She kissed his chin. “I’ll be over at seven. But I’m warning you; in my hormonal state, I expect a lot of kisses. And chocolate for dessert.”
“Sugar, I’ll give you as many kisses as you can handle.”
After an amazing week with India, didn’t it figure his weekend started out crappy?
Colt’s morning had gone to shit after the engine on his four-wheeler blew up. If that wasn’t bad enough, he’d gone to check cattle and found two dead cows and one dead calf that’d been gnawed on by coyotes. Then he’d sliced open his forearm on a piece of metal sheeting in the barn when his mother called demanding he show up for Sunday night supper. He spilled gas all over the floor in the garage and the fumes gave him an instant headache.
It was enough to drive a man to drink.
By the time he finished his daily chores and returned to the house well after dark, he needed a beer. Or a shot. Anything grain alcohol based.
Days like this, it flat-out amazed him he’d passed the three-year mark without ingesting a single drop of booze.
India had left a message on his machine and on his cell phone and he ignored both. Pissy, testy, fighting the temptation of addiction; he wasn’t fit for company.
He needed a distraction. Driving into town and running on a treadmill at the gym didn’t appeal to him. He was too wired to sit on his ass and watch TV or climb into bed and sleep it off. He wanted to hit something—just not hit the bottle.
In the spare room he slipped on a pair of boxing shorts, his sparring gloves and circled the punching bag. Starting slow, he wanted to stretch out this beating and not tire himself out too quickly.
Right jab. Right jab. Left jab. Reverse the sequence.
He hit the bag over and over. Then he moved to the speed bag and pummeled it until he could scarcely hold his arms up. Only then did he take a breather. The workout mats were slick with sweat.
Colt’s entire body was soaked, even his hair dripped. His eyes stung. The self-inflicted physical punishment usually helped him focus on one thing: not chugging beer until he passed out.
But tonight it didn’t work.
So, Colt began his workout again. By the time he’d suffered through the third round, he’d almost reached that level of an exercise high. He wanted to wallow in that feeling of invincibility.
Of strength. He spun around to rest his forearms on the weight bench bar and saw India leaning in the doorway, gawking at him.
No hello. No pleasantries. He tried to level his breathing and demanded, “How long have you been standin’ there?”
“Long enough.”
Goddamn, she looked good. She wore leggings the color of rich coffee and a floaty sheer pink tunic that hit her mid-thigh. No shoes. No makeup. No extra jewelry. No bra.
“Tell me, do you always beat on that thing so hard?”
“Only when I’ve had a lousy fuckin’ day.”
“Been a bad one?”
“You have no idea how bad.”
India crossed her arms over her chest. “Try me.”
“Look, Indy, I’m in a piss-poor mood, I’m shitty company, and I don’t feel like makin’ small talk.”
“Did I suggest we sit around and shoot the breeze?”
“No. But you oughta know I’m feelin’ a little mean, more than a little raw around the edges and I can’t promise I wouldn’t take it out on you, so it’d be best if you went on home.” Colt faced the heavy bag again. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Oh, I see how this works. You can demand I buck up and spend time with you when I’m a physical and emotional train wreck, but when you’re having the same issues, I’m just supposed to accept a pat on the head and go on my merry way like an obedient girlfriend? That sucks, Colt, and it’s not fair.”
He ground his teeth together. “I didn’t ask you to come over.”
“I didn’t think I needed a written invitation.”
“Jesus, India. Will you just drop it?”
“Fuck that.” She stomped behind him. “You demanded complete honesty in this relationship and that includes both of us.
Which means you don’t get to hide this side of yourself from me.”
“I’m hidin’ it from you for your own damn good.”
“What? Do you turn into a werewolf or something?”
“You’re fuckin’ hilarious.”
“I’ll keep cracking jokes until the crack of dawn because I’m not going anywhere, McKay, so you might as well talk to me.”
“I already told you; I don’t wanna talk.”
“So let’s fuck.”
Colt wheeled around. “You don’t want to fuck me either, because I ain’t a nice guy right about now.”
“I don’t care.”
“Yeah? Even when I warn you haven’t begun to see my aggressive side?”
“So show me. I’m a big girl. Maybe I like it rough.”
“You don’t know what you’re askin’.”
“Maybe you don’t know what you’re denying me. Or yourself.”
