The Nice Boxset

by Jasinda Wilder

  He stills. “You’ve never done that before?”

  I shrug. “I have, but…it was a long, long time ago, and I only did it a couple times.” That’s as close to details as I’m willing to go with him in this moment.

  He seems to understand, because he just nods. “Gotcha. Well, I can tell you it was the best fucking thing I’ve ever felt.”

  I feel a thrill of pride. “Really?” The back of my mind tells me he must have a lot of experience to base it on, which is something I don’t want to examine too closely.

  “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

  “You’re just saying that.”

  He laughs. “No, I’m not. It really was that good.” He moves, a sudden shift, and I’m on my back and he’s above me, lips touching my shoulder, pressing soft kisses to my skin. “And now I get to kiss every incredible inch of your body.”

  And he does, every single inch. He starts at my shoulders, kisses slowly across my breastbone, kneeling between my legs, then slides his kisses down between my breasts. I want his mouth there, but he teases me, kissing the swell of each breast but not taking the nipple into his mouth as I want him to. He touches his lips in a series of wet kisses down my stomach, across my belly to my hips, down each thigh. I expect him to put his mouth to my core, but he doesn’t. Instead, he kisses dangerously close to each side, above the inside of each thigh with his rough cheeks sandpaper against my sensitive skin, but he never touches his mouth to my folds.

  And then he’s moving back up after having kissed my shins and my calves and my feet. He gets to my knees, then hesitates, takes my hips in his hands and twists me onto my stomach. I pillow my head on my arms and try not to be self-conscious as he kisses my calves, the backs of my thighs, then, yes, each buttock, wandering over the globes, paying special attention to them, palming the cheeks around his lips, squeezing the muscles, tracing the crease.

  His finger delves into the crease, and suddenly the all-over kissing isn’t as sweet as it is erotic. His mouth is still moving over my buttocks, but his finger, it’s going between my thighs and back up, deeper.

  “You liked my finger inside you back here, didn’t you?” he asks, his voice rough and demanding.

  I can only whimper in response. I did like it. I can’t say that, though.

  “Answer me, baby.” He nudges my thighs open with his knees, spreading me. “Did you like it?”

  He keeps pushing my knees until they’re bent as far as they can flex, and I’m spread completely for him. His palm circles my backside, and I can sense he’s waiting for my answer. I don’t. I want to push him, see what he’ll do.

  He spanks me again, a light but stinging slap. Immediately, my core clenches and I’m wet, dripping. I moan into the pillow.

  “Yes, Colton. I liked it.”

  “Want it again?”

  “Uh-huh.” I can’t make words. His thick forefinger is trailing down my crease and probing in, causing my breath to hitch and my body to tremble.

  His other hand slides under me, his fingers curling up to massage my clit. Lightning shoots through me, and I wriggle under his touch. His finger slides up and down still, closing in but not pushing or pressing. His touch on my clit is gentle and soft and slow, questing circles to get me ready. Oh, I’m ready. So ready. I stretch my legs to open more, and now his finger is gone briefly, then back again. I feel something wet and warm against me back there, and then there’s pressure.

  “Tell me if it’s too much.”

  He pushes in, oh so gently. Oh, god, oh, god, ohmigod. Now his circling fingers are swift and accurate, sending heat through me. I shift and arch, bow my back and roll my hips. So good. So good. I lift up onto my knees and push back, liking the fullness of his finger inside me. Oh, god.

  “Colton…don’t stop.”

  “No fucking way.” He slides his finger deeper, and I’m nearly undone.

  It’s so intense, fiery and stretching and slightly painful, but pain is familiar and welcome and erotic. So perfect. But no, I realize even as I think it that this isn’t perfect. Him inside me would be perfect. Just like this, but his cock instead of his fingers.

  “I want you inside me.” I turn my head to whisper the words over my shoulder. “Right now.”

  “Like this?”

  “God, yes. Like this.” My voice is a fierce whisper.

  I hear a packet rip, feel his hand withdraw from my core, and I turn to watch him slide a condom on one-handed. I rest my weight on my elbows, watching him take his shaft in hand and guide it to my entrance. A gentle nudge, and then his eyes on mine as he hesitates.

