Falling into You (Falling #1)(62)

“Quit biting your goddamn lip before I fucking lose it right here on the train,” Colton growls. I slowly slide my lip out from between my teeth, teasing him with my compliance. “Why the fuck is that so hot?” He seems genuinely confused by his own reaction.

I arch my back and take a deep breath, crushing my breasts against him. We’re on a subway surrounded by people, but they’re oblivious and I just don’t care. I’m caught up in my own need, burning with the fires of desire. My sense is gone, my restraint burnt away.

“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.