AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I’m close,” he muttered.
I bucked against him and with his pelvis perfectly angled I detonated again, clenching around him hard.
With one final thrust, Colt shouted. He shuddered, his release pumping out of him.
He collapsed on top of me, our breathing ragged, our hearts ready to gallop out of our chests.
I felt like I’d been broken apart, and was only now beginning to piece myself back together.
Colt lifted his head to stare down at me. His eyes were glazed and his skin was flushed. He pressed his lips to mine and didn’t say anything as he gently pulled out.
I noticed the loss of him immediately, wincing at the tenderness between my legs.
I’d been ridden hard and fast, but damn if I didn’t feel like a woman.
He went into the bathroom. I heard the sound of him washing his hands and then he came back to bed. Colt lay down, his gaze languid and drowsy, his hand gently tracing the contour of my hip.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked.
I shook my head, my tangled hair brushing across my shoulders. I leaned over and skimmed my lips over his and then cuddled against his chest.
We were content to stay there for a moment, but then I finally rolled over to get out of bed.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked with a grin.
“To clean up. And then I plan on making some food.”
“You’re ready to eat again? After those enchiladas?”
“I didn’t eat them all,” I reminded him.
“Yeah, good point. What are you making?”
“I wanted to make pancakes, but I don’t know if I can whisk with my left hand.”
“I’ll whisk them for you.”
“Yeah?”
He nodded.
I went to one of his dresser drawers, rooting around for a T-shirt. I found one and slid it on before heading to the bathroom.
“I like you in my shirt, darlin’,” he said gently.
I smiled as I closed the door.
“You’ve been holding out on me,” Colt said as he pushed away his empty plate.
I grinned. “I’m a decent cook, but I have two specialties: guacamole and pancakes.”
I finished off the last bite of my own short stack and then got up from the kitchen table to take the plates to the sink.
“Why are those your specialties?” Colt asked.
“When Grammie got sick, she lost her appetite. Pancakes and guacamole were the only things she could stomach. So I got really good at making them.”
While I loaded the dishwasher, Colt put away the maple syrup and then wiped down the kitchen table. I’d noticed he was someone who preferred his space tidy. He didn’t have clutter or a stack of mail by the door or magazines on the coffee table.
