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It seemed so boring.
Adult conversations.
But, somehow, it was way sexier than I could have ever anticipated.
Maybe, once upon a time, a young, reckless me would have wanted to jump first, enjoy the fall, never knowing if I would slip under cushioning water, or splatter against the rocks below.
But grown-ass adult me loved the certainty, knowing exactly what was in front of me, what I was getting into.
"To sleep," I repeated. My body might have been throbbing for release, to feel his weight pressing me into a mattress, to feel the fullness of him slipping inside me, but I wanted that to be right. And in a clubhouse surrounded by unknown men with my kid asleep on the couch, it just didn't feel right yet.
But sleep? Sleep on the strong chest of a man?
That sounded amazing.
"You look as exhausted as I feel," I admitted.
"Sleep. Yeah, babe, let's sleep," he agreed, putting his hand at my lower back again, guiding me inside, letting me check on my kid, then leading me down the hall and into a bedroom.
We both silently kicked out of our shoes, put down our coffee mugs.
Then he sat down on the side of the bed, patting the space next to him.
Short of crawling up the bottom of the bed which sounded too sexy if we were going to try to be just sleeping, my only choice was to move over his body.
A thrill moved through me as I went to do so, one arm going to his side, my leg straddling him for the barest of moments.
But before I could cross over him fully, drop down at his side, his hand moved up, snagging my chin, stopping me, drawing my attention to his face, seeing the desire there, the same kind I felt thrumming through my body.
His fingers pinched my chin harder, drawing my head down toward his, pausing when I was just shy of touching him, looking at me for one second before pulling me to close the distance, his lips sealing over mine.
The kiss got heated quickly. My hands planting on either side of him, my breasts pressing to his chest, my hips sinking down, feeling his hardness pressing against me. I maybe even did a small shimmy, needing to feel the friction of him against me, some small relief to the clawing need inside.
But instead of relief, all I felt was more need, a wild kind of desperation that had me whimpering against his lips as my hips ground down against him.
He didn't stop me.
He didn't reach up to start peeling off clothes.
His arm went around my shoulders, a heavy anchor.
His other hand sank into my ass, dragging me against his growing hardness.
I ground against him shamelessly, too far gone to care about my neediness, consumed with the relief of the painful desire gripping my system.
My lips bruised into his as my hips moved harder, faster, as my body got pushed to the edge.
Colson's hand dragged me against him one final time.
And I crashed into my orgasm, my body jolting, my legs seeming to lose their strength, the pleasure starting at the juncture of my thighs and exploding outward as I cried out my release to his muffling lips.
He held me against him after for what felt like hours before shifting my hips so I was nestled at his side, my head on his chest, my arm across his body, my leg draped over his hips.
"Sleep, babe," he demanded, voice deep, thick, full of the desire he hadn't gotten relief from.
"But you—"
"There's time. I'm in no rush."
A strange little warming sensation spread across my chest at that.
Because he meant that.
He wasn't in a rush.
He wanted to take his time with me.
Because he planned to give his time to me.
That realization was a warm blanket I felt cuddled into. Mixed with the steady beat of his heart under my ear and the safe sensation of being in his arms was like a lullaby that had me slowly, happily, drifting off to sleep.
Blissfully unaware of what was coming.EIGHTReignI don't think there was an inch of me that wasn't bruised.
I had to remember, for future reference, if I lived through this shit, not to poke at the egos of little men.
They did everything in their power to prove they were bigger and badder than you were.
I learned this on what had to have been the third or fourth day in that garage. After two more visits from the asshole with the bat.
Judging by the screaming to my kneecap and the left side of my ribs, some shit was broken.
The side of my face felt swollen.
I didn't know if it was my jaw or my tooth. Something was fucked up there too.
In between the visits from the idiot with the ego, I had once-daily visits from a small group of mismatched kids, all ranging from their late teens to their mid-twenties, all of them loud and on-edge as they carefully lowered me down just enough so that I could touch my feet down, leaving me there for a few moments while my muscles adjusted, allowed me to hold my weight, then loosening the chain once again so I could walk across the room to piss in a bucket there for me.
