Page 20 of Colt (The Bull Riders #2)

“Nothing has changed,” I say.

Yes. I am. I’m doing this. I’m jumping right in. “I’ve wanted this for a long time. You. Me. Sex.”

“You… You’re kidding me.” He looks shocked.

Shook. He looks like he has no idea what I’m talking about.

And I feel… Proud of my younger self? I guess that’s weird.

I feel proud of my younger self because she managed to hide it.

She kept her pride. She did what needed to be done.

Because apparently he’s not completely aware of my long-standing feelings for him. So I guess there’s that.

“Yeah. I wanted you before our parents got married. I had a crush on you. And then you moved in, and it got worse, and that’s why I’m mean to you. Because I want to fuck you.”

“Did you just… Did you just gender swap picking on somebody because you like them?”

“Yes. I like to think that it’s been a great act of feminism on my part.”

“Well. I guess so.” He looks like he doesn’t know what to say, and I’m almost amused that I’ve rendered Colt Campbell speechless.

He’s not the kind of man to be speechless.

I have a feeling that when it comes to women, he always knows what to say.

Always knows how to act. Always knows exactly what’s happening next.

I’ve managed to disrupt that. To throw him off. Cheers to me.

“It worked. We’ve managed to have a perfectly… Appropriate relationship for a lot of years. And I never jumped you.”

“Until today.”

“Until today. I know it’s a bad idea. Except I feel like it doesn’t have to be. Not if we are on the same page.”

“No one can ever know,” he says.

I laugh. Loud. Way too loud. It echoes in the room. “Yeah, no. No one can ever know. If they found out… I think we can handle this. I do. But I think that everybody else would lose their ever-loving minds. It’s a small town. Can you even imagine?”

He shakes his head. “No. That would be something that follows us both, and I don’t think either of us wants that.”

“But you want me. Right now.”

He nods. Slowly. I could ask him when that changed.

I could ask why. I just don’t think it’s going to help me.

I don’t think it’s going to benefit anything for me to have the full rundown of everything going on inside of him.

I want my fantasy. And part of this has been deciding that I don’t need it to be his.

There. I can feel something inside of me unburdened. Lighten. Float away.

I don’t need this to be his fantasy. It just needs to be mine. This isn’t going to be forever. No one can ever know that we’re doing this. Only us. It’s our secret. Our dirty, messed-up secret.

And whatever he’s getting out of it, that’s his business. Whatever I’m getting out of it, it’s mine. “Disappointing sex?”

He moves closer to me. “Very.”

“My leg is not… I don’t know exactly how…”

“I don’t think it’s good to be disappointing.”

“Oh, I’ve never disappointed anyone. My tongue works just fine.”

I shiver.

“Oh.”

I struggle, though, with understanding how he’s gone from wherever he’s normally at with me to being willing to lick me in intimate places.

But then I see the fire banked in his eyes, and I decide I don’t really care.

I don’t need the play-by-play. I’m going to keep telling myself that.

So that I don’t pull myself out of the moment.

I’ve had a lot of disappointing sex, and part of the problem is me.

I can never really lose myself in it. I’m an overthinker. I always have been.

Life has given me a lot of reasons to overthink. A mom with a long-term illness, which had me constantly analyzing every sign and symptom that I thought I might see in her when she was in between scans. Then my teenage crush moved into my house. Looking for signs and portents is sort of my thing.

But I don’t want to overthink now. The whole reason that I walked through all of this in my head before I came over was so that I didn’t do that. So that I could just let go.

“You really want to… You want to do that to me?”

“Come here,” he says.

He takes my hand and, on his crutches, goes to sit down on the couch, leading me along with him.

He sits, and then, without warning, pulls me on top of him while he lets his crutches fall.

I’m straddling him, one thigh on either side of his.

I can feel the hard ridge of his cock between my legs.

Oh God. I’m dying. I’m dying in the very best way.

“I want you,” he says. “You’re beautiful.”

I search his face, looking for something, something that feels specific to me. To this moment.

He’s so familiar. Colt . I’ve seen his face change over the years.

From a boy who I thought was cute, growing more angular, becoming a man that I thought was beautiful. He’s been my brother’s friend, my idol, my crush, my stepbrother. My adversary.

