Colton loses it. He grips my hips in both hands, widens his stance, and draws back until he’s almost out of me. I suck in a deep breath, anticipating the flesh-trembling drive of his hips.
Instead, he sinks in as slowly as he can, more softly than I thought possible, a caress of his arousal within me. A tease. And then, because I’m not ready for it, he slams into me. I cry out, face contorting in pleasure. He pulls out slowly, slides in slowly, two and then three more times, gentle as a whisper.
And then, when I open my mouth to speak, he crashes hard, so hard, and my words, my breath leaves me in a rush. I can’t even catch my breath, then, because he’s done toying with me. He’s driving into me, drilling me with savage power. My entire body is jarred forward with each thrust, and broken whimpers release from me at each one. The whimpers turn into yes’s, and those turn into his name, chanted in the brutal rhythm of his hips. He jerks me back into him, pushes me away, and I barely register the first orgasm, so lost am I in the pleasure of the pain, the delicious slam of his body into mine, the way he fills me with each thrust, the way he seems to stretch me.
And then he comes, growling and roaring, slamming into me, driving deep in the hardest thrust yet, almost too hard, but not. It can never be too hard. And then…oh god, oh shit, ohmigod, he’s back to the tender sliding, bent over me, kissing my spine, palming my ass, dipping into me in shallow thrusts that hit me in just the right place to make me completely come undone.
I bury my face in the rough fibers of the couch and scream as I shatter, a million jagged bolts of lightning blasting through every cell of my body. He smacks my left ass-cheek as I scream, and the orgasm ruptures into a higher peak, and I’m rocked forward with a slow but powerful thrust into that perfect spot, timed with the spank of his palm. He pulls back, slaps my right cheek in time with another cresting wave and shallow thrust, and I’m sobbing with the intensity, driving back into him, collapsing forward and rocking back in uncontrolled spasms. Volcanic heat and electricity shred my body, earthquake shudders wracking me, all centered on my core, low in my belly, deep inside me.
He strokes slowly then, milking my climax until he’s soft within me and I’m a limp puddle of sated woman. He pulls out of me, lifts me in his powerful arms and carries me to my bed. He’s gone briefly and then back, cradling me against him.
“I can’t believe you like it rough like that,” he says.
“Why not?” I ask, tracing patterns on his skin, drifting my touch downward to take him in my hand, stroking him.
“You just seem so innocent and delicate.”
“You know I’m not either of those things, Colton.”
“Yeah I know that, but it’s how you seem.” He toys with my nipple, circling it with the pad of his index finger. “One minute you’re all classy and kind of aloof and beautiful and everything, and then you seem to just…let go and something wild comes out of you. You turn into this…”
“Shameless slut-beast?” I suggest.
He snorts, but his finger turns my chin up so I’m looking at him. “Funny, but no. You’re anything but that, Nell. Never think about yourself like that.”
“I don’t, I was joking.” Sort of, but I won’t admit to the deeper truth.
He sees it anyway, damn him. “Nell.” His blue eyes sear me.
I have to look away. “I just…it’s the same old thing, Colton. Part of me can’t get over the idea that this is wrong. You’re his older brother. I know, I know. He’s gone and I have to get over it. We—this, with you and I—it’s not wrong. It’s not. But the stupid guilt is always there.”
He doesn’t answer right away. “I understand, Nell. I do. Just…talk to me about that shit, okay? Don’t lock it away or push it down. I’ll understand.”
I nod against his chest, then smile as I feel him begin to grow hard in my hand. I slide my fingers around him until he’s fluttering his hips into my touch, then slide astride him. He’s inside me, slipping in easily, perfectly. I’m sitting up on him, lifting with my thighs and sinking down. I took him by surprise, and that makes me giddy. He’s frozen for a few strokes, and then he takes me by the waist and moves with me.
Then he freezes again. “We need…we gotta put one on, baby.” His gaze is strangely intense. “The last thing we need right now is a pregnancy.”
I don’t slow in my rise and fall. “We’re good, honey. I’m on birth control.”
“Since when?”
I frown. “Since…always. I never stopped taking it after…what happened.” It’s an awkward moment. I bend over him and kiss him. “The point is, we’re fine. I want it like this, nothing between us.”
He cradles my face in his palms and devours my mouth. “Thank god. I’ve wanted to feel you bare like this so bad.”
“Me too.”
And then there’s no more space for words between our gasps and kisses and groans. We move together for an eternity in perfect sync, each motion, each breath mated to the other’s, until we dissolve together, coming undone together.
When we’re tangled breathless and basking in the afterglow, I press my lips to his ear. “I love you, Colton.”
“Don’t you forget it, baby.”
I snort and glare at him.
He kisses me softly. “Kidding, Nell. I love you. So much.”
Chapter 13: A Blue Cross
Eight Weeks Later
No.
No.
Hell no. This isn’t happening. It isn’t. It can’t be. Not now.
My right hand is flat over my mouth, and it’s all that’s holding in my panic. I’m sitting on the edge of the tub in my bathroom, naked but for a baby-doll T-shirt. Knees pressed together, feet bouncing. Head shaking side to side, eyes wide and hazy and shimmering and stinging.
I look down at my left hand. I’m holding a white plastic stick between thumb and forefinger. A tiny square window in the plastic shows two blue lines in a cross.
I don’t even bother packing a bag. I book the first flight back to Detroit, which leaves in three hours. Not enough time, but it’ll have to be.
On the way out, I tape my only explanation to Colt on the front of my door: a note containing three words, and the test.
As I ride the taxi to the airport, his words echo in my head, over and over: The last thing I want right now is a pregnancy.
I’m back to where I started, emotionally: locked up tight, refusing to cry. Wanting to find some way to hurt, so I don’t have to feel the fear and the panic and the knowledge that this is the last thing he wanted.