Page 105
No way he was saying no. And Bella wanted to go so it was the only workaround.
“We can make ninety minutes work,” she said, her mouth returning to his.
His hands went into her hair, holding her head steady, his mouth anything but.
His tongue slipped out, tasting her, touching her, knowing that in his mind ninety minutes was counting down now.
Her hands went to the bottom of his T-shirt, tugging it up and over his head, tossing it on the floor, then rushing towards the button of his jeans.
He returned the favor with her shirt, sending it flying in the living room, not giving one shit where it landed.
He didn’t think she cared either.
Not with the way the two of them were grasping, clawing, and tossing articles all over the place.
“Where?” he asked.
Her head moved around. “The couch works.”
Good thing because he wasn’t sure he could make it to her room but didn’t want to admit that he was so far over with her already.
Not just physically, but mentally. Emotionally.
He’d been in this place before. Every time it crashed and burned.
It was the last thing he wanted to worry about with Marly, so all those thoughts and feelings had to stay locked up for now.
He lowered her onto the couch, carefully for someone who felt anything but careful, his mouth never leaving hers. The cushions dipped beneath their weight, shifting them closer, tighter, skin to skin, her body fitting against his like it had every right to be there.
His hands slid down her sides, over warm flesh, mapping what he’d already memorized but wanted again. Slower this time. Not frantic. Intentional.
Her fingers dragged over his chest, her nails light but deliberate, and he sucked in a breath against her mouth. She noticed. Of course she did.
Because she was aware of every damn thing.
Her hand went further down and gripped his dick. Hard and ready. Always so ready around her.
She smiled against his lips, then kissed him deeper. Less teasing now and more heat. He let himself sink into it. Let the weight of the week fall away. The responsibility. The noise in his head that never shut the fuck up.
With her, it did. In this moment, it was possible for them to just be.
His mouth moved from hers to her jaw, down her neck, lingering just long enough to make her arch beneath him. He felt that reaction everywhere. The way her hand tightened on him. The way her breathing changed.
“Colson,” she whispered, not a warning, but an invitation. For them to move faster.
He came back to her mouth, slower, more concentrated. This wasn’t about getting somewhere fast. It was about feeling it. Every shift of her hips. Every soft sound she tried and failed to swallow.
The couch creaked when he adjusted, pulling her closer, one hand sliding along the outside of her thigh, over the top and in between her legs.
She was wet. Hot. Silky.
Then he invaded her quickly. Two fingers inside, her body jerking up quickly. Not in pain, but in pleasure, with that soft moan that always escaped when she was melting.
And she was doing it with him. For him.
His mouth ravished her. His fingers thrusting in and out, their kissing just as urgent.
She was bucking against him, he was getting her right to the edge.
