For You
Page 59
He settled into my back, his h*ps moving gently like last night, gliding out an inch then coming back in, keeping the connection while giving me a sweet, intimate caress.
I liked it, too much. I was right, he felt beautiful.
I was so stupid.
“Next time,” Colt said into the back of my hair, sounding sated yet weirdly disgruntled, “I’m gonna f**k you so I can see you when you come.”
I wanted to be the smart February who declared there’d be no next time but instead I was the stupid February who knew there would definitely be a next time, no matter what was at stake even if what was at stake was everything.
“Babe, I need to feed Wilson,” I whispered though Wilson was now gone and I couldn’t hear him meowing which was strange.
Colt’s arms grew tight before they grew lax.
“I’m gonna sleep in,” he moved and I knew it was to bend when he kissed my shoulder blade, “wake me in an hour?”
It was a request so I said, “Sure.”
He slid out of me, his arms giving me another squeeze as he did and when he let go I scooted off the bed.
I made the mistake of turning to look at him. Colt was up on a forearm, just a few inches, and his eyes were drifting over my body. I didn’t know what he saw. I’d never been particularly modest, I didn’t go around flaunting it but with a lover I also didn’t hide it.
With Colt, it was different. I wanted him to see what he wanted to see. I wasn’t sixteen anymore, not even twenty, hell, not even thirty. He wasn’t either but his body was fantastic, better than back then, bulkier, stronger. I wanted him to think the same thing and I couldn’t be certain he did.
I rushed to my shirt and yanked it on. Then I did the same with my panties and I started to the door.
“Baby, come here,” Colt called and I made another mistake and turned again.
He was fully up on a forearm, his hair messy, his face gentle.
I’d touched his hair last night and I’d forgotten how it felt, thick and soft, long enough for me to trail my fingers through it. I loved Colt’s hair, always did.
Looking in his gentle eyes, feeling the specter of his hair sliding along my fingers, still feeling him inside me, feeling sweetly bruised between my legs and liking it, all of it, made my feet take me to him.
I planted a knee in the bed, leaning forward. I did this all without thinking about it. His soft call, his look, the memory of what we’d shared, it was like an invisible lasso, roping me in.
He reached out, his hand wrapped around the back of my head and he brought me down to kiss me, a sweet touch of tongues before his mouth disengaged and he moved back an inch.
“I’ll be in the mood for more than toast when I get up,” he told me.
“Gotcha,” I replied, deciding that, if he wanted more than toast, he would get it. I’d make him a breakfast smorgasbord. I’d comb the woods for truffles on my hands and knees, nose to the forest floor if that’s what he wanted.
He grinned and let me go.
And I fled the room but tried to do it looking like I wasn’t.
* * * * *
An hour later I was back in the room.
It wasn’t the first time I came back.
After feeding a surprisingly quiet Wilson (who seemed to be giving a mind to my parents, who were to my horror for some reason sleeping on the pull out couch in the living room, Dad snoring softly), I’d gone back to the room.
Colt had been asleep on his stomach, one knee lifted, one arm thrown out. He looked good in his sleep but he looked good all the time so I shouldn’t have been surprised. But there was something about him sleeping, not like it was when we were younger and I used to wake sometimes and watch him sleep for awhile and remind myself of all the reasons I loved him before I went back into a doze. Now it seemed strange to see his energy shut down like it’d been switched off, because it was so much a part of him. Colt, who I’d known since he was five, was suddenly all new to me.
I’d taken my yoga clothes into the bathroom, brushed my teeth, washed my face and changed then quietly left to make coffee, scan the contents of the fridge for ideas for Colt’s breakfast smorgasbord and try to be quiet while doing breakfast prep work so as not to awaken my loved ones in the house, all of whom were there to keep me together, keep me safe, keep me strong.
But now it was time to wake Colt and I had no idea how to do it.
I sat on the bed and leaned deep, he was far away but I wanted to be at his front not his back so I could see him as he woke. I reached out a hand and slid my fingertips around his ear, something I’d do when he was agitated years ago. Pissed at something he heard his Mom did. Anxious and trying not to show it when his Dad killed those kids while drunk driving and got arrested, put on trial and thrown in prison. It always worked, my touch and back then when I did it, it made me feel like I had magical powers.
His eyes opened at my touch and he half rolled.
“Sorry, babe, it’s been an hour,” I whispered and gave him a smile. “I’ll make breakfast.”
I pulled away and started to exit the bed when his arm came around my waist and I was flying back, surprised my body was out of control. My legs went flying in the air, my back hit his chest, my ass collided with his hip and then I slid as he twisted me around. My back landed on the bed and Colt’s torso leaned into mine, my thighs over his hips, his mouth went to my neck and he kissed me there.
“Colt –”
His hand slid down my side and he lifted his head so his eyes could watch it move. “What’s this?”
I looked down wondering if I spilled coffee on my top, it wouldn’t have been the first time.
“What?”
“What you’re wearing.”
I looked back at his face. “Yoga outfit.”
His eyes moved to mine. “I like it.”
“Colt –”
“It’s tight,” he noted, his hand moving along the material at my ribs.
“Colt –”
His hand moved up and I drew in breath when he palmed my breast and his fingertips slid across the top edge of my yoga camisole. “Cleavage.”
I couldn’t help it, I smiled. “You act like you’ve never seen cle**age before.”
“Seen it, even seen a hint of yours, baby. But never had you in my bed so I could see it close up.”
He had but just not recently.
