Falling Into You (25 page)

“Knock it off, Nell.” Colton jerks me against him, and now I’m crashed front-to-front with him. I can feel his desire against my belly, hard and huge. “Quit fucking with me. You’re sexy and I want you. Point made.”

I make innocent eyes at him. “I’m not making a point, Colton.” I lean in close, whisper it into his ear, my breath soft. “I’m horny.” I feel cheesy and ridiculous saying that, but it’s what came out, and it’s true.

Colton doesn’t laugh like I thought he would have. “
Fuck
, Nell. You’re seriously tempting my control. I’m about to shove my tongue down your throat right here on the train.”

Wide, innocent eyes again. “You wouldn’t hear me complaining.” And I bite my lip, just to hammer it home.

His jaw clenches and both hands come around my waist to clutch my ass. Oh
god
, I like that. I love his hands on my ass. My ankle-length black pencil skirt is thin cotton, and I can feel the rough calluses on his hands scratching the fabric, I can feel the raw power in his grip as he grasps me, holds me against his hard body.
 

His mouth descends on mine, hard and rough, and his teeth take my lower lip, biting, ravenous, devouring. His tongue slides between my teeth, his lips move on mine. I whimper softly, and then I’m alight with lust. I kiss him back, but ‘kiss’ isn’t really the right word. A kiss is lips touching, tongues playing. This…

This is fucking, but with our mouths. It’s raw and primal and hungry.
 

“Get a room, goddamnit,” an exasperated female voice says from behind us, and it’s a testament to the eroticism of the moment that a New Yorker is willing to say something in protest. Not much phases New Yorkers, I’ve discovered.

The train stops and Colton’s hand is on the small of my back, propelling me forward. We climb the stairs to street level, and his arm clutches me close to his body. He hustles me down the street and into his darkened shop. On the way through the garage, I’m briefly assaulted by the smell of grease and cigarettes and sweat and all things Colton. It’s a wonderful smell, a scent that somehow is beginning to mean
home
to me. The thought is frightening but exhilarating at the same time.

Up the narrow stairwell, his hand on the no-man’s-land of the swell of my hip, not quite on my ass, not quite on my waist. His hard heat is close behind me, and my blood is pounding loud in my ear. The stairs seem endless. I’m a heartbeat away from spinning in place and tackling him here on the stairs.
 

This lust is overwhelming.
 

It’s a starvation, a need thrumming in every pore of my being. I
need
his body, his hands, his mouth, his lips. I need my fingers in his hair, tracing the contours of his huge, solid body, luxuriating in the contrasts that make him up, hard muscles, silky skin, rough calluses, downsoft hair, wet lips and jutting manhood and roaming hands.

I need all of him, and I need it now.
 

I’m wet and trembling between my thighs, aching, throbbing.

Thank god
finally
we’re through the door and the latch is catching with a definitive
snick
and I’m caught in his arms, spun, pressed back against the door, crushed between the rough, hard wood of the door and the harder muscle of Colton.

Exactly where I want to be.
 

I wrap my legs around his waist, take his stubble-rough face in my hands and marry my mouth to his, delve into a feverish kiss.
 

I still feel Kyle’s ghost banging against my soul, the spirit of my guilt and pain. I ignore it, let it haunt me. Let it rage.
 

Colton’s hands smooth over my back, under my ass, threading through my hair, and the ghost is quieted. He pulls back and searches my eyes with his glittering sapphire eyes, and I see his own ghosts trying to push through.
 

We’re both haunted by the specters of our pasts, but we have to move on sometime and force the voice of our guilt to be silent.

Now is that time.
 

Chapter 11: Falling Into You

Colton sets me down slowly, and I feel his arousal as my front slides against his. We spin again, and I walk backward toward his room, my breath coming in shallow gasps. His hand curls around my waist, but I pull out of his touch. His brow wrinkles in confusion, then clears as I dance a few steps farther back, then wrap my fingers around the hem of my shirt. I peel it off quickly, drop it to the floor between us. Colton bends and scoops it up without breaking stride or eye contact, lifts the fabric to his face and sniffs.

