Page 21 of Colt (The Bull Riders #2)

It’s all moving too fast, and not fast enough.

I want it to go on forever. I want him inside me now.

I wish that I could draw it out. Part of me does.

I wish I could be on the precipice of having not quite done this for just a little bit longer.

That I could be in this in-between space, where it’s happening, but nothing bad has happened because of it.

If there’s one thing I know all too well about life it’s that time moves on relentlessly, even if you wanted to stop. You can’t freeze moments. No matter how much you wish you could.

And so I have to accept that time is going to keep marching on, and this will finish, and it will be as bad an idea as seems, but at least I’ll have had his hands on me.

I have to stop thinking. I have to just surrender.

I am – often – the enemy of my own pleasure. But this thing between the two of us is so powerful, I’m not sure that I’m strong enough to dampen the pleasure.

I’m the one who shifts, gets up on my knees so that I can pull my sweatpants down, work them down just enough, so that I can kick them off on the floor. I’m naked on his lap, and he’s wearing just his underwear.

Now I feel like it’s my turn.

I rock myself against him, as I press my hands against his chest. It’s bare and gorgeous, and I cannot believe I’m touching Colt Campbell’s chest. I’m naked, and I feel like touching his chest shouldn’t necessarily be the thing making my circuits go haywire right now, but it feels like it is.

It really feels like it is.

I’ve never seen a more perfect man. Yes, now he has a scar on those gorgeous abs, but it doesn’t make him any less hot.

I move my hands down his muscles, down to that scar, I trace it, just like I do every other line on his body. I let my fingertips brush his nipple, and he shivers beneath my hand.

“Fuck,” he whispers.

I’m satisfied by that. I love that I’m making him tremble. That I’m making him swear. That I’m doing this to him. I love that he wants me.

I’ve never felt so beautiful. I never realized how much that would affect my own desire.

But then, I’ve also never been with a man that I found quite so gorgeous.

Because I never found another man this beautiful. Not ever.

It’s him. It’s always been him.

I know without a doubt that I’ll have no trouble calling up the memory of his naked body.

I know without a doubt that it will haunt me for the rest of my life, and it’s a ghost that I’m choosing.

It’s a haunting that I would invite, a ritual summoning I would engage in every day no matter the consequences.

Yeah. He’s worth it.

I nearly lost him.

My hands start shaking as I touch him. As I move to touch his face again. I nearly lost him and we never experienced this. I nearly lost him and I never kissed him. I never felt him inside my body. I nearly lost him.

I grip his face and I kiss him, fiercely. Then, I’m all out of patience. I’m ready to reach into his underwear and grab his hard length, drag it out, and ride him, but he grips my chin, pulling me away, studying my gaze. “We need a condom.”

“Oh,” I whisper.

“My room.”

I nod. I get up off of him, and I’m standing there naked in the middle of the living room at seven thirty in the morning.

He looks at me, the broad light of day making the room bright.

We have the blinds closed; no one can see in, but there’s still a lot of natural light filtering in.

I’m not embarrassed. Why would I be? He’s looking at me like my body is something spectacular.

He’s looking at me like I’m amazing. I’ve never experienced anything like that before.

It makes me feel so alive. It makes me feel like a goddess. When I turn away from him, he makes a low sound in the back of his throat, and I smile just slightly and shake my ass just a little bit extra as I walk toward the bedroom.

I let out a long, shaking breath as soon as I get into the room.

I put my hand on my chest and feel my heart raging.

Then I steel myself and move over to the nightstand.

There’s a box of condoms in there. I take one out, and then I take another.

Just in case. I go back into the living room, and he’s waiting.

My internal muscles clench as I stare at him.

He’s got his thighs spread wide, his injured leg out straight in front of him.

I can see the hard, thick length of his erection about to burst through his underwear.

The outline of him is compelling. I want to see more.

But then there’s everything else about him. His thick thighs, his impressive chest.

His face.

Oh, that face.

And all the ways that it’s ever haunted me.

He smiles, and it’s like something breaks open inside me. There’s the charmer. This must be what other women see. What they have seen for years. I’ve never seen it. I’ve never seen him turned on. Never seen him in this mode. Charming. Seductive.

I don’t even need him to do a thing. It’s good all on its own. But I kind of like the thing. I feel like I’ve been led into a secret club. Not the most exclusive club, but one I’ve never been invited to before.

I grab hold of the condom and move toward the couch.

But as I got to straddle his lap, he grabs my hip, pulls me up as he lies down on the couch, bringing me square over his face.

I’m… I’m right against his mouth. He looks up at me, blue eyes wicked, and I almost passed out from just how outrageously dirty this is. How incredible it is.

I’ve never… I’ve never actually been on top of a man while this happened.

His two large hands go to grab my ass, and he pulls me firmly against his mouth as he begins to eat me. He licks me with long, sure strokes, sucking my clit into his mouth and making me cry out with pleasure.

