Page 107 of Finding Denver

An apartment in the city. Snowy Christmases. Ice-skating. Days out with Holly. Lunches with Helena. Working with Finn. Opening my casino. Colt.

Colt. Colt. Colt. Colt.

I close my eyes and imagine him asking me to stay again. A whirlwind of what our lives could be if we’d met another way. First kisses. First dates. Holding hands. Touching. Skin against skin.

I can smell his cologne, feel his hands, hear his voice in my ear. The faucet runs, steam climbing from the heated water, warming my face and hands as I grip the edge of the sink and imagine.

Colt’s arm wraps around my waist, his hand flat against my stomach, his touch warm through the jersey as he pulls my back to his chest. My toes clench and I rest my head against his chest, his lips against my ear.

“You’re wearing my jersey,” he whispers, and I can really hear him, really feel him. I can’t speak, too afraid tobreak the spell, so I only nod. He kisses below my ear, a soft brush of his lips. “Tell me to walk away, Del.”

My lips part, my senses overwhelming me. He surrounds me, his safety, his arms, his voice. It isn’t real, so it’s okay. This isn’t happening, so I say, “Don’t stop.”

His hand slides under the jersey, over my bare stomach, his fingertips grazing my underwear. My heart kicks into high gear, liquid heat gathering between my legs, my skin tingling as my back presses into his chest.

“Is this real?” I whisper.

“Fuck, I hope so.” He kisses my neck.

And it is real. He’s here. He’s touching me.

And I’m not going to stop him.

He teases me through my underwear, and I arch my back, his mouth travelling down my neck as his hand makes slow, beautiful circles. I curse the material between us, my hips bucking against his hand as he cups my sex.

“Just … just tonight,” I say, squeezing my eyes closed.

His groan is mixed with a growl, deep, possessive, heart wrenching. “It might just be tonight, but I’ll ruin you for every other man, Del.” I whimper at his words, at promises I hope he can deliver on. “You’ll only ever think of me. Want me. Compare them to me.”

I cry out his name, tears of frustration in my eyes, my toes clenched so tight it hurts.

“Please—”

“You don’t have to beg me,” he promises. “You never have to beg me.”

His hand dips into my underwear, gliding across my wetness, and then his fingers are inside me. My eyes fly open, my lips part in a cry, but he covers my mouth to muffle the sound. I’m so wet I can hear his long, thick fingers moving in and out of me. Weeks of neglectmakes me desperate, and I ride his fingers as his other hand holds back my cries of pleasure from filling the kitchen.

“So wet,” he purrs softly in my ear. “So needy.” My eyes roll back as he adds another finger. “So fucking tight.” Heat creeps up my chest, tightening my nipples and warming my throat and cheeks. His fingers move slowly, the heel of his hand pressed into my clit, and I grip the kitchen counter as he keeps talking in my ear. “That’s it, ride my fingers. I want you to come all over my hand.” Lights dance behind my eyes. He moves his fingers faster, the wet sound filling the kitchen as I moan helplessly into his palm.

He curls his fingers, and my body erupts. Tingles of pleasure blast across my skin and fireworks burst behind my eyes, lights and color and warmth filling me from the inside until it coats every part of me. Soft waves of ecstasy engulf me, and my knees dip. Colt keeps me upright, uncovering my mouth to allow me to gulp in air.

“Hold onto the counter,” he says, and I do as he asks. I’m still riding my high when he grips my underwear and pulls them down. He gently lifts each leg, and when I open my eyes, I watch him pocket the lacey material. “Something to remember you by.” I let out a breath of a laugh, but it halts when I feel his warm breath against the backs of my legs. “Feet apart.”

My legs tremble as I open them, and Colt glides his fingers across my sensitive clit. He kisses my thighs and sinks his fingers into me again. I drop my head back as he adds another finger, then another, twisting and curling them with agonizing slowness that has me groaning.

“What a beautiful mess you’ve made,” he says quietly, and I swear the deepness of his voice adds to the pleasure. His fingers leave me and my body almost slumps, untilhe grips my hips and turns me to face him, so I can watch him sink his fingers into his mouth.

Colt Harland. Ghost. Sucking the taste of me off his fingers.

A powerful man kneeling before me. Kneelingforme.

He stands, slow and graceful, running his tongue over his bottom lip as if to savor even the smallest taste of me, and the power I’d felt vanishes. His tall, domineering presence crowds me like shadows of the darkest, penetrating night, a night I’d step into willingly.

I’m at his mercy, but it doesn’t frighten or weaken me.

I feel safe.

He lifts me into his arms with ease, and for a man who could break me so easily, he handles me with total care.