I laugh, then reach behind me and slide down the zipper of my skirt, stopping in the doorway to his room. He halts in the hallway, just out of reach, my shirt balled in one fist, his other hand pressed flat against one wall. His broad chest and lean hips are silhouetted by the soft white fluorescent glow from the kitchen, and my mouth goes dry at the sight of him, rugged and masculine and delicious.

I shimmy my hips, biting my lip, and let the skirt fall to pool at my feet, and now I’m clad in only my bra and underwear. I watch as his jeans bulge noticeably at the zipper, strained by his arousal.

His eyes are hooded, half-lidded, primal, hungry.
 

I unhook my bra, one eyelet at a time, then slide one strap off, letting the bra fall to dangle from one finger in front of me. Colton rumbles deep in his chest, a sound of pure approval.
 

My skin tightens, my nipples pebble hard under his sweeping gaze. I stand and let him look. He takes a step forward, and I want to back up to the bed, lay down for him, retreat from the raw intensity in his eyes, but I don’t. I stay in place and tilt my head up to meet his gaze until he’s standing over me. Our lips are centimeters apart, but we don’t kiss. I can feel his breath hot on my lips, and I want to feel them on me, but I don’t move. I wait.

And then I can’t take it anymore. I tug his shirt off, mimicking his action of smelling it, and ohmigod, it does smell incredible, like him, familiar and comforting and exotic. Then I trail my fingers down his chest, stopping on the trail of dark hair on his belly, leading under his jeans. I unsnap the button, lower the zipper, letting my knuckles brush his arousal through the cotton of his underwear. I look down, now, and my belly shivers at the sight of the gray cotton boxer-briefs stretched by his shaft, a dot of wetness spreading where his tip presses against the fabric.
 

He kicks off the jeans, and now we’re both in just our underwear. Almost there, almost bare to each other.

I slip my fingers under the string of my bright pink thong, lower them slightly.

“Stop. Leave them.” Colton’s voice is low and growling, halting me.
 

I comply immediately, letting my hands fall loose at my sides. I’m not sure why, but it’s hot when he orders me around like this. I feel a tingle in my belly, a shiver in my thighs. I press my legs together, trying to soothe the ache between them, but it’s futile. He closes the gap so my breasts brush his chest, his arousal pressing into my belly. I reach up to touch his shoulders, slide my palms down his spine, pulling him closer. He leans down and kisses me, softly at first, tenderly. It melts me, softens me, leaves me limp and gasping from the delicacy of his kiss. I have to clutch his waist to keep from falling.
 

My hands are exploring the border of his waist where skin meets cotton; I lift up on my toes to deepen the kiss and push under the elastic to cup his cool hard ass, roaming the globes of muscle with both hands. He growls into the kiss, and one of his hands spanning my spine just above my hips, the other touching my waist and drifting up, up, over my ribs…onto my breast. His rough palm covers my nipple, sending thrills spasming through me. I arch into his palm, grip his ass with my fingernails, roaming his mouth with my tongue.
 

I’m left off-balance and dizzy and gasping when Colton abruptly pulls away. “Hold on to the doorframe,” he orders. I obey, and he smiles at me, a predatory baring of teeth. “Now, spread your feet apart…shoulder-width…yeah, just like that. Now, don’t move. And hold on.”

I think I know what he’s planning, and I suddenly can’t breathe past my heart hammering in my throat. My hands on the doorframe are all that’s holding me up, and I have to grip tight when he sinks to his knees in front of me. His huge hands curl around the backs of my thighs. I bite my lip and gaze down at him, breathless.
 

Oh god, oh god,
ohmigod
.
 

He presses his nose against my core, nudging the triangle of pink silk. I can’t help a moan, and he hasn’t even done anything yet. I cry out when he very suddenly reaches up and yanks my panties down. He lifts one of my feet by the ankle, a silent command to step out. I do, and now I’m completely naked, with Colton’s face between my thighs.
 

I’m waiting, waiting, anticipating, but he’s just looking up at me, devouring me with his eyes, his hands curled around my thighs once more, just beneath my ass.
 

Is he going to use his mouth on me? Go down on me? God, I want him to.
 

There’s no warning. He times his assault when I close my eyes in desperation, willing him to do something. Nothing, nothing…and then suddenly his hot wet tongue slides slowly up the crease of my folds. I let my head fall back and I whimper in delight, relief. I have to clutch the doorframe with all my strength to stay upright.
 