“God,” I whimper, grabbing hold of the back of the couch.

He lifts his head. “Just me. But I can see how you get the two confused.”

And then, he’s right back there. Licking me, sucking me, teasing me.

He brings his thumbs up, spreading my lower lips, massaging either side of my clit while he continues to lick me.

He pushes me so high, so fast, I barely recognize that I’m on the edge until I’m pushed over.

I slam my hand down on the couch cushion, curling my fist around the fabric as I scream.

I’ve never in all my life screamed during sex.

But I can’t even believe this. This is the hottest…

I’m whimpering. Rolling my hips forward. I’m not embarrassed anymore. Not worried about anything. I’m just riding his face, taking every last gasp of pleasure that I can as he continues to lick, suck, tease.

His large hands are digging hard into my butt, his mouth working me over time. And it doesn’t take long for a second orgasm to build. For me to break.

For me to lose it entirely.

I’m boneless when he finally sits up, and I would marvel at his strength, but I’m too busy marveling at everything else. “Condom,” he says, his voice rough.

I scramble and reach out to the cushions, grab hold of the packet. Hand it to him. He tears it open, freeing himself from the black boxers, and rolling the condom over himself before I get a good look.

Even with it on, I can see how big he is. How… Yeah. I was right. I will remember his penis for the rest of my life.

In great detail.

It is the Holy Grail of dick.

The most gorgeous cock on any man, and I don’t even need to see any more of them to know that.

Perfect for me.

I just know it.

“Ride me,” he says, his voice rough.

I lift up my hips, my thighs shaking as I bring myself down onto him. Then he grabs the back of my head and brings me in for a fierce kiss. His tongue goes deep, and I can taste my own pleasure on him as I take him into my body, inch by excruciating inch.

I’m whimpering, trembling as he fills me. As Colt Campbell puts himself entirely inside me. Joins his body to mine.

I grip his shoulders, my nails digging in deep as I lift my hips and start to ride him. It’s so good. So good. So perfect.

I can’t breathe. I can’t think.

All I can do is feel. The delicious friction of him inside of me. My breasts brushing against his chest with every stroke. I set the tempo. The rhythm. I’m sure he would rather be in charge. But I like that I’ve taken that from him. I can feel another orgasm building. That feels impossible. Three?

Not that I’m complaining.

He leans back, watching me, watching me move up and down on him, watching me take my pleasure.

And I love that I’m putting on a show for him. I’ve never been particularly repressed, I don’t think, but I also can’t remember ever relishing having a man look at me. Watching me pleasure myself. Maybe because I’ve never exactly pleasured myself on any of my other partners. Not like this.

He presses his thumb between my legs, rubbing it over my clit, and I lurch forward, nails digging into his shoulders as he wrenches another orgasm from me faster, harder than I expected.

“You’re such a good girl,” he says. “You act like a brat. We’re just waiting for a man to make you sweet.”

That shouldn’t be hot. It shouldn’t turn me on. It should make me mad. But instead, I feel myself close to the edge again. So close. So close.

Then he thrusts his hips up off the couch. Hard. Changes the rhythm, changes the game. I didn’t realize how strong he was in this position, injured, how much force he could put behind it. But he’s doing it. Hips working like a piston, driving deep. Hard.

I can see him going closer to the edge, his jaw locking together, the tendons in his neck standing out.

He wraps one arm around my waist, his hand pressed against my shoulder blades as he thrusts into me one last time, roaring as he comes, as he pulses inside of me, drawing another shattering orgasm for me.

Four.

And that’s when I melt against him. I melt like a candle held to a flame. Pliant wax that can’t reform.

I’m still too hot. Still too rocked.

“What the hell have you done to me?”

“I was going to ask you the same question.” He strokes my cheek, and I’m struck by the tenderness on his face.

It creates a strange kind of fear response inside of me.

I want to run away from it. Because I feel like I’m not looking at him , at least, not the version of him I know.

I feel like… It’s like something straight out of a dream that I would’ve had when I was too young to actually imagine sex.

When I thought only about the feelings , not the intense physicality.

Seeing this expression on his face feels illegal.

I have to turn away.

He taps my hip and I climb off of him. “Are you okay?” I ask, feeling worried I did something to hurt him.

He throws his head back, and he laughs. “Am I okay?” He laughs, and keeps on laughing. “That is the weirdest question I’ve ever been asked after sex.”

“Well, I might have… Hurt you.”

“I’m not hurt.”

His gaze is roaming everywhere but my face. He seems completely distracted from my body. And that I like. That doesn’t freak me out. That makes me feel good, in fact.

“Do you need help with…” I look down meaningfully at his naked body. The condom.

“Please,” he says. “I’ve got it. Just hand me my crutches.”

I do, and I watch how much easier he’s maneuvering now. Apparently, I didn’t harm him with the vigorous sex.

Sex. Colt and I had sex. Oh God.

I sit down on the couch while he goes into the bathroom. I cover my mouth. I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry.