Fueled (25 page)

The simple word sends a tingle of awareness through my body. He grazes his lips tenderly against mine before pulling back a fraction. I lean in wanting to deepen the kiss and drown in the taste that I’ve been craving, but he withdraws, denying me with a seductive chuckle and a mischievous yet naughty gleam in his eye.

And for some reason, my mind picks this moment to remember the comment he’d made moments ago. “
Underdressed?”
I ask, my eyes narrowing in thought, trying to figure out what exactly he means.

He holds up my panties and works his tongue inside his mouth as he figures what words to taunt me with. “You see, now these have been exactly where I’ve wanted to be nestled all fucking week long. And since I haven’t been allowed to be there, neither will these.” He leans in to place the most tender of kisses on my lips before resting his forehead against mine. “Tonight, Rylee,” he murmurs against my lips, “I want you thinking about me all night long. More specifically everything I plan on doing to you later when I have you alone.” He breathes out, his voice a seductive whisper that has the desire within me igniting into a raging inferno. “Where my tongue is going to lick. Where my fingers are going to grip. Where my mouth is going to taste. Where my cock is going to stroke. How my body is going to worship every incredible inch of yours.”

My hands reach out to squeeze his biceps as my mouth goes dry and my sex gets wet from the provocation of his words. He has to know I’m affected—has to know that I’m desperate for his touch already—but he continues.

“I want to know that while you are talking to all of these potential donors, looking so poised, elegant, and fucking breathtaking, that beneath this dress you are wet and dripping with need for me.” I draw in a ragged breath, his words almost too much to hear in my current state. “That you ache so much it hurts. That your pussy pulses at the thought of how later tonight my cock is going to be buried in it.
For hours
.” His voice is pained as he says the last words, and I have some degree of satisfaction that he is suffering as deliciously as I am. I can’t help the hum of desire in the back of my throat, as I feel his mouth curl in a smile at my response.

“Every time I look at you I want to know that I’m killing you slowly on the inside while you look so perfectly proper on the outside.” He angles his head forward and gives me the kiss that he’s been withholding from me. I’m breathless by the time he releases me. “And knowing that will leave me wanting just as much as you will be.”

He pulls back from me and shifts in the seat beside me. I’ve said nothing this entire time, and yet I feel exhausted and totally overcome from our conversation. “Underdressed,” he says, a mischievous grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he holds up my panties and starts folding them. “You are no longer overdressed with these taken out of the picture…” He tucks the scrap of red silk into his pocket square opening and winks at me. “and now I’m perfect.”

I stare at him wondering what depths of desire he is going to bring me to tonight. A blush spreads over my cheeks and he smirks, knowing that I’m more than along for the ride. I shake my head softly at him. “You can really be naughty, you know that?”

Something flashes through his eyes which I akin to fear, but I know that’s not possible. What does he possibly have to fear from me? “You have no idea, Rylee.” His jaw clenches as he looks at me, the mood is suddenly serious and I’m confused as to why. We sit staring at each other in silence for a moment before he turns to look out at the passing scenery. His voice is eerily soft and contemplative when he finally speaks. “If you were smart…if I could let you…I’d tell you to walk away.”

I stare at the back of his head, confusion bewildering me. What does he think is so horrible within him that he’s not worthy of me? The fact that after all of this time he still feels that he’s tainted by his childhood kills me. If only he would let me try and help him. I reach out and lay my hand on his back. “Colton, why would you say that?”

He looks back at me, his face guarded. “I like your naivety way too much to give you the sordid details.”

Naivety? Does he not know the horrors I have seen working at The House? Either that or it’s another excuse to run from his past. “Whatever it is Colton, it doesn't affect how I feel about you. I need you to know that—”

“Colton?” I startle as the intercom from the front of the car buzzes to us in the back.

“Drop it, Ry,” he warns quietly. “Yeah, Sammy?”

“ETA two minutes.”

He lowers the privacy partition dividing us. Sammy turns his head toward Colton. “Sammy, please get Sex here. I feel like driving tonight.”

Sex? Driving? What the fuck is he talking about?

“Sure thing,” Sammy says, a crooked smile lighting up his face before the partition slides back up.

“
Sex?
” I look at him like he’s crazy, glad for the change of topic to add some levity to the sudden heaviness of our conversation.

“Yeah. My F12.
My baby
. That’s her name.” He shrugs as if it’s the most perfectly normal thing in the world, but he lost me at F12, baby, and sex.

“Ummm, can you explain that in a language for those of us with dual X chromosomes?” I laugh bewildered.

He gives me a boyish grin that would melt my panties if I had any on. “F12 is my favorite of all of my collection. She’s a Berlinetta Ferrari. The first time Beckett drove her he told me that the feeling was equivalent to the best sex he’s ever had. It was a joke at first, but the name stuck. So…” he shrugs his shoulders, and I just shake my head at him “...Sex.”

“
Collection?
”

“Women have shoes. Men have cars.” It’s the only explanation he gives. I’m about to ask more when he announces, “We’re here.” He shifts in his seat so that he’s closer to the door and butterflies take flight in my stomach. “Show time.”

Before I can mentally prepare myself any further, the door to the limo opens. Even though Colton’s body standing in the doorway partially blocks the flash of cameras, I am temporarily blinded by their intensity.

Colton calls out a casual laid-back greeting to the paparazzi as he buttons up his jacket before turning to help me. I take a deep breath as I take his hand and scoot out of the limo. I exit the car and look up at him, a reassuring smile on his face. Gone is the brooding guy in the car from moments before.
Hello Hollywood playboy
.

