Fueled(book two)(84)

Colton squeezes my hand in sympathy. “Sometimes I forget how nerve wracking that can be to someone who’s never done it before.” He gives me a quick, chaste kiss on the lips before directing me toward the ballroom. “Forgive me. I should have prepped you for it before hand.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I tell him, relaxing at the warmth of his hand on my back. “I’m fine.”

The red carpet is one thing, but I don’t think anything could have prepared me for what I’d feel entering a room with Colton. It seems as if every head in the room turns when we walk through the doorway, all of their attention focused on the man beside me. The man is just simply magnetic in every sense of the word: looks, attitude, charisma, and personality. I falter at the sudden attention. Colton feels my hesitancy and pulls me closer against his side, a not so subtle demonstration of ownership and possession to the assessing stares. The unexpected action both surprises me and warms my heart. He leans his mouth to my ear. “Breathe baby,” he murmurs, “you’re doing just fine. And I can’t wait to f*ck you later.” My eyes flash up to his and the smirk he gives me tames the nerves.

The next hour or so goes by in a flash. Colton and I mingle throughout the crowd, and I’m in awe of the number of people that he knows or is acquainted with. He is so unpretentious that I find myself forgetting the circumstances in which he grew up—where celebrities are family friends and tuxedos are everyday wear.

He’s really quite charming, always knowing the right comment to make or when to add a little levity to the conversation with a light joke. He subtly works the sponsorship program into each conversation and patiently answers questions about it in a laid-back fashion that has people committing to the cause without feeling propositioned or badgered.

And he wears my panties as a pocket square—a constant reminder to me of our little interlude in the limo and the seductive promises he made.

I glance around the room and notice several women talking together and stealing glances our way. At first I assume that they’re looking at Colton because let’s face it, it’s hard not to gawk at him. And then when I take a second look, I realize that their gazes are not in admiration of Colton but rather in judgment of his date—me. They eye me cattily, sneers on their faces before turning back to each other to carry on. Criticizing me, no doubt. I try to not let it bother me or to let my insecurity get the best of me, but I know what they’re thinking. I see Tawny’s observations echoed in their looks.

I am so immersed in my thoughts that I didn’t realize Colton has maneuvered me behind a tall a bistro cocktail table. He turns his back to the room behind us and kisses me to renew my torturous need for him. He pulls his face back to watch me as his hand, blocked to the crowd beyond by his dinner jacket, cups the V between my legs. “Fast and hard? Or nice and slow, Rylee? Which way should I f*ck you first?” he murmurs quietly, the timbre of his voice carrying to my ears. My breath catches in my throat as one finger presses between my folds through the fabric of my dress—not enough pressure to set me off, but just enough to cause a ripple of sensation to travel throughout my body.

“Colton?”

A voice interrupts us from over Colton’s shoulder. I jolt in awareness from what he was just doing, while a smooth smile slides across his mouth as he turns to address the acquaintance. He greets the gentleman and introduces me even though he knows I most likely need a moment to regain my wits. I’m sure the flush of my cheeks can tell him that much, but when I glance over at him, he’s immersed in his conversation about some event they’d attended together in the past. His eyes flick over to me, a lopsided, ghost of a smirk on his face and his eyes suggesting so much more.