Driven(book one)(50)

“Not inconsequential, Rylee. You could never be inconsequential,” he shakes his head subtly, the vibration of his voice resonating within me. He rests his forehead to mine, our noses brushing each other’s. “No—you and me—together,” he grinds the words out, “That would make you mine.” His words feather over my face, enter my soul, and take hold. “Mine,” he repeats, making sure that I understand his intentions.

I close my eyes to savor the words. To relish the thought of Colton wanting me to be his mine. Our foreheads remain touching as I surrender to the moment, to the feeling, and to the easing of doubts. He steps back from me and gently releases my hands from above my head. Our eyes stay connected and I see what I think is a momentary flash of fear blaze through his.

I reach out tentatively to him and touch his hips, working my hands under his untucked shirt so that I can place my hands on his skin. So that I can feel this vibrant, virile man beneath my fingertips. It’s always been his hands on my skin. Him in control. I haven’t had the chance to appreciate the feel of him beneath my palms yet.

I find my purchase, my fingers caressing the firm warmth of his defined muscles as they tense at my touch. I slowly run them up the front of his torso, feeling each delineation, each breath he takes in reaction to my touch. It’s a heady feeling to hear his response, see his pupils dilate in desire as I glide my hands from his pecs, smooth them over ribs, and under his arms to scrape my nails up the plains of his back.

He closes his eyes momentarily in rapture, clearly enjoying my slow, teasing assault on his senses. I lean up on my toes and hesitantly lean into him and brush my lips against his and press my hands into his shoulders, pulling his body into mine. I slant my mouth over his and run the tip of my tongue over his bottom lip.

His fingers slowly brush against my cheeks, his palms resting on the line of my jaw to frame my face as he tenderly deepens the kiss. His lips sipping, his tongue slowly, sweetly, parting my lips and melding with mine. His quiet affection touches me in my core, slowly unraveling me and winding me into a ball of need simultaneously. He takes my breath away with each caress. I sigh into the kiss, my fingers digging into his shoulders, the only sign of my impending impatience at wanting more. At needing more.

I can feel Colton’s struggle to control his need, his body taut beneath my hands, his impressive erection pressing into my belly. He continues his tender and unrelenting assault on my senses by concentrating solely on my mouth. Seducing my lips. His breath is mine. His action is my reaction.

He stops abruptly, placing his two hands on the wall beside my shoulders and braces himself, letting his forehead drop to my shoulder so that his nose and mouth buried in the nape of my neck. I feel his chest heaving for air like mine is, and for some odd reason I’m relieved that he appears to be as affected by our entwinement as I am. I’m a little confused at his actions, but I take the moment to allow him to collect himself while I settle my racing heart amidst our rasping breaths. I subconsciously squeeze my knees together to try and quiet the relentless pressure at the delta between by thighs.

I can feel the warmth of his breath as he pants against my neck, struggling for control. “Sweet Jesus, Rylee,” he murmurs as he shakes his head, rolling it on my shoulder, before scattering innocent kisses along my collarbone. “We need to get out of here before you unman me right here in the hallway.”

He raises his head to look at me as I still from his words. There is no doubt that this is what I want. That he is whom I want. But I can’t deny the fact that I’m nervous—anxious—afraid I’ll disappoint him with my more than lack of experience in this department.

“Come.” He doesn’t give me time to speak before he grabs my hand, wraps his arm around my shoulder, pulling me into him, and walks us deeper into the corridor. “I have a room here for the night.” His strong arm helps support me, leading me toward my apple in the Garden on Eden.

I follow obediently, trying to quiet the doubt and noise in my mind, for it is actively chattering away now that his mouth is not on mine, blunting my ability to reason. We quickly make it to an elevator at the end of the hallway and within seconds we are stepping in. Colton pulls a key card out of his pocket and inserts it into the panel, effectively unlocking the top floor. The penthouse.

He steps back toward me as the elevator lifts and places a hand on the small of my back. The silence between us is audible and only intensifies the butterflies that are churning in my stomach. “Why the change?” Colton asks as he tugs on my straightened hair, trying to ease my mounting anxiety.

“Just trying to fit the mold,” I quip reflexively, referring to the numerous pictures on the Internet of him with straight haired women. His brow furrows at my comment, trying to figure out its meaning when I offer up, “Sometimes change is good.”

He uses his hand on my back to turn me toward him, extending his other arm clasp with it on my lower back. He angles his head down so that we are eye to eye. “I like your curls,” he says softly, my ego preening from the compliment. “They suit you.” Now that he has me positioned, he raises a hand up to wipe an errant strand of hair off my face. He then places his fingers on the side of my jaw and holds me there, his eyes searching mine. “You have one chance to walk away,” he warns me as the elevator alerts us we’re at the destined floor. The husky tone in his voice wreaking havoc on my willpower.