Crashed (Driven, #3)(36)

When he speaks, I can feel the heat from his breath as he murmurs into my hair. “I was scared. I remember the vague sense of being scared those last few seconds in the car as I was flipping through the air.” And it’s the first time he’s admitted to me anything to confirm my fears in regards to the crash.

I run my hand over his chest. “I was too.”

“I know,” he says as his hand finds its way beneath the waistband of my panties and cups my bare ass, pulling me up his body so my eyes can meet his. “I’m sorry you had to go through that again.” I can see the apology in his eyes, in the lines etched in his forehead, and I’m unable to speak, tears clogging in my throat at his acknowledgment of my feelings so I show him the next best way I know how. I lean in and brush my lips against his.

His lips part as I slip my tongue between them, a soft groan rumbling in the back of his throat, spurring me on to taste the one and only fix to my addiction. My hands run over his stubbled jaw to the back of his neck, and I take in the intoxicating mixture I’ve grown to crave. His taste, his feel, his virility.

His hands cradle my face, fingers tangled in my curls as he draws my face back momentarily so we’re inches apart, our breath whispering against each other’s and eyes divulging emotions we’ve previously kept guarded under lock and key.

I can feel the pulse of his clenched jaw beneath my palms as he struggles with words. “Ry, I …” he says and my breath catches. My soul hopes with bated breath. And I mentally finish the sentence for him, fill in the two words that complete it, complete us. Express the words that I see in his eyes and feel in the reverence of his touch. He works a swallow down his throat and finishes, “Thank you for staying.”

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” I can see the words I breathe out sink in and register as he pulls me toward him, guiding my body to shift and settle in a straddle over his lap while his mouth crashes to mine. And it does crash. A frenzy of passion explodes as my need collides with his desperation. Hands roam, tongues delve, and emotions intensify as we refamiliarize ourselves with the lines and curves of one another.

Colton runs his left hand down my back and grips the flesh on my hip as I rock over the ridge of his boxer-brief clad erection. Sensation swells within, creating an ache so powerful, so intense it borders on painful. My body craves the all-consuming pleasure I know only he can evoke.

I swallow his groan as I am engulfed in the emotion—the connection between us—in this moment. I feel Colton’s right hand slide down to my other hip as he brings his hands to the sides of my tank top trying to pull it up and off. But when I feel his right hand fail to grasp the material, I quickly take control, not wanting it to affect this moment. I cross my arms over my front, grab the hem, and lift it over my head.

I sit astride him, bare except for a scant pair of panties, as his eyes scrape over the lines of my body, raw male appreciation apparent in his gaze. Unfettered lust. Undeniable hunger. He reaches back out to touch, to dance fingertips up my ribcage enabling him to guide my face back to his so that he can take, taste, tempt.

I moan at the feeling of my breasts pillowing against his firm chest, hardened nipples hypersensitive to the touch. Colton urges my hips back and forth again, and the sensation rocks me, nerves ready to detonate. I angle my body back, lost in the feeling when his mouth finds my breast, warm heat against chilled flesh.

I want him. Need him. Desire him like I never thought possible.

Our breaths pant and hearts race as we act on the instinct that has pulled us together since day one. And it’s in this moment that I feel his hand flex and hear the warning of Dr. Irons flash through my head. I want to ignore him, tell it to go the f*ck away so I can take my man again, pleasure him, own him as he owns me in every sense of the word. But I can’t risk it.

I bring my hands down to my hips and lace my fingers with his. I break from our kiss and rest my forehead against Colton’s. “We can’t. It’s not safe.” The strain is apparent in my voice, expressing how hard it is for me to stop from taking exactly what we both want. Colton doesn’t utter a sound. He just presses his hands into my hips as our labored breathing fills the silence in the bedroom. “It’s too much exertion.”

“Baby, if I’m not exerting myself then I’m sure as f*ck not doing it right.” He chuckles against my neck, stubble tickling my skin that’s already begging for more of his touch.

I force myself to sit up so I’m farther away from the temptation of his mouth, but neglect to realize that my new positioning causes more pressure on the weeping apex between my thighs as my weight settles down on his erection. I have to stifle the moan that wants to fall from my mouth at the feeling. Colton smirks, knowing exactly what just happened, and I try to feign that I’m not affected but it’s no use as he rolls his hips again.

“Colton,” I moan, drawing out his name.

“You know you don’t want me to stop,” he says with a smirk and as he starts to speak again, I reach out and put a finger to his lips to quiet him.

“This woman is just trying to keep you safe.”

“Oh, but you forget that the patient is always right and this patient thinks that this woman,” he says as he draws my finger into his mouth and sucks on it causing desire to coil within, “needs to be thoroughly f*cked by this man.”

My legs tighten around him and I dig my hands into the top of my thighs as my body remembers just how thorough a f*cking by Colton Donavan can be. And despite my resolve, my body screams take me, brand me, claim me. Own every part of me, right here, right now.