His fingers are on the insides of my thighs, curling around from behind to pull me apart, spread me open for his mouth. Another soft, slow lick upward, a third, and then he’s lapping, lapping, and I’m whimpering nonstop. And then he digs in with his tongue, pressing against the nub of hypersensitive nerves. I dip against his face, my legs giving out.
 

“Lock your knees, Nelly-baby.”
 

I do it, and then his tongue is inside me once more, circling my clit and pushing hard gasps out of me, soft moans, breathy whimpers.
 

An inferno of fiery pressure is building inside me, a huge balloon of impending detonation. The edge is approaching, and he’s taking me there, taking me past it, into a wonderland of ecstasy. I want to touch him, touch his hair, his skin, but he told me to hold on to the door and if I don’t, he might stop what he’s doing and that would be the
worst
, so I hold on to the door like I was told and let myself moan as loud as I want. The louder my voice goes, the faster and more fervently he licks me.

And then, just this side of coming, he slows and pulls his tongue away, resumes licking up my folds, and I make a sound of half-pleasure, half-frustration. One of his hands carves around the outside of my thigh, touches my the inside of the opposite knee, then drifts up to his chin.
 

Yes, yes, touch me, there.
I need his fingers inside me.

He doesn’t though. “Tell me what you want me to do. I won’t do it unless you tell me to.”

I groan, then tip my head down to look at him. His mouth and lips glisten with my juices, his blue, blue eyes shining with desire.
 

“Touch me. Put your fingers inside me. Keep going down on me.” I don’t stifle my moan when he slides two fingers inside my hot, throbbing, drenched channel. “Make me come.”

“Say my name.”

I bite my lip, because I can’t help it and because it drives him crazy. “Make me come, Colton.”

He grumbles in his chest. It’s a good sound. “You know,” he says, pause to swipe my folds with his tongue, and then continues, “you’re the only person in my life who calls me that. Everyone else calls me Colt.”

“Want me to call you Colt instead?” I ask.

“Hell no. I love the way you say my name.”

There aren’t any more words, then, because his fingers are moving in a way that has me wanting to scream, and his tongue has zeroed in on my clit again, and his hand is caressing my ass. He’s all over me, in me, on me, all around me. My world has shrunk down to him, to Colton and the insanely incredible thing he’s doing to me.
 

So close, so close. But then every time I reach the cusp, he seems to know and slows, switches his rhythm and pulls me back from the edge. He’s drawing his cues from my voice, I think. He hears the tempo of my moans increase as I reach the edge, and then when I’m gasping and whimpering with need, he stops, and I throw my head back in frustration, but then I tip it forward again to watch him lap at me. Oh god, he’s so sexy doing that. His dark hair glints in the light, his skin dark and dusky in the low light, his bare muscles gleaming and shifting as he moves. His hand is on my ass, holding me against him, and now I’ve lost all control over myself. I’m dipping on weak knees against his mouth and fingers, and my hands are tangled in his hair, crushing him against me with wanton need, complete abandonment.
 

“I need to come, Colton,” I breathe. “Please, let me come.”

He caresses my ass in circles, smoothing the skin over my left cheek, his right hand inside me, rubbing against a spot high on my walls, rubbing in a way that has me panting and whimpering, then pulls his two fingers in and out, in and out, then rubs the spot again. His tongue is relentless, untiring, flicking and circling my clit, brushing it, licking it, sucking it into his mouth and pulling on it with gentle teeth.
 

Closer, now. So close.

“I’m right there,” I hear myself say, panting. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

He doesn’t answer, just renews his assault, and now I’m on the edge, hovering, wavering, about to tip forward. My head is thrown back and I’m moaning out loud, pulling his face against my core in the rhythm of my knees’ buckling and his tongue’s sweeping.
 

He pulls my clit between his teeth and suckles it hard, rubbing me furiously with his fingers, and then I come. As I gasp a shriek, announcing my orgasm, he slaps my ass, and I come so hard my breath leaves me and my scream is cut off. He slaps my ass again, on the other cheek, withdrawing his fingers and sliding them back in as he smacks me a third time. With each slap of his hand on my ass, he flicks my clit with his tongue, and I come, come, come, bent forward at the waist and mouth wide but silent.