He snarled. “Don’t push me.”
India raised her chin. “Even if I do, I know you won’t hurt me.”
“I’ll use you. Hard.”
“It’s not using me if I’m a willing participant.”
“A willing participant? In rough sex? You’re sure?” Colt stalked her. “I’ll have you any way I want, as many times as I want, until I’ve had my fill of your hot little body. You understand, once I start, I won’t stop. Not even if you beg me.”
“But I am begging you to let me be what you need. I don’t know what that is unless you show me.”
Just like that…Colt lost it. He didn’t kiss her; he inhaled her.
The second he touched her, his cock inflated. His heart rate kicked up. He slid his hands over the curves of her hips, then hooked his thumbs in the waistband of her leggings and pulled them to her feet.
His finger traced the crack of her ass, past that tight pucker to the sticky slit of her pussy.
He ripped his mouth free. “Christ. You’re already wet.”
“That’s what seeing you half-naked, sweaty, beating the shit out of a punching bag does to me.”
His answer was a low growl as he yanked her shirt off. Colt dropped his boxing shorts and brought them both to the mat with India on the bottom and his hands beside her head.
Colt surged inside her. Pounding into that hot, pliant flesh.
Over and over. Harder and harder. Not kissing her. Not looking at her. Not touching her. Just fucking her.
India’s legs circled his lower back as her hands spread across his upper back. Bringing him closer.
Thrust, thrust, then a grinding withdrawal.
So perfect. Her pussy was so smooth and wet and hot.
The mat was slippery with sweat. He was slippery with sweat.
Sandwiched between Colt and the mat, India became slippery with sweat and they scooted sideways.
Colt hardly noticed, he was so focused on getting to that point of no return, each stroke all the way in, then all the way back out.
Thrust, thrust, grind. Thrust, thrust, grind.
She didn’t say a word, just raked her nails down his back and arched her hips hard. Colt knew her reactions well enough by now that he instinctively increased the side-to-side movement on every upstroke and downstroke.
That simple change set India off. She gasped, her cunt squeezed his cock like a vise and her nails gouged his ass with enough pressure she probably left bloody half-moon shapes on his skin.
He didn’t care. He felt powerful. His balls lifted. He threw back his head, waiting for that pulsing rush to start so he could finish.
“Colt. Wait. No condom.”
He finally looked at her. “I know. Because I wanted to do this.”
He pulled out, sat back on his knees and beat off. The roughness of the glove abrading his cock took him to that point between pleasure and pain. The muscles in his belly, his groin, his anus tightened. He shouted as spurts of his hot seed shot out, dotting her torso, marking her as his.
Spent, he sagged back to catch his breath. But only for a minute.
When he opened his eyes, India was still all stretched out before him. Waiting.
Colt ripped off the gloves with his teeth, scooted her down, tucking his knees in her armpits. He traced the outline of her full, beautiful lips with his thumb. “Now you’re gonna lick me clean.
Open wide.” He leaned forward on his hands and fed his semi-hard cock into her mouth.
India moaned around the root of his shaft.
“See how good you taste on me?” He pumped in and out of that wetness and suctioning heat until he was almost completely hard again. Then he pulled out. “Now suck my balls. Get them wet.”
Her eyes were closed as she licked each one separately and blew across the dampness. Then she sucked both into her mouth and gently rolled them over her tongue.
Colt almost came when she released his nuts and her tongue ventured back to tickle the strip of skin in front of his anus.
“Enough.” He sat up and kissed her thoroughly before dragging her to her feet. “Bedroom. And there won’t be any talkin’ unless I say so, got it?”
She nodded.
In his room, Colt stripped back the covers. “Get in the middle of the bed on your hands and knees.” He lit a candle on the dresser and grabbed the lube.
He moved into the space between her calves and ran his hands up the outside of her legs to her hips. He bent his head and tongued the tattoo on her right butt cheek.
India sucked in a quick breath.
Then he turned his head and tongued the tattoo on her left butt cheek.
Another hissing intake of air.
Colt flattened his tongue and dragged it up and down her spine, over the infinity symbol—two long, twisted black lines—a tattoo that started above her butt and ended at the gigantic butterfly spread between her shoulder blades. No traditional tramp stamp for his India. Her skin was a canvas; every marking on her was a work of art.