Page 115 of The One Who Never Left: Colter

It was intense and overdue, like it was heading straight toward something that felt suspiciously like a future.

He dragged his mouth from hers just long enough to breathe and whispered against her skin, “You better get inside before we’re caught out here like a couple of high schoolers sneaking into my bedroom.”

“Maybe that’s what I’m doing,” she murmured, and then, with a little hop, she wrapped her legs around his waist like she had every intention of being carried.

He caught her easily, hands palming her silk-clad ass as he walked her toward the bed, every step a promise.

They never broke contact—mouths fused, breath shared, kissing all the way to the mattress like letting go might ruin them. He lowered her onto her back, but her legs never unlocked, ankles still crossed behind him like she was keeping him exactly where she wanted.

She tightened, thighs flexing, and the press of her body ground right against his dick, dragging a rough sound out of him.

“Freckles,” he warned on a breath. “Much more of that and I’m going to forget every sensible thought I’ve had all day.”

Her voice came out low and sure, no hesitation anywhere. “Good, I’m tired of sensible thoughts.”

He pulled back just enough to see her eyes, which were hungry and daring—more like mischievous—and it punched right through him.

“I no longer want to be a man of half-measures when it comes to you,” he murmured.

She squeezed again and—bingo—he was going to come and he hadn’t even taken his briefs off.

“If this is half, I’m not sure I can handle the whole shebang.”

Colter grinned. “You’ll handle it just fine.”

“That so?”

“Yeah, because I’m not stopping until you’re shaking and telling me you can’t take another inch. And then I’m giving you one more just to hear you whimper.”

Her answering laugh was slow and dark—like she’d been handed a weapon and couldn’t wait to use it. “You talk a big game for a man who’s two seconds from losing it in his underwear.”

He swallowed, because she wasn’t wrong. “Maybe I just like the way you make me lose it.”

“Maybe you need to lose it.”

He dragged a hand down her thigh, voice strained. “Let me see you, Freckles. Please.”

She cocked her head, amused. “Begging already?”

“Yeah,” he said without shame, because pride had officially left the building. “I want to see all of you. I want to earn it.”

For a beat, she just studied him—like she was deciding whether he’d behaved well enough. Then, without a word, she lifted her arms in silent invitation.

“You may,” she said sternly, like some fucking high school principal and he was her errant student.

Hell, she could be his teacher any day.

She wasn’t wearing much—just a whisper of fabric pretending to be a thong, silk-smooth skin everywhere he looked, and a pair of perfect tens that short-circuited his brain. He actually had to blink, twice, like processing her was a full-time job.

“Speechless?” she asked, satisfied.

“You’re gonna have to give me a damn minute.”

“Oh no,” she said, curling a finger and beckoning him closer. “You begged for a look. Now you work for the rest.”

“Then you might want to hang on to something, Freckles,” he murmured, voice all gravel and promise. “Because I’m about to prove exactly how hard of a worker I am. I’ll break you open so deep you won’t ever get me out of your system—even if you wanted to.”

“Talk’s cheap. Prove me wrong.”