I reach out and take his hand in mine, threading our fingers together. He glances at me, at our joined hands, and then back at me. His face softens.

“Sorry, I’m just…playing that song was rough. I’m distracted I guess. Not very good company.”

I sidle closer to him, pressing myself into his side. “I know it was, Colton. I’m proud of you. You were seriously incredible. People were crying.”

He lets go of my hand and wraps his arm around my waist, tugging me even closer. His palm rests on the swell of my hip, and suddenly the subway car falls away, replaced by lightning awareness of him, of his heat, his muscle. His touch is fire, singeing away the layers of clothes between us until I can almost feel his skin on mine. I need that. I need flesh to flesh, heat to heat. We’ve been dancing around it for too long now, and the slight taste I had of him wasn’t enough. I need more. I don’t know why he’s been keeping distance between us, but I’m done with it. I’ve been playing along, slowing down in our kiss when he does, not pushing it. The kisses have all been nearly platonic recently, quick touches of our lips only occasionally pushing into more, into the realm of heat and need.

Now, my body singing from his nearness, my mind and heart buzzing from the post-show high, all I can think of, all I can feel is him, and my desire for him. His fingers dig into the flesh of my hip, and his eyes burn into mine, cobalt flames locked on me. I know he feels it too.

I bite my lip, knowing what it does to him. His eyes go half-lidded and his chest swells, his finger tightens on me even more until it’s almost painful, thrillingly so.

“You’re coming over,” he says.

It’s an order, not a question. I nod, never taking my eyes from him. “I’m coming over,” I affirm. I lean in close, pressing my lips to the shell of his ear. “No holding back, tonight.”

I hear him hiss, a sucked in breath. “You’re sure?” His voice is a rumble felt in my chest.

“God, yes.” I need him to understand. “Please.”

He laughs, but it’s not a humorous laugh. It’s a predatory sound, full of erotic promise. “Nelly-baby…you don’t need to beg.”

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I flush with something like shame. “I am begging, though. You’ve been making me wait for so long, now. And I need this.”

His eyes are so fiery, so piercingly blue it takes my breath away. “I was giving you space and time. I didn’t think you were ready. I wasn’t myself, not entirely.”

“I get that, and I appreciate it. But now I’m saying…no more space. No more time.”

His hand descends, slides around just slightly, and now he’s almost-but-not-quite cupping my ass. “I just want you to be sure. No questions, no hesitations. I want it to be right.”

I rest my forehead against his shoulder, then lift my face to look up at him. “I’m ready. So ready. Scared, yes. But ready.”

He laughs again. “You think you’re ready. You’re not.” His voice goes husky. “But you will be, baby. I’ll make sure of that.”

And oh god, ohmigod, the threat, the promise in his voice is enough to have me clenching my thighs together to keep the dampness in. I know my eyes are wide, my breath coming in deep gasps.

“Quit biting your goddamn lip before I f**king lose it right here on the train,” Colton growls. I slowly slide my lip out from between my teeth, teasing him with my compliance. “Why the f**k is that so hot?” He seems genuinely confused by his own reaction.

I arch my back and take a deep breath, crushing my br**sts against him. We’re on a subway surrounded by people, but they’re oblivious and I just don’t care. I’m caught up in my own need, burning with the fires of desire. My sense is gone, my restraint burnt away.

“Knock it off, Nell.” Colton jerks me against him, and now I’m crashed front-to-front with him. I can feel his desire against my belly, hard and huge. “Quit f**king with me. You’re sexy and I want you. Point made.”

I make innocent eyes at him. “I’m not making a point, Colton.” I lean in close, whisper it into his ear, my breath soft. “I’m horny.” I feel cheesy and ridiculous saying that, but it’s what came out, and it’s true.

Colton doesn’t laugh like I thought he would have. “Fuck, Nell. You’re seriously tempting my control. I’m about to shove my tongue down your throat right here on the train.”

Wide, innocent eyes again. “You wouldn’t hear me complaining.” And I bite my lip, just to hammer it home.

His jaw clenches and both hands come around my waist to clutch my ass. Oh god, I like that. I love his hands on my ass. My ankle-length black pencil skirt is thin cotton, and I can feel the rough calluses on his hands scratching the fabric, I can feel the raw power in his grip as he grasps me, holds me against his hard body.

His mouth descends on mine, hard and rough, and his teeth take my lower lip, biting, ravenous, devouring. His tongue slides between my teeth, his lips move on mine. I whimper softly, and then I’m alight with lust. I kiss him back, but ‘kiss’ isn’t really the right word. A kiss is lips touching, tongues playing. This…

This is f**king, but with our mouths. It’s raw and primal and hungry.

“Get a room, goddamnit,” an exasperated female voice says from behind us, and it’s a testament to the eroticism of the moment that a New Yorker is willing to say something in protest. Not much phases New Yorkers, I’ve discovered.

The train stops and Colton’s hand is on the small of my back, propelling me forward. We climb the stairs to street level, and his arm clutches me close to his body. He hustles me down the street and into his darkened shop. On the way through the garage, I’m briefly assaulted by the smell of grease and cigarettes and sweat and all things Colton. It’s a wonderful smell, a scent that somehow is beginning to mean home to me. The thought is frightening but exhilarating at the same time.

Up the narrow stairwell, his hand on the no-man’s-land of the swell of my hip, not quite on my ass, not quite on my waist. His hard heat is close behind me, and my blood is pounding loud in my ear. The stairs seem endless. I’m a heartbeat away from spinning in place and tackling him here on the stairs.

This lust is overwhelming.

It’s a starvation, a need thrumming in every pore of my being. I need his body, his hands, his mouth, his lips. I need my fingers in his hair, tracing the contours of his huge, solid body, luxuriating in the contrasts that make him up, hard muscles, silky skin, rough calluses, downsoft hair, wet lips and jutting manhood and roaming hands.




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