My charge. My patient.

And now he’s my ticket to pleasure. We’re close, so close, our bodies pressed together, and what really stuns me is just how natural the progression feels. How right it is. How much it’s not weird, even though it should be.

I lift my hand, and I skim my thumb over his lower lip, over the whiskers on his chin, along the line of his jaw. He’s so beautiful.

Forbidden. This was the one thing I wasn’t supposed to do. I wasn’t supposed to do this. I wasn’t supposed to show my hand.

But I have.

“Kiss me,” he says.

He’s leaving it up to me. His hand is pressed against my lower back, and his other rests at his side. He’s waiting for me to take it there.

I bite my lower lip, and I look at him. Then I lift both my hands so that they’re bracketing his face.

I want to savor this moment. I jumped in with both feet.

He’s my stepbrother. My lifelong fantasy.

I’m straddling his lap. I’ve got his hard cock pressed up against me.

I’m going to savor this moment. I’m going to linger in it.

Let it take a little bit of time. Because it’s already taken ten years.

So I might as well take this breath. Take these few ticks of the clock.

To really let it sink in that it’s him. Finally.

I lean in, press my mouth to his, just slightly.

Then I move to the left corner of his lips, kissing him across the width of that mouth.

Then moving back to the center again and kissing him a bit more deeply.

He groans beneath me, two hands going to my hips as he pulls me down hard against him. And I arch my back in pleasure.

I think it’s going to happen here. Right here on the couch. But this is perfect. The ideal position given his leg.

“I haven’t wanted this. For weeks now. Haven’t even had fantasies. Not until you. You got under my skin, Allison.”

My name on his lips is enough. Tortured, broken. My name on his lips is enough to make me feel special. It’s enough to make me feel wanted in this moment. I’ll take it. I’ll cling to it and let it make this feel real. Make it feel right. Because I needed. I need him.

And I’m going to claim him.

I lean back and grip the hem of my hoodie.

Pull it off. I don’t have anything on underneath, and my breasts are bare, right in his face.

It was like that when he gripped my hip when I tripped in the kitchen.

But this time, there’s no fabric between us.

I can see him take a breath, hold it. A muscle in his jaw jumps like he’s tense.

Trying to hold himself together. Trying to keep steady.

Then his hands move up my bareback, fingertips tracing the line of my spine as he pushes me forward, bringing my nipples up against his lips.

His tongue darts out, tasting the tip of one, and my whole body shudders.

Oh God.

He’s going to kill me. I’ve never felt anything like this before. And I’m going to be so mad when I have to tell Sarah that I know now that sex can actually be amazing.

No. I can’t tell her. I can’t tell anyone. No one can ever know that this happened between me and Colt. I have to remember that.

It would make the town dynamics so weird. Our family dynamic is so weird. We just can’t.

But… I can’t not have him. I can’t.

Right as I think that, he parts his lips, blows against my nipple, turning it into a point so hard it could cut glass.

Then he draws it deep into his mouth, sucking hard.

Men have done this to me before. But it hasn’t felt like this.

It’s that indefinable chemistry that feels so unfair.

Because I didn’t ask to feel this for Colt. But I do. It’s beyond me.

“You’re just perfect,” he groans. He presses a hot kiss to the valley between my breasts before moving his attention to the next one.

Sucking my other nipple deep into his mouth, and the sound he makes – one of pure helplessness – lets me know that I’m not alone in this.

That he felt just the same way I do. That he is helpless in the face of this chemistry.

What does it matter when it happened for him?

He feels it. He didn’t think about sex since the accident, and now he wants me.

So I don’t care if he ever wanted me before.

I don’t care how many women he’s been with.

I don’t care about anything but how good this feels.

As long as the chemistry exploding between us is mutual, that’s all that matters.

He moves his hands up, cups my breasts, thumbs skimming over my damp nipples.

Then he pinches me lightly. I feel an answering pulse at the center of my core.

He moves his hands down my midsection, pushes one down beneath the waistband of my sweats.

Finds me bare underneath. He growls when his fingertip makes contact with my core.

I’m so wet. I know he feels that. He moves deeper, touches me more intimately.

One finger pushing inside of me with ease because I’m just so ready for him.