Page 97 of The One Who Never Left: Colter

“Well, we’re on mommy time. Which means this princess turns into a mom in about…” She looked at her watch. “Forty-eight minutes.”

“Freckles, this is one sprint in a race we’ve got all the time in the world to run. This is the first—won’t be the last.”

Sutton wished she could believe that, but nothing lasted forever—not this, not them. Their expiration date wasn’t distant or theoretical. It was close enough she could already feel the countdown in her bones.

She wished she could believe him, but secrets only stayed buried for so long. No matter how tightly you held them down, the truth had a way of clawing to the surface—and when it did, everything would crack open.

Without a response, she shoved the shirt off his shoulders and watched it slide to the floor. On the second pass down his torso she tracked every contracted muscle under her palms—like watching a landscape react to her touch.

She didn’t stop, her hand slid lower, settling at his waistband. She toyed with the button. “Stand.”

Something in his gaze heated, the kind of hot that would challenge the surface of the sun and win. “Yes, ma’am.”

Could the big, brutal man who barked commands all day actually get off on being the one who obeyed—on being told when to touch, when to beg, when to come?

She popped the button, unzipped him, and physics handled the rest.

“Everything goes,” she commanded.

He didn’t hesitate. After fishing a condom out of his wallet, he shoved his boxer-briefs down and stepped out, and for a beat she forgot how to breathe. He was big. Thick and hard in a way that made her thighs press together on instinct—powerful enough that words failed her.

She’d only had two lovers in her life—her high school boyfriend who’d fumbled his way through inexperience, and the ex who bailed the second Lynlee showed up on a sonogram. Nothing about either of them had prepared her for this—for a man who looked carved for sin and fully aware of it.

And god help her, she wanted every inch.

“Bedroom?” he asked.

“You haven’t earned that.” Hands on his pecs, she pushed him backwards until his calves hit the cushion of the couch. “Sit.”

He sat.

“Good.” She straddled him, pressing down so that all their good parts lined up.

With a growl, his hands slid up her thighs to her waist, around her back to the clasp of her bra.

Wanting to see just how far this game of submissiveness could go, she pulled back. “Did I say you could touch me?”

“No. But I really fucking need to unwrap you and then suck on those pretty tits.”

“I’d rather unwrap myself,” she said, catching his wrists and guiding his arms up until they folded behind his head. “No touching until I say. Understood?”

He nodded, his eyes locked on the mango-colored lace. Bra unclasped, ever so slowly, she let the fabric slide down her arms until it exposed all of her. He licked his lips.

“Can I touch you now?” he asked.

“What’s the magic word?”

“Can I please touch you now?”

“Yes.”

“Thank Christ.”

His hands were on her instantly—broad, greedy palms cupping her breasts, weighing each one like he’d been starving for the feel. His thumb rolled her nipple before he pinched, drawing a gasp from her—then he dipped his head and dragged his mouth over her, tongue and teeth far too eager.

She caught his chin between her fingers. “I said touch, not play.”

“Freckles, you told me I have forty-eight minutes.”