Dark Sexy Knight (A Modern Fairytale)(59)
“Ryan isn’t the only one who likes Disney movies. I’ve sat through every princess movie a hundred times with Mel.”
“But this is real life,” she said softly. “We’re not a fairy tale.”
“Hmm.” He leaned closer to her, tucking a long strand of her hair behind her ear. “A knight and a merchant who work at a castle? He saves her and her brother from certain doom, and she falls for him, loves him, gives him something to live for. And soon? He’d do anything for her because he can’t remember what life looked like before she was a part of it. And even if he could, he wouldn’t want to, because he adores her. Because he loves her. Really loves her.”
“Colton,” she whimpered, tears filling her eyes.
“Bring on the dragons and demons,” he said, borrowing a line from The Legend of Camelot as his palm landed on her jaw, drawing her closer. “I will slay them.”
He kissed the tip of her nose.
“Give me your doubts and disquiet. I will silence them.”
He kissed one cheek and then the other, his eyes sobering a little.
“I can be your knight, Verity. I can be whatever you need me to be.”
His lips brushed against hers.
“Lancelot to my Guinevere?” she whispered, grinning at him, caught up in the sweet, playful melodrama of his kisses and promises.
“Yes, baby,” he groaned, his breath hot against her lips. “Open your eyes and see. This is love. We are a f*cking fairy tale.”
Then he kissed her, deeply, passionately, a promise of everything that was to come later, stroking her tongue with his own, his lips demanding and hungry, his fingers threading through her hair. His eyes were dark and dilated as he leaned away. “I’ll be waiting.”
Breathless and boneless, she could do no more than nod as she watched him open his car door, close it, walk up the driveway, and disappear into the house.
Open your eyes and see. We are a f*cking fairy tale.
She leaned back against her seat, closed her eyes, and sighed.
***
Colt shook his head as he walked through the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge en route to his bedroom.
Love was making him f*cking cheesy, he thought, unable to keep himself from grinning as he unscrewed the bottle cap and took a long sip. He placed the container on top of his bureau and unbuttoned his pants, easing them over the boner in his boxer-briefs and shucking them onto the floor. His underwear came next, his cock springing back onto his stomach as he pulled the fabric away. Tugging his T-shirt over his head and throwing it on the floor, he entered his bathroom and turned on the shower.
He didn’t know what had gotten into him in the car, using those corny f*cking lines from TLOC, but they’d just sort of slipped from his lips as he gazed at her, wanting to reassure her that everything they felt for each other was true, was real, could be lasting, if they just believed in it and gave it a chance.
Soaping his hands, he ran them over his pecs and abs, muscles he’d worked hard to build and maintain. Standing in the stream of water, he washed the soap off and lathered his hands again. This time he stroked his cock, remembering the way he’d kissed her in the car and quickly spending himself on the shower wall with a grunt of satisfaction. After a moment, he opened his eyes again and shampooed his long hair, then rinsed it until the water ran clear. Finally he soaped his hands again and ran them over his face, using his fingers to trace his stubbly jaw, his thin lips, crooked nose, and deep-set eyes, wondering what the hell she saw in him. Colt had no illusions about his beauty—he was masculine and his body was built, yes, but he was far from handsome. And Verity Gwynn, delicate goddess, girl of his dreams, and his sweet sunshine, had chosen him.
Be gentle tonight, he thought, his cock twitching with eagerness.
His desire for her was almost overwhelming. Coupled with his deep feelings of affection for her, his longing to be inside her—literally buried to the hilt—was an almost barbaric impulse. He’d need to keep reminding himself to go slow tonight, to watch her face for pain, all the while hoping to see pleasure. He’d need to be able to stop on a dime if she asked him to.
He tilted his face up to the jet of water and rinsed, shaking out his hair like a wet dog and turning off the water. He still needed to shave and get dressed, and he was fairly certain that Ryan would be asleep early tonight, so she could suddenly appear in his doorway at any time.
Grabbing a towel from on top of the toilet, he dried his body quickly, tied it around his waist, then ran hot water at the sink and lathered his cheeks and chin with shaving cream. He used a razor for a clean, close shave, then wiped off his face and headed into his room. Although he hoped to spend most of tonight unclothed, he didn’t think it would go over too well to be waiting on his bed, buck naked, with his cock standing at attention, so he pulled on his favorite pair of soft, ripped, beat-up jeans. After taking a long look at his T-shirts, he closed the drawer. Over the past few weeks he’d learned how much she loved touching his chest, running her fingers over the ripples of muscles, her eyes sometimes stuck on the defined V shape of muscle on his hips that led to his cock. He grinned wickedly. All’s fair . . .
He picked up his clothes from the floor and threw them in the laundry basket, then hastily remade his bed. Disappointed to see that it was only six forty, he sat down, impatient for her to come to him, and turned on the TV.