“You okay?” he mouths to me and I nod my head subtly, overwhelmed by the onslaught of people yelling at us along with the repeated camera flashes. He pulls me toward him, his mouth resting against my ear. “Remember to smile and follow my lead,” he murmurs. “You look stunning tonight.” He pulls back, squeezing my hand and graces me with one of his panty wetting smiles before turning to walk the carpet.

And the only thought that breaks through the buzz surrounding us is that from this point forward, I am no longer anonymous to the press.

My eyes still have bright white spots in my field of vision, but I survived the red carpet. I feel so disoriented and oddly taken advantage of by the press’ invasive questions and incessant picture taking. I have no idea how Colton can be so relaxed in such a situation.
Maybe years of practice
. He was calm and polite, and avoided answering the questions thrown at him—were we an item, how long had we been together, what was my name?—and deflected them with the flash of his smile, giving them the perfect picture for their cover page instead.

Colton squeezes my hand in sympathy. “Sometimes I forget how nerve wracking that can be to someone who’s never done it before.” He gives me a quick, chaste kiss on the lips before directing me toward the ballroom. “Forgive me. I should have prepped you for it before hand.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I tell him, relaxing at the warmth of his hand on my back. “I’m fine.”

The red carpet is one thing, but I don’t think anything could have prepared me for what I’d feel entering a room with Colton. It seems as if every head in the room turns when we walk through the doorway, all of their attention focused on the man beside me. The man is just simply magnetic in every sense of the word: looks, attitude, charisma, and personality. I falter at the sudden attention. Colton feels my hesitancy and pulls me closer against his side, a not so subtle demonstration of ownership and possession to the assessing stares. The unexpected action both surprises me and warms my heart. He leans his mouth to my ear. “Breathe baby,” he murmurs, “you’re doing just fine. And I can’t wait to fuck you later.” My eyes flash up to his and the smirk he gives me tames the nerves.

The next hour or so goes by in a flash. Colton and I mingle throughout the crowd, and I’m in awe of the number of people that he knows or is acquainted with. He is so unpretentious that I find myself forgetting the circumstances in which he grew up—where celebrities are family friends and tuxedos are everyday wear.

He’s really quite charming, always knowing the right comment to make or when to add a little levity to the conversation with a light joke. He subtly works the sponsorship program into each conversation and patiently answers questions about it in a laid-back fashion that has people committing to the cause without feeling propositioned or badgered.

And he wears my panties as a pocket square—a constant reminder to me of our little interlude in the limo and the seductive promises he made.

I glance around the room and notice several women talking together and stealing glances our way. At first I assume that they’re looking at Colton because let’s face it, it’s hard not to gawk at him. And then when I take a second look, I realize that their gazes are not in admiration of Colton but rather in judgment of his date—me. They eye me cattily, sneers on their faces before turning back to each other to carry on.
Criticizing me, no doubt
. I try to not let it bother me or to let my insecurity get the best of me, but I know what they’re thinking. I see Tawny’s observations echoed in their looks.

I am so immersed in my thoughts that I didn’t realize Colton has maneuvered me behind a tall a bistro cocktail table. He turns his back to the room behind us and kisses me to renew my torturous need for him. He pulls his face back to watch me as his hand, blocked to the crowd beyond by his dinner jacket, cups the V between my legs. “Fast and hard? Or nice and slow, Rylee? Which way should I fuck you first?” he murmurs quietly, the timbre of his voice carrying to my ears. My breath catches in my throat as one finger presses between my folds through the fabric of my dress—not enough pressure to set me off, but just enough to cause a ripple of sensation to travel throughout my body.

“Colton?”

A voice interrupts us from over Colton’s shoulder. I jolt in awareness from what he was just doing, while a smooth smile slides across his mouth as he turns to address the acquaintance. He greets the gentleman and introduces me even though he knows I most likely need a moment to regain my wits. I’m sure the flush of my cheeks can tell him that much, but when I glance over at him, he’s immersed in his conversation about some event they’d attended together in the past. His eyes flick over to me, a lopsided, ghost of a smirk on his face and his eyes suggesting so much more.

I watch Colton, only partially listening to what he’s saying, until the couple is called elsewhere, all the while my body humming with desire. To have him so close to me—at my fingertips really—and not be able to touch him? To slide my hands up that sculpted chest beneath that dress shirt? Run my tongue down the V at his hips and taste him? Absolute torture. He leans into me, obviously guessing where my thoughts have drifted off to, and his face brushes against my hair. “God, you’re sexy when you’re aroused,” he whispers to me before pressing a kiss to my temple.

“This is so unfair,” I chastise him, pressing a hand against his chest, a foolish grin on my lips. My smile falters momentarily as I catch a nasty look from a passing female out of the corner of my eye.
What’s your problem?
I want to ask her.
What have I done to you?

“Do you want another drink?” he asks, breaking through my mental dress down of unknown bimbo number one. I figure I should number them because I have a feeling there might be more than a few here tonight. I nod my head to his request, knowing the night’s just begun and I need a little liquid courage if I’m going to remain at Colton’s sexual mercy. “I’ll be right back,” he tells me before squeezing my hand and heading off to the bar.

I watch him and see several A-list actors stop him on his way to shake his hand or pat his back in greeting. A statuesque blonde sidles up to his side trying to get his attention. I observe Colton, curious as to how he’ll interact with her and noting their level of familiarity—the way she touches him, the lean in her body language towards him, the way he looks at her, but at the same time seems annoyed by her presence—makes me wonder if he’s slept with her before. I can’t tear my eyes away from watching them because deep down I already know the answer.