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My thighs part, and I straddle him, my knees on either side of his hips. Illicit desires course through my body, and I squeeze my eyes shut. His touch grows more demanding, his kiss less gentle. It’s deeper. Rougher.
I feel him everywhere. His heartbeat thuds erratically against my chest from our impulsive touches. His fingers brush against the underside of my breasts, sending a tingle through my body. His touch moves from my waist, to my hips and then he’s hiking my dress up. I can’t breathe…
His fingers graze my bare thigh and a shaky breath rattles from my chest. I don’t stop him; I’m incapable of doing so. I can’t. Because there’s a voice in my head and the devil on my shoulder telling me not to.
I feel his erection against me. He is hard and big, and oh my God—
There’s a familiar ache between my thighs. A dangerous longing. His touch shouldn’t excite me or arouse me. It shouldn’t thrill me in any way, but it does.
And that’s exactly why I allow myself to just feel. To feel him. His touch. His kisses. The lust that sparks off of him. I let it all feed into my own desires.
His lips never leave mine as he pushes his hand between my legs to find my soaked panties. A quiver runs down my body when he groans, feeling the wetness, my arousal, coating the inside of my thighs.
Colton breaks the kiss, his breath fanning against my bruised, swollen lips. My eyes flutter open, and I stare into his darker, lustful gaze. I am breathless and so is he.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
His thumb brushes against my swollen clit through my panties, and my body jerks in response. Pleasure zincs through me, like an electrifying wave. Holy shit!
“You’re dripping all over my fingers, Riley,” Colton breathes roughly.
Fuck.
He teasingly rubs his knuckles over my heated flesh, and I pant, feeling how the sweat slicks my skin, and my back arches in response to his touch.
I’ve never felt this way before.
Not with Jasper.
Not when I was touching myself.
Not when I was desperately trying to find my own release.
His mouth crashes against mine again, stealing another long kiss. And I let him. Colton swallows my moan, stealing my breath and replacing it with his own. Mint. I taste mint on him and it’s disgustingly addictive. My eyes slam shut.
He doesn’t touch my bare sex, doesn’t go beyond the barrier of my panties. The thin fabric sticks to my flesh like a second skin. He teases my opening and my core clenches. His caress is deliberately slow as he traces my wet folds through my panties. He seeks out my clit again and another moan spills from my lips.
Colton deepens the kiss, and I return it with just as much fervor.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
How does he know how to touch me like this? So expertly, as if he learned my body a long time ago: what I like, what I find pleasurable, which part of me is the most sensitive. It’s almost as if he is tracing me from memory.
I want to close my eyes and imagine Grayson instead. But I can’t.
I can’t because it’s Colton touching me. And I like it.
I can’t imagine Grayson because Colton’s touch has my body on fire. I rock against him, my limbs moving on their own, chasing his touch like a wanton slut; chasing the release I’ve been so desperate for.
It feels wrong — because I hate Colton.
