Page 19 of Colt (The Bull Riders #2)

Chapter Ten

Allison

I wake up feeling…uneasy. Maybe that isn’t the right word. Colt leaving me in the car after he said that echoes in my head. It kept me awake last night. I couldn’t sleep. I just kept hearing that angry, rough promise he made before he stormed into the house.

The trouble is, I believe it. The trouble is, I know that I had to rush out and have sex so that I wouldn’t be wondering about him. The trouble is… Talking to Sarah makes me suspect that my worst fear is true. That with Colt it would be good. It would be great .

I press my fists into my eyeballs.

The truth is, I should move. For the last year of school, when I’m doing my rotations in the hospital, I would be much happier if I weren’t living in Gold Valley. I would have more time to sleep, and I would spend less time commuting. And I wouldn’t be so close to him.

I know exactly where this is leading me.

I get out of bed, and I strip my clothes off. I stalk to my shower and I turn the water on. I let the warm water beat down on me. And I wonder if I’m really considering…

The trouble is, I’ve been haunted by this for years. This is new for him. I know it is. He can say whatever he wants about how this isn’t about where he’s at emotionally right now, but it is. The idea that I could help him stop feeling like less of a man… Oh, that gets me in ways I don’t like.

I was devastated the first time. I was devastated when he looked at me with that desire in his eyes and I realized it was only about his desire to feel whole.

I reacted badly, and I had a good reason for it.

But now I’ve been sitting with it for a good twelve hours.

Well, more than that. In the kitchen last night, it’s like I was a teenager again.

It was like all those fluttery feelings rose up inside of me.

And when we talk, I actually do like him.

I only don’t like him because I’m always desperately trying to put this wall between us.

What if I didn’t? What if I just stop trying?

What if we stop trying? What if… What if I can help him and he can show me how good sex is, and then I leave?

Around the time he starts to feel better.

I’ll move away, and I won’t have to deal with him.

I won’t have to deal with the consequences. It’s almost the perfect crime.

My heart is pounding hard. Damn. At 7 AM. I really need to calm down.

But I can’t. Because my body feels like it’s on fire. Because I feel like I’ve finally come to a conclusion. I feel like I’ve finally shaken off the stagnation that has been dogging me.

Has it only been days since he got out of the hospital? It feels like months. It feels like so many things have changed fundamentally, but all those changes have been inside of me. Between us.

Barely spoken. We were talking around all of it until last night, right before he went into the house. All I need to know is if he wants me. If he wants me, I don’t actually care why.

My nipples are hard, and I feel myself getting wet between my thighs.

I’ve had sex before.

Sex doesn’t have to ruin everything. It barely even changes anything.

And the truth is, Colt has sex with tons of women, all the time. I’m quite certain that he runs into women he’s slept with in town all the time. And it doesn’t matter. It’s fine.

It’s totally okay that he’s slept with them before, and they still see each other in town.

I mean, I still live in town with my ex-boyfriends. I really rarely think about them. When I run into them, it doesn’t even feel awkward.

It’s just that I’ve let the thing with Colt become so big. That’s the real issue.

I built it up into something that it can’t possibly live up to.

And I sort of transposed the feelings that I had for him when I was a teenage girl onto the feelings that I might have for him as an adult woman.

Why have this unresolved lust? Unresolved lust isn’t love.

It’s not even a crush. I want him. And I think there’s something fundamental about that.

He was my sexual awakening in so many ways.

The first man I ever fantasized about. They were innocent fantasies at first, of course.

I thought about kissing him. And then when I got older, I thought about a whole lot more.

He was the first human I had those concrete thoughts about. He drove me straight into the bed of a very under-skilled teenage boy.

But that’s the problem, the idea of Colt still has so much cachet.

And what if I just found out? And what if we didn’t let it ruin anything?

Because he’s right. Our family is so important.

I let all this hurt me because I interpreted it in a negative way.

The thing about Colt is that he never means anything in a bad way.

He’s kind of an ass, but he’s never being mean.

I’m the one who's prickly and difficult and always throws spikes down on the road in between us.

It doesn’t have to be that way. I can change.

I shut the water off. This is what men do when they talk themselves into having affairs?