  “Nell, I—” He’s so dominating sometimes, giving me orders that I find myself wanting to obey, taking me to delirious heights of ecstasy. And then, other times, he’s hesitant and unsure, but it’s only ever as regards to me, making sure I’m on the same page as he is, making sure I want what’s happening.

  I can’t form words to answer him, so I push back against him, and I feel him slide into me, filling me.

  Oh…my…god. I hang my head between my arms and brace my shoulders, thrust back to crush him deep.

  “Fuck, Nell. God, you’re so fucking tight.” His voice is strained, thick. His hand grips my hip where it’s bent and pulls me against him.

  And now he’s flush against me, hips to my ass, finger inside me there still.

  “You’re so big, Colton…” I say, then have to stifle a giggle, realizing how that came out. I said it breathily, and it sounded like something from a porno. But it’s true. He’s huge, stretching me.

  “Is it okay? I’m not hurting you?”

  I shake my head. “It’s perfect.”

  I feel the pressure building, a volcanic heat inside me. He slides out and out, and then he’s poised with the tip inside me, hesitating a heartbeat, then plunges in slowly and I cry out, a breathless shriek. Another slow slide out, and then back in, his finger pulsing inside me, slightly in and out, pushing the pressure to a head, lightning building and crackling in my blood, in my muscles. He hesitates at my entrance again, his tip nestled in my folds, and this time when he thrusts in, it’s faster, almost rough.

  “Yes, god, yes, Colton. Like that.”

  He pulls out and pistons deep, hard. “Like that?”

  “Yeah…” I gasp.

  Again, hard, deep, so deep. “You like it hard?” A rough rhythm now, deep and fast.

  “Yes, Colton…I like it hard.”

  “Oh, my fucking god, Nell.” He bends over me, buried deep, rests his head against my spine. “How are you so fucking incredible?”

  I have no way to answer that, and I don’t have a chance to anyway, because he’s pounding into me again. I whimper at each thrust, push into him when he slides deep. There’s no thought but this moment, no memory but the previous thrust, no one in the world but Colton. The pressure of impending orgasm is a thundering presence inside me, and I know when it comes, it will be an inundating weight crashing through me.

  Then he slows and shallows his thrusts, sliding halfway in, moving in a sinuous rhythm. Oh, shit, that’s intense. Even more intense than having it rough, in a way. He’s hitting inside me in way that strikes a chord, makes me thrum. The edge is near, my climax hovering close. He moves his finger a little deeper, wiggles it in and out, and then abruptly pounds deep, hard, and I break apart. I scream, shove my ass back into his thrusts, coming and coming and coming.

  Then I’m moving, I’ve lost his presence within me, I’m on my back and about to beg him to be inside me again, but he’s there, sliding in gently, and I sigh in relief to have him back where he belongs.

  “Nell, look at me.” His voice snaps my eyes open, and his gaze is intense, vivid blue, rapturous in the way he’s gazing at me with such open adoration.

  “Hi,” I say.

  “Hi,” he says back. His hands lift me by the shoulders until I’m upright and sitting on his knees, somewhat awkwardly. “Wrap your legs around my waist.”

  He’s cross-legged, sitting upright, ho
lding me, and I curl my heels around his hips. The shift in position effects an immediate difference. He’s…deep. So far inside me it’s unreal. I gasp, and then I can’t even do that, my mouth locked wide in a silent scream as I sink down around him.

  “Oh, god, oh, shit,” he says. “You’re so fucking tight. Have I said that yet?”

  “You—you may have,” I gasp. “I’m glad I’m tight for you.”

  “Move for me. Lift yourself up and down. Make yourself come.” His voice caresses me; his eyes lock on mine.

  I obey, of course I do. I push down with my heels, lift with my thighs, grip his shoulders with my hands and lift. I hover with him barely inside, and then, eyes wide and mouth gaping, I lower myself as slowly as I can. I lift again and his hands slide under my ass, lift me, lower me. My rhythm increases until I’m frantic, climax building to a peak.

  He senses it, sees it. “Come for me.”

  Oh, I do. So hard.

  He’s holding back, I think.

  “Your turn,” I say. “I want you to come now.”