“Colt –”
“And touch it.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Nice,” he finished.
His word gave me a curl between my legs.
I liked it, too much. I was right, he felt beautiful.
I was so stupid.
“Next time,” Colt said into the back of my hair, sounding sated yet weirdly disgruntled, “I’m gonna f**k you so I can see you when you come.”
I wanted to be the smart February who declared there’d be no next time but instead I was the stupid February who knew there would definitely be a next time, no matter what was at stake even if what was at stake was everything.
“Babe, I need to feed Wilson,” I whispered though Wilson was now gone and I couldn’t hear him meowing which was strange.
Colt’s arms grew tight before they grew lax.
“I’m gonna sleep in,” he moved and I knew it was to bend when he kissed my shoulder blade, “wake me in an hour?”
It was a request so I said, “Sure.”
He slid out of me, his arms giving me another squeeze as he did and when he let go I scooted off the bed.
I made the mistake of turning to look at him. Colt was up on a forearm, just a few inches, and his eyes were drifting over my body. I didn’t know what he saw. I’d never been particularly modest, I didn’t go around flaunting it but with a lover I also didn’t hide it.
With Colt, it was different. I wanted him to see what he wanted to see. I wasn’t sixteen anymore, not even twenty, hell, not even thirty. He wasn’t either but his body was fantastic, better than back then, bulkier, stronger. I wanted him to think the same thing and I couldn’t be certain he did.
I rushed to my shirt and yanked it on. Then I did the same with my panties and I started to the door.
“Baby, come here,” Colt called and I made another mistake and turned again.
He was fully up on a forearm, his hair messy, his face gentle.
I’d touched his hair last night and I’d forgotten how it felt, thick and soft, long enough for me to trail my fingers through it. I loved Colt’s hair, always did.
Looking in his gentle eyes, feeling the specter of his hair sliding along my fingers, still feeling him inside me, feeling sweetly bruised between my legs and liking it, all of it, made my feet take me to him.
I planted a knee in the bed, leaning forward. I did this all without thinking about it. His soft call, his look, the memory of what we’d shared, it was like an invisible lasso, roping me in.
He reached out, his hand wrapped around the back of my head and he brought me down to kiss me, a sweet touch of tongues before his mouth disengaged and he moved back an inch.
“I’ll be in the mood for more than toast when I get up,” he told me.
“Gotcha,” I replied, deciding that, if he wanted more than toast, he would get it. I’d make him a breakfast smorgasbord. I’d comb the woods for truffles on my hands and knees, nose to the forest floor if that’s what he wanted.
He grinned and let me go.
And I fled the room but tried to do it looking like I wasn’t.
* * * * *
An hour later I was back in the room.
It wasn’t the first time I came back.
After feeding a surprisingly quiet Wilson (who seemed to be giving a mind to my parents, who were to my horror for some reason sleeping on the pull out couch in the living room, Dad snoring softly), I’d gone back to the room.
Colt had been asleep on his stomach, one knee lifted, one arm thrown out. He looked good in his sleep but he looked good all the time so I shouldn’t have been surprised. But there was something about him sleeping, not like it was when we were younger and I used to wake sometimes and watch him sleep for awhile and remind myself of all the reasons I loved him before I went back into a doze. Now it seemed strange to see his energy shut down like it’d been switched off, because it was so much a part of him. Colt, who I’d known since he was five, was suddenly all new to me.
I’d taken my yoga clothes into the bathroom, brushed my teeth, washed my face and changed then quietly left to make coffee, scan the contents of the fridge for ideas for Colt’s breakfast smorgasbord and try to be quiet while doing breakfast prep work so as not to awaken my loved ones in the house, all of whom were there to keep me together, keep me safe, keep me strong.
But now it was time to wake Colt and I had no idea how to do it.
I sat on the bed and leaned deep, he was far away but I wanted to be at his front not his back so I could see him as he woke. I reached out a hand and slid my fingertips around his ear, something I’d do when he was agitated years ago. Pissed at something he heard his Mom did. Anxious and trying not to show it when his Dad killed those kids while drunk driving and got arrested, put on trial and thrown in prison. It always worked, my touch and back then when I did it, it made me feel like I had magical powers.
His eyes opened at my touch and he half rolled.
“Sorry, babe, it’s been an hour,” I whispered and gave him a smile. “I’ll make breakfast.”
I pulled away and started to exit the bed when his arm came around my waist and I was flying back, surprised my body was out of control. My legs went flying in the air, my back hit his chest, my ass collided with his hip and then I slid as he twisted me around. My back landed on the bed and Colt’s torso leaned into mine, my thighs over his hips, his mouth went to my neck and he kissed me there.
“Colt –”
His hand slid down my side and he lifted his head so his eyes could watch it move. “What’s this?”
I looked down wondering if I spilled coffee on my top, it wouldn’t have been the first time.
“What?”
“What you’re wearing.”
I looked back at his face. “Yoga outfit.”
His eyes moved to mine. “I like it.”
“Colt –”
“It’s tight,” he noted, his hand moving along the material at my ribs.
“Colt –”
His hand moved up and I drew in breath when he palmed my breast and his fingertips slid across the top edge of my yoga camisole. “Cleavage.”
I couldn’t help it, I smiled. “You act like you’ve never seen cle**age before.”
“Seen it, even seen a hint of yours, baby. But never had you in my bed so I could see it close up.”
He had but just not recently.
“Colt –”
“And touch it.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Nice,” he finished.
His word gave me a curl between my legs.
