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“If you want more, I’ll give it to you,” I tell him. “I’ll give you whatever you want.”
“You sure?” he asks me, his arms sliding slowly around me as well, the warmth of his wide hands heating me through my thin sweater as he brings me in tighter.
I shiver at the contact then nod my head, whispering, “I’ve never been so sure.”
Colton spins me around and leans me back against the car door, his hands rising to either side of my face.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” he tells me, his eyes dropping to my lips and staring at them like he wants to devour me. “I’m going to kiss you, so make sure you tell me if you want me to stop.”
I shake my head. “I’ll never ask you to stop.”
At my declaration, he dips low, bringing his tall frame down to mine, and presses his lips against me, sending a ricochet of desire blazing through me and heating me up from the inside.
His lips are soft and lush and gentle, but I am eager and desperate, so I open my mouth to him, nibbling on his thick lower lip and teasing it with my tongue until he groans and kisses me harder. Colton’s tongue sweeps into my mouth, seeking every inch as he plays with me, both of us hungry and filled with need.
The pressure of him leaning against me, the feeling of his big body enveloping mine is enough to make me wish we could skip straight to the big game. My sexual history is minor, but I can already tell things with Colton are going to be bigger, greater, more intense and dramatic than any lover I’ve had before.
I’m needy for it. On the verge of begging.
But I’m lost in this kiss. In the way his hands drop down and begin to seek out the shape of me. How he grips my waist, then my hips, then one hand squeezes my ass.
I let out a sigh of contentment, loving the way it feels to be held by him, caressed by him, lost in the sensation of pressure between us.
“Touch me,” I whisper, my words something between a demand and a craving.
Colton freezes, and for a second I worry I was too quick, too forward, too much.
But instead of pushing away, I feel him dig in his pocket. The door to his car unlocks and he shifts me to the side, tugging open the back door to his SUV and lifting me up to the seat.
I scramble backward, making as much room for him as I can and thankful that his back seat is so large as he crawls in after me and shuts the door behind him.
We’re plunged into darkness, the streetlights outside muted by the tinted windows, the sound of the breeze outside replaced by just the sound of our panting breaths, quickly warming the coolness of the inside of the car.
“You can always tell me no. You can always change your mind. And you will never have to worry about me being—”
“I know,” I interrupt him. “I know.”
Then I tug him forward so his body is over mine where I lie flat along the seat, one of his knees between my legs, one of his feet on the floor as he rests just enough of his weight on top of me so I can feel him everywhere.
His face drops to my neck, sucking and teasing the skin there with his mouth and tongue and making me sigh with want.
“Touch me,” I tell him again, though I want to growl when I hear him chuckle.
“What do you think I’m doing?” he asks, the smile evident in his tone. “Playing chess?”
I continue to pant beneath him, feeling him squeeze me, his hands roaming across my lower stomach and giving me butterflies but never slipping below my waistline.
Instead, his hands seem to travel everywhere but where I want them. My stomach, my ribs, my thighs, my face, and all the while he continues to kiss me, long drugging kisses that have me feeling hazy in the mind before he dips down and nibbles along my neck and collarbone. Then he returns to my mouth and repeats it all over again, until I feel nearly mad with desire. Desperate for something. Anything.
My own hands have been holding his waist, wrapping around his back, dipping under his shirt and sliding up and down his back, feeling his muscles and reveling in the strength of him.
And that’s when I catch it—he’s mirroring my movements, giving me the chance to steer this in whatever direction I’m comfortable taking things.
Instead of reaching down and taking him in hand where I can feel him pressing against my thigh, I reach for his hand and push it under my waistband, below my panties to the heart of me where I am throbbing and wet…so desperately wet.
He groans, loud and dangerous when he feels me.
“Is this for me?” he asks, that single finger sliding between my lower lips, down to my core and then back up to my aching clit. “All this wetness is because of me?”