  He growls, tips us so I’m on my back and now he’s above me and now, now it’s perfect. This is perfect heaven, happiness like I’ve never known before, and I feel no guilt or pain or shame or anything but Colton’s body pressed against mine, his mouth pressing fiery kisses to my breast, taking a nipple in his mouth and rolling it, his cock drilling deep…

  I lock my legs around him and my hands on the back of his head, pulling him against my breast. He rolls into me slowly at first, almost lazily. His mouth moves from one breast to the other, his hands flat on the bed next to my head. I turn my face to the side and kiss his iron forearm, then stretch my mouth wide in a soft gasp as he increases his pace, biting my nipple hard enough to twinge.

  I didn’t think it was possible, but I’m nearing climax again, and I don’t think I can take another one, not when they keep getting more intense. If that keeps up I’ll be ripped in half by this one, and yeah, it’s on me now, so close. He’s bucking hard now, plunging madly, his weight a heavy pressure on me, his chest sliding against mine, his mouth at my ear.

  He’s whispering my name over and over again, chanting it as he rocks into me. One of my hands is tangled in the hair at the back of his head, and the other is scratching down his back to clutch his tensing buttocks, pulling him against me.

  His voice huffs in my ear, a gasped whisper. “Oh, god…I’m coming, Nell. Come with me. Come with me, baby.”

  His head lifts, and our eyes lock.

  “Yes…yes…now,” I say. “Give it all to me right now.”

  This drives him wild, and he crashes into me, rough and hard and uncontrolled. It’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever experienced, this primal force of a man lost in the throes of ecstasy, crashing into me. He pounds furiously, driving deep, and I dig my fingers into his flesh and his hair, jerk him harder with my legs, feeling my own climax wash over me.

  His rhythm falters, stutters, and then he’s flexed, every muscle taut as bowstring, buried deep. He pulls back slowly, drawing himself out, and then crashes deep, a second time, a third, and then he goes limp on top of me, his huge weight crushing me wonderfully.

  I stroke his back in slow, soothing circles, kiss his shoulder, the shell of his ear, his temple. I smooth my hands down his spine, caress his ass, then trace up his sides, memorizing the feel of his muscles, the way his body feels on mine.

  He shifts. “I must be crushing you.”

  I hold him in place. “No, don’t move. I like it. You’re fine. I love feeling you like this.”

  His face is nuzzled into the hollow of my neck and chin, his breathing slow and steady. I’ve never, ever felt such complete contentment as in this moment. I’m sated, I’m happy. I’m throbbing and tingling all over, flushed with ecstasy, overwhelmed and full in my heart, mind, body, and soul.

  And then it hits me. We’ve both been using the phrase “I love this” or “I love it when you…” and that’s a socially acceptable phrase for something you really enjoy. But…the truth is, I think we both mean it in the deeper sense. I know I do.

  I wouldn’t change this moment for anything. And I certainly would never give up having this with Colton. I want to experience this again and again, as much as possible. I feel closer to Colton in this moment than I have anyone before. This thought brings up a wave of guilt, but I push it away.

  “What are you thinking, Nelly-baby?” Colton rolls with me, and now I’m lying nearly on top of him.

  I throw my thigh over his leg and roam his torso with a hand, my hair spread beneath me and over his chest. “I’m thinking this is the best moment of my life. Honestly. I feel closer to you right now than anyone…ever. I’m thinking…I want to experience moments like this with you forever.” I suck in a deep breath and let it out, then take the plunge. “I’m struggling with feeling guilty over that, because of everything we talked about regarding your brother, but—it’s just the truth. I’m closer to you now than I ever was him. I don’t know why that is. It hurts—it’s confusing. I know I loved him. I did. But…somehow I’m just—things with you and me are just…more. I don’t know.”

  He strokes my hair, smoothes it over my head. “I get it. I feel the same way. I know I loved India. But this with you? It’s like…so much more it’s almost a completely different kind of thing.”

  I shift and tilt my head so I’m looking into his eyes. “I’m falling in love with you, Colton. I don’t know if it’s too soon to say that to you, but…it’s true. It’s scary, because I don’t know if everybody is going to understand, but I don’t care right now. I just have to say it to you, because—just because.”

