I have to force myself to focus on what I’m doing and not how hot it is to hear those words out of her mouth.
In one quick movement, I slide all the way in. She gasps as I bottom out. Her delicate hands squeezing my bare shoulders.
Her pussy feels like it was made for me. It grips my cock perfectly. My forehead falls to her shoulder.
“Holy shit, Mel,” I whisper.
Her hands begin to run down my back and then slowlyglide back up as she waits for me. I take a second to regroup, caught off guard by the intensity of it all.
Then I pull myself up to my hands and move inside of her. I start with slow thrusts, rounding my hips when I push all the way in, studying her face so I know what she likes. Know what gets the best reaction.
Then I begin to move quickly. Hitting her hard over and over again.
She wraps her legs around me, and I lean down for a kiss. Our tongues move together wildly as we both moan into each other’s mouth.
It becomes nearly impossible to hold off my approaching orgasm, but I wait. I wait until I feel her walls tighten and spasm against me as her kisses become more frantic.
We break our kiss as both of us gasp and huff out our own releases. My thrusts become jerky and unsteady until we both finish. Then I lose my strength and fall down on top of her.
I stay here for a moment, my cheek against her shoulder, listening to the way her breathing slowly evens out beneath me. The room feels different now. Heavier, like something irreversible has settled between us.
She runs her fingers through my hair, and my eyes flutter closed.
I’ve had sex before. Plenty of times. But this doesn’t feel like that. This feels like a line crossed, one I won’t ever be able to step back over.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Melissa
Iwake slowly, warm and heavy in a way I don’t recognize at first.
There’s an arm draped around my waist, solid and possessive, even in sleep, pulling me back against a chest that rises and falls steadily behind me. My cheek is pressed into soft sheets that smell faintly like soap and a manly scent I can’t name.
Colton.
The memory of last night comes rushing back all at once. His laugh at the bar when I beat him at darts. The way he leaned in close to hear me over the music, like the rest of the room didn’t exist. How easy it felt. How, somewhere between cheap beer and greasy fries, I forgot entirely that he was impossibly wealthy, that he lived in a penthouse overlooking Manhattan.
Last night, he was simply a man who fitbeside me.
And then … the way everything shifted when we were alone again.
Heat curls low in my stomach at replay the details. I hadn’t expected that version of him. The way his control frayed, the way his breath hitched when I touched him, like he was right on the edge of unraveling. I’d seen intensity in him before, but this was different.
I’d never imagined I’d be the one to pull that out of him.
His arm tightens slightly in his sleep, his body instinctively keeping me close, and my chest aches at how right it feels to be here. Tucked into him.
And that’s when the fear slips in.
I remember his words in the stairwell.“I don’t do relationships.”
The warmth in my chest twists into hope. I shouldn’t feel this settled. This connected. Especially not after one night.
My bladder makes the decision for me to stop overanalyzing after one night together.
Carefully, I slide out from under his arm, easing away inch by inch until he barely stirs. I grab one of his shirts from the floor and pull it over my head before padding into the bathroom.
The master bath is … a lot.
