into me.
“Don’t stop,” she whispers.
I don’t.
The night folds in on itself. The room fills with heat and movement and the quiet sounds she makes when she forgets herself. I begin kissing down her body, further and further. When she realizes what I'm about to do, she starts to squirm and parts her legs.
I sit up between her open legs and spread them even more.
"God, you are so wet and hot," I say as I circle her center.
"Colby, that feels so good. You're driving me crazy."
"Fasten your seatbelt, honey. My tongue is about to send you places."
Within seconds, two fingers are inside of her as I lie down and take her with my mouth.
She is moving with me, with moans that she doesn't realize she's making.
"Colby, I'm..."
"I want to feel you contract all over my face and fingers, baby. Let yourself go."
"Jesus, Colby, I'm right there."
Suddenly, she cries out and starts contracting everywhere. Fuck, this is hot. I'm hard as a rock, and I can't wait another minute to be inside of her.
She hands me a condom. It's on in two seconds and I flip her over so she's on her stomach.
There’s laughter when we shift, when we knock the pillows aside, when she gets on her hands and knees and turns back to look at me.
"Enter me," she says.
"Holy shit, Sloane. You are so friggin' hot."
I reach around and touch her clit as I enter her. There's no hesitation. Just slow, purposeful thrusts.
We're now connected in a way that has nothing to do with technique and everything to do with trust.
After a few minutes, she wants to flip over.
"I want to watch you, Colby, while we make love."
Then she wraps her legs around me and pulls me closer. The sound she makes is soft but wrecking, and I swear under my breath because I don’t want this moment to end, but I feel like I might explode any second.
We move together until the world blurs, until there’s nothing left but sensation and the way she says my name like it matters.
When it finally crests, it’s not explosive.
It’s deep.
It settles into my bones and stays there.
We lie tangled afterward, breath slowing, skin warm, the city glowing quietly beyond the windows.
I brush my thumb along her nipple and murmur, “Kind of hard to top a night like this one.”
“True, but we’re still not defining this,” she says.
“Right,” I say.
Neither of us sounds convinced.
She smiles faintly. “Good.”
I stare at the ceiling, her weight warm against my side.
I didn’t just show up for her concert.
I showed up for her.
And that might be the most dangerous thing of all.