  He draws me up to him and kisses me, his palm huge against my cheek. I feel so tiny against him, like I could curl up against him and disappear.

  “It’s not too soon. I was gonna say the same thing, but you beat me to it.”

  I smile. “Say it anyway. Please?”

  He takes a deep breath and lets it out, examining my face almost idly, obviously composing his thoughts.

  “I’m not just falling in love with you, Nell. I’m falling into you. You’re an ocean, and I’m falling in, drowning in the depths of who you are. Like you said, it’s scary in a way, but it’s also the most amazing thing I’ve ever experienced. You are the most amazing thing I’ve ever experienced.”

  For the first time since Kyle died, I find myself crying happy tears. I’d forgotten what those were.

  Chapter 12

  Feel You Bare

  I wake to guitar chords and Colton’s voice. It’s faint, filtering to me from far away. He’s on the roof. I wipe the sleep and the tangled curls from my eyes, swing my legs out of his bed—our bed?—and slip on a clean T-shirt from a laundry basket on the floor. It’s still dark out, but as I climb the creaking stairs to the roof, guitar in hand, I see slices of gray on the horizon between high-rises and apartment blocks. An hour or two before dawn, then.

  Colton is in his chair, wearing loose track pants and a ripped and ragged gray Champion hoodie, the hood drawn down over his brows, a tangle of black hair sweeping across his forehead. His legs are kicked up, bare heels propped on the ledge. His eyes are closed, guitar on his belly, fingers picking a slow, sweet tune that reminds me of something by City & Colour, but isn’t. He’s singing softly, his face twisting and brows knotting as he hits high notes, his expressions communicating the intensity of his feelings as he sings. A mug of coffee sits on the floor next him within reach, steaming, and a huge thermos is also nearby so he can refill it. I sit on the ledge, feet on the stairs, watching, listening. I can’t quite follow the words he’s singing, since he’s kind of mumbling and singing softly. Every once in a while, he stops, backs up a few chords, and adjusts the melody or phrasing.

  He’s writing a song, I realize.

  He reaches the end of the song and reaches down for his coffee, noticing me in the process. “Oh, hey. Hope I didn’t wake you up.”

  I shrug and move across the roof
to sit on the love seat. “You did, but it’s fine. I like waking up to your voice.” God, that sounds so sappy, but I don’t care, especially when I see how Colton’s eyes light up. “What are you doing up so early?” I ask.

  He passes me the mug of coffee, and I sip it as he answers. “I woke up with this song in my head. I had to write it, get it out, you know?”

  “It’s beautiful, from what I heard,” I say, truthfully.

  “It’s not done yet, but thanks.”

  “What’s it about?”

  He strums the strings with his thumb. “You. Us. It came from something I said to you last night.”

  “Play it for me?”

  He grins and shakes his head. “Nuh-uh. Not till it’s done. We’ve got a gig on Thursday. I’ll play it for you then.”

  I pretend to pout, and Colton only laughs. We share coffee and watch the sun come up between the buildings, working on the songs we’re performing.

  I’m happy, and I refuse to let anything spoil that, not even the ever-present guilt, and the fact that I still miss Kyle.

  I realize I’ll always miss Kyle, and a part of me will always feel guilty for being alive when he isn’t, and that’s something I’ll just have to live with.

  It’s Thursday, and my nerves are at an all-time high. I’ve got three solo numbers this week, plus Colton is debuting his new song. We get through the requisite duet covers of Mumford & Sons, The Civil Wars, Rosi Golan, and such. I do my solo numbers, “Let It Be Me” by Ray LaMontagne, and my covers of the Ella and Billie songs, which have become a kind of crowd favorite in the weeks that I’ve been playing with Colton.

  And then, immediately after our break, Colton clears his throat into the mic and strums, adjusting his tuning. It’s his way of getting the crowd’s attention.

  “Okay, so I’ve got this new song,” he says. “It’s a Colt original. Anyone want to hear it?”

  I yell “yes!” into the microphone, then back away and clap with everyone else. He smiles at me, since he knows I want to hear it. I’ve only pestered him to give me a sneak peek every single day since the rooftop sunrise jam session.