They just start telling themselves pretty stories that they polish and shine until the outcome is that they can excuse themselves to have the sex that they want, no matter how destructive it might be.

Maybe. I shut that moment of self-awareness away. I don’t want self-awareness.

I want to scream his name.

Yeah. I am probably hallucinating. Half-asleep still. I should probably drink some coffee before I follow this train of thought. But instead, I pull on a pair of sweats and a hoodie, no underwear underneath either of them, and I walk out of my house, down the sidewalk toward Colt’s house.

And with a little bit of guilt, I use my key on his front door and push it open. “Colt?”

I hear him walking down the hall. “Allison?”

He’s wearing a pair of black boxer briefs, nothing else. Well, his brace. Oh. I wonder how that’s going to be. Well. I can be on top. That’s fine. I know what I’m doing. Thank God I’m not a virgin. Thank God I have some experience to bring to the table.

Though I have a feeling if our experience was represented by M&Ms, his would be a bowl to my sad fun-size bag.

“Is everything okay? Something going on with mom?”

“It’s me. I…”

And then I move forward, he’s on his crutches, he’s braced against the wall, I close the distance between us and wrap my arm around his neck. Stretch up on my toes, and I kiss him.

He grunts, releasing hold on one of his crutches as he braces his hand on my lower back.

His mouth is hot and sure on mine. He’s shocked for a moment, but it doesn’t take very long for him to get into the rhythm of things. And oh. My. God.

I’ve never really been kissed before. Not like this. Every pass of his tongue over mine is expert. He knows how to change the rhythm. How to command a response from me. I can’t even fully explain it.

It’s like he’s a surgeon, expertly targeting the exact part of my body he wants to with each pass of his tongue.

I can feel it, between my thighs, it makes my heart beat faster.

I feel it as my nipples get tight, my breasts feeling heavy.

He’s just kissing me. He has one hand on me, still and steady on my lower back.

But it’s like he’s touching me all over. Like he’s creating a whole symphony in my body and he’s not even operating at full capacity. He’s barely even trying.

It’s enough to make me want to run away.

Because this is everything I’ve ever been afraid to fantasize about.

This was my deepest fear. That there was something with him that I was never going to be able to find with anyone else.

And that if I couldn’t have it with him, I would never have it. Not with anyone.

Maybe we’ll never have it again.

Or maybe this is the learning experience I need.

That same voice that drove me here pops up now. But right as I’m about to encourage myself forward, he breaks the kiss.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“What?”

“After… What’s happening?”

“I was thinking.”

“No. I don’t believe that you were thinking. This is not thinking behavior.”

This is crazy. I know that it is. But I don’t want to stop. Besides, this isn’t one day, one comment in the making. This is a lifetime full of fantasies building up to this one moment. This one incredible moment.

“I think we can help each other,” I say.

“Help?”

He sounds out of breath. Horny, like I am. And I can tell that he’s ready to make the same bargain with reality that I already did.

Whatever lie you have to tell yourself in order to get some. I know I’m ready.

“You want to… You want to get your groove back. And I… had some really disappointing sex.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’ve had some really disappointing sex.”

“Yeah, sorry, I did. The first time. I just don’t quite know what to say to that.”

“I feel like the sex between us wouldn’t be disappointing.”

He lifts a brow. “Oh. It wouldn’t be. But this seems to have come out of nowhere, and yesterday you were ticked off at the idea of me using you. So I need to know exactly what change.” He grabs my hips, and sets me back a pace. “What changed, sweetheart?”

“I…” I’m short-circuiting because he called me sweetheart.

Honestly, he probably calls every woman he touches that.

Every woman who isn’t related to him. I should probably be offended.

I should probably take it as him minimizing me.

Minimizing us. But I don’t. I don’t, because I find it hot, and I’m that basic. Oh God, I’m so basic.

But I’m willing to just basic bitch my way to multiple orgasms.

I’m willing to let all of reality slide. This is what I’ve always been afraid of. Honestly. This is why I’ve always kept that metaphorical furniture piled up against the door. I was afraid that if it cracked, even a little bit, I would be charging through it uninvited.

Here I am, doing just that. My resistance is nothing. My desire is everything.

“I…” Am I going to do this? Am I going to debase myself?