Fueled (Driven, #2)(76)
Colton’s eyes snaps alert. “Tawny?”
“She was in the bathroom,” I confess and see irritation flicker across his face.
“Fuckin’ Tawny,” he mutters dragging a hand through his hair. “Look at me, Rylee,” he commands. I raise my eyes up to meet the raw intensity in his. “Tawny’s just jealous that she doesn’t have a tenth of the sex appeal that you have. And the best part about it—about you—is that you don’t even realize it. Do you remember that night at the Palisades?” he asks and all I can do is nod, mesmerized by his words and the soft smile ghosting his lips. “That’s what I was struggling with. Why I was such an ass. How could I bring you there and treat you like everybody else when you were like no one I’d ever been with before? And then I walked over to you, and you were standing there trying to figure out what my problem was, looking so goddamn beautiful and unintentionally beguiling. And even though I’d been a dick, you stepped toward me and gave everything of yourself to me without a single explanation.” He reaches up and traces a line down my forehead and nose and then stops on my lips. “It’s such a f*cking turn on, Rylee. Like no one else I’ve ever been with. No one.”
I draw in a ragged breath, afraid to believe what he’s really telling me. That I give him what he needs. That things between him and I are different for him. A first of sorts for him. I swallow loudly before clenching my jaw. If I speak right now, three words he doesn’t want to hear are going to come tumbling out of my mouth. It’s been an emotional night, and I’m more than overwhelmed. All I can manage is a simple nod.
“I’ve never had to work so hard to get something I never thought I wanted,” he confesses and the words feather through me and embed themselves in my swelling heart and transparent soul.
How is it possible to feel love this intense when I thought the ability for me had died with Max?
I lean in and express the words my tangled tongue cannot, by pressing my lips to his. “Thank you,” I whisper to him for the many things I don’t even think he could understand even if I told him.
He pulls back and I can’t miss the smirk on his devilishly sexy mouth. He raises and eyebrow at me, amusement in his eyes. “A God in the sack, huh?”
I can’t help the laughter that bubbles up and spills out, not surprised he didn’t forget. “Did I say that?” I tease as I run my fingertips down the ridges of his abdomen. I can feel his thickening arousal pulse beneath me from my touch. “Must have been a slip of the tongue.”
“Oh really?” He asks with a playful grin on his lips, and a look in his eyes that tells me his sated needs are no longer fulfilled. “Tongues are funny things don’t you think?” He leans in and traces my lower lip with his tongue. “They can lick like this,” he whispers. “And they can kiss like this,” he says branding his mouth to mine, his tongue parting my lips and dominating my mouth. He shifts us backwards on the mattress so that his weight presses deliciously on top of me.
He breaks the kiss and the lust in his eyes has desire unfurling in my belly. “And they can lick like this,” he whispers before grazing his way down my neck to tease the tightened bud of my nipple. “They can tease and pleasure like this.” His tongue caresses one then another before trailing down my abdomen at an achingly slow pace. My muscles flex in anticipation as he stops at the top of my sex.
He looks up at me and I catch a flash of grin. “And they most definitely...” He blows against my seam, the heat of his breath feathering over my sensitive flesh. “...love to taste like this.”
His tongue laves over me and my sharp intake of air followed by a soft moan is all I can manage. My words are lost and mind is clouded from the soft slide and adept skill of his tongue.
As he consumes me. Pleasures me. Undoes me.
God, she’s f*cking gorgeous. I can’t help but reach out and pull a curl off of her cheek. The feeling—that f*cking foreign feeling that’s not so foreign any more—courses through me, grabs me by the balls and then hands them back to me on a platter.
Makes fear shiver at the base of my spine in a constant state of reverberation.
My fingers linger on her shoulder, touching her to make sure she’s real. There’s no possible way that she can be. She scares the f*ck out of me. That not so foreign feeling scares the f*ck out of me. But I can’t force myself to walk away. From that very first encounter I haven’t been able to. Shit, at first it was definitely the challenge. That smart mouth, those violet eyes, and the sway of that ass—what red-blooded male would have?
Christ. Tell me I can’t have something, I’m sure as f*ck going to go after it until I get it. Game on. I’m in it until the motherf*cking checkered flag.
But then, that first time I showed up at The House—that look in her eyes that told me to get the f*ck out and to not mess with her Zander or she’d take me down herself—everything changed. Shifted. Became real. The challenge ceased to exist. All I saw in that moment was myself as a kid. Myself now. Knew that she loved the broken in us. Was okay with the darkness because she was so full of f*cking light. Knew she’d understand so much more than I’d ever be able to say.
That selfless soul of hers and come-f*ck-me body just pulled at me, twisted through parts inside of me that I thought had died and would never regenerate. Made me feel when I’ve been so content to live in the blur around me. I mean who really does the shit she does? Takes f*cked up kids—lots of f*cked up kids—and treats them as her own. Defends them. Loves them. Fights for them. Is willing to make a deal with the devil such as myself for their benefit.