Fueled (Driven, #2)(125)

“If you were done with me…had your fill of me? You could have just told me!”

He looks at me, face strained as he holds my arms from pummeling him. “I’ll never have my fill of you.” And then before I can even process what he’s doing, Colton’s mouth crashes against mine. It takes me a moment to react, and I’m so angry—so furious with him—that I buck against his hold and tear my mouth from his.

From the taste I crave but the man I hate.

“You want rough, Rylee?” he asks, my head not comprehending his words but my body reacting instantly. “I’ll give you rough!”

And from one beat to the next, Colton’s mouth crushes down on mine and takes every sensation in my body hostage for his sole manipulation. His hands still grip mine as I struggle to refuse his kiss, trying to push him off and away from me. Regardless of how much I thrash my head, his lips remain on mine, tiny grunts of satisfaction coming from deep within his throat.

I try desperately to deny the desire that starts to seep through the anger-induced haze in my brain. I try to reject the ache deepening at the apex of my thighs from the taste of his tongue melding with mine. I attempt to fight the pebbling of my nipples at the firmness of his chest as he brushes against mine.

Rage turns into desire. Hurt expels into yearning. Absence fuels our fervor. His touch blocks out all rationality. A soft moan catches in my throat as his mouth continues to tempt and torment every spot of my lips and within.

At some point Colton realizes that I’m struggling against him not to get away but rather to touch him. He releases my wrists and my hands go immediately to his chest where they fist into his shirt, aggressively pulling him into me. His hands, now free, are on the move, mapping the lines of my curves over and over again as our mouths convey the unbridled desire we still have for one another.

Every action and reaction reflects urgency. Necessity. Hunger. Longing. Desperation as if we’re afraid that at any minute we’re going to be pulled away from one another to never experience this again.

Colton brings a hand to cup the rounded curve of my butt as he jerks me into him while the other holds my neck still. I don’t even realize that the moan in the room is from me when the hard length of his arousal rubs against the V of my thighs as he pushes us backwards to the dresser behind me. He lifts me up and settles my backside on the top of it, pushing my dress up my thighs as he steps between my legs, all the while continuing his mind-numbing dexterity to my lips and tongue.

I lock my legs around his hips, pulling him farther into me. I know this is wrong. I know that after what he just told me, I shouldn’t be here doing this with him. But I am so sick of thinking. So sick of wanting him when I know we don’t belong together. Our two completely different worlds just don’t mesh. But I am so tired of missing him. So tired of wanting to hear his voice when I pick up the phone. So tired of needing him.

So tired of loving him without being loved in return.

I need this connection with him. I need the silence in my head that the all-encompassing feeling of him against my skin brings to me. There is a peace in the physicality of it all that I never realized before. A peace that I know Colton has used over and over in his life to numb his pain.

And right now, I need to numb mine.

I know its temporary, but I turn myself over to him. To the feel and taste and sound and smell of him. My troubling, all-consuming addiction. I willingly let myself get lost in him to forget for just a moment the pain I know I’ll feel when we’re no longer one.

I grip the waist of his shirt and pull it up over his head; our lips break for the first time since we’ve reconnected with each other. Immediately after the material is gone, we crash back together again. He tugs the straps of my dress off of my shoulders as his mouth laces open mouth kisses down the line of my neck and to the lacy edge of my bra. I cry out in shock and need as he yanks down one of my bra cups and closes his mouth over my nipple. I throw my head back at the sensation while one of my hands fists in the hair at the back of his neck. The burn in my core turns into a raging inferno directing my free hand to fumble with his belt and undo his pants.

I successfully unzip them, shoving my hands between the cotton of his briefs and his heated skin. I grab his rock hard erection in my hands, and he groans at the feeling of my skin on his flesh. His hands are instantly on my thighs, shoving my dress up higher and yanking my dampened thong to the side. He slides a finger along my seam, and I buck my hips at the feeling of his fingertips on me again. I press my hips into his hands, greedy and unashamed to lose myself in the pleasure. I cry out as he slips a finger into my core and then spreads my wetness around.

Before I can open my eyes and notice the absence of his fingers, he enters me in one fervent thrust. We both cry out as he stills and seats himself as far as possible within my wet heat. My walls clench around him as I adjust to the over-fullness of him within me. The muscles in Colton’s shoulders strain beneath my hands as he tries to hold onto his control. I feel it slipping—know that he’s a man about to snap—so I take the reins and start to move against him, moving my hips to tell him to go. Urging him to lose his control. To be rough with me. I don’t need foreplay right now. All I need his him. I’ve craved this for the past couple of weeks, and he feels so damn good right now I don’t need anything else to push me over the edge.

Colton grips his fingers, bruising the flesh at my hips, and holds me still on the edge of the dresser as he pistons his hips into mine. Over and over. Drive after delicious drive.