by Bromberg, K.
He licks his tongue back up again and this time keeps going, drawing a line of open mouth kisses and licks up my belly, chest, and neck to my mouth so when his tongue pushes between my lips, I can taste my own arousal. His mouth on mine absorbs my gasped moan as he enters me once again and begins to chase his own orgasm.
When he pulls back from my mouth and sits back on his knees, holding my legs apart as he starts to move within me, he grants me that lightning flash grin I can never resist. “I told you, it would be my name you were calling in the end.”
I start to say something but he grips my hips and rears back and thrusts into me. The start of a punishing rhythm that has my hands gripping the sheets and his name becomes a pant on my lips as he takes us to the edge together.
“What’d Becks want?” I ask Colton as I walk into his office and lean my backside on the desk to face him. If it weren’t for my positioning, I would have missed the uncertainty flicker through his eyes before he grimaces.
“Is it a bad one?” I ask of the headache I can tell he’s trying to hide.
“Nah, not too bad. They’re getting fewer and farther between,” he says falling silent as he unbends the paperclip in his hand with fierce concentration.
“Becks?” I prompt, sensing that something is wrong.
“He uh, asked if I wanted to reserve some time at the track since they book out far in advance. To make sure I had some time if I wanted it.” He averts his eyes and focuses on the paperclip he’s unfolding with his fingers. “He thinks I should get back in the car.”
Fucking Beckett!
I want to scream at the top of my lungs but settle for chastising him silently. Okay. I’ve gotten my unfounded anger out at him for doing what I agree is right, but it still doesn’t mean I like it … at all. I’d feel a whole hell of a lot better if I had a punching bag too because I’m still terrified by the thought of Colton suited up and behind the wheel, but the question is, is Colton?
“What are your thoughts on it? Are you ready?”
He sighs and leans back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head and looking up to the ceiling. “Nah,” he says finally, drawing the word out, stalling for time for his explanation. “Yesterday I—” he stops mid-thought and shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter … My hand’s still too fucked up to grip the wheel,” he says. And I know it’s a bullshit lie since he had no problem holding me up so he could have his way with me against the front door yesterday, but I know saying it out loud would be akin to kicking a man when he’s down; not only would I know he’s scared, but I’d also be proving he’s lying.
But his aborted explanation that he didn’t complete, mixed with his comment yesterday about it being a rough day, collide together not so subtly in my mind. I move without asking and sit across his lap and nestle into him. He blows out a resigned breath before unlacing his fingers and closing his arms around me.
“What happened yesterday?” I ask after a moment. I can feel his body pause momentarily, and I kiss his bare chest beneath my lips as a silent sign of support.
“I watched the replay.”
He doesn’t need to say anything further. I know perfectly well what replay he’s referring to because I still can’t bring myself to watch it. “And how did you handle it?”
His body vibrates with an unsettled energy, and when he starts to shift beneath me, I can tell that he needs to release some of it. I move off his lap and when he rises and walks to the window, I sink back into the leather, still warm from his body.
Colton shoves a hand through his hair, tension evident in the bare muscles of his back as he looks out the window to the beach down below. He forces out a laugh. “Well, if you call a grown man crawling around on the fucking floor naked while he dry heaves from the goddamn panic attack after every single fucking feeling from the crash hits him like a sucker punch,” he says, voice thick with sarcasm, “then shit, if that’s considered handling it? Then fuck yeah … I’d say I aced that motherfucking test.” He rolls his shoulders and walks out of the office without a backward glance. I exhale the breath I’m holding when I hear the door to the patio slide open and then shut behind him.
I let some time pass, lost in my thoughts, my heart hurting for Colton’s obvious struggle between needing and fearing racing, and I stand up to go find him.
I walk out onto the patio and hear the splash of water before I see his long, lean figure slicing through the top of the water with graceful fluidity. He covers the distance of the pool quickly, reaches the end and does some kind of underwater flip and resurfaces before heading the other way.
I sit cross-legged on the edge of the pool and admire his natural athleticism—the rippling of muscles, his complete control over his body—and wonder if this absolute attraction I have for him has any limitations.
After a bit, he does his underwater turn at the edge farthest from me and instead of immediately starting his stroke again, he flips over on his back and floats, his momentum causing him to drift toward where I’m sitting. He looks so peaceful now, despite his chest expanding from his exertion, and I wish I could see this type of serenity in his features more often.
His torso rises from the water as he lowers his feet to the bottom and scrubs his hands over his face. When he removes them, he looks up, startled to see me sitting there watching him, and the most breathtaking smile spreads across his lips. He scrunches his nose up, reminding me of what he’d look like as a little boy, and any of my concern over his state of mind vanishes.
He walks over to where I sit, eyes locked on mine. “I’m sorry, Ryles.” He shakes his head with a sigh. “It’s hard for me to admit I’m scared to get back in the car.”
His admission shocks the hell out of me. I reach out and run a thumb over his cheek, never more in love with him than right now. “That’s okay. I’m scared too.”
He reaches out to my hips and pulls me closer toward him so he can kiss me. A brush of his lips and the scent of chlorinated water on his skin is all I need to feel right with him again. He starts to say something and then stops. “What?” I ask softly.
He clears his throat, licks his lips, and averts his eyes to the beach beyond. “When I get back in the car … will—will you be there?”
“Of course!” The words are out of my mouth and my arms are wrapped around his wet body instantly, a physical emphasis to my words. I feel his chest shudder and hear the hitch in his breath as he squeezes me tighter. I bring my fingers up and tease his hair with my nails as his face remains nuzzled under my neck.
I love you. The words are in my head, and I have to stop them from coming out of my mouth because the intensity of what I feel for him is indescribable. Unconditional love.
The distant sound of the doorbell ringing from inside the house has us pulling back from one another. I look at him confused. “It’s probably one of the security guys,” he says as I rise and he swims towards the steps.
“I’ll get it,” I tell him as I walk in the house, pulling my now wet shirt away from my body, glad I opted for the red tank top instead of the white one.
My hand is turning the knob, pulling on the slab of wood, when I hear Colton’s voice from outside tell me to “Wait!” but it’s too late. The door’s swinging open and unbeknownst to me, one of my worst nightmares is standing opposite me.
All I can do is sag my shoulders at the sight. Long legs, blonde hair, and a condescending smirk is all I catch before she starts to walk past me and then stops, angling her head over her shoulder to look back at me. “You can run along now, little girl. Playtime is over because Colton doesn’t need you anymore. He’s in good hands now. Momma’s here.”
My jaw drops open, her audacity renders me speechless. Before I can find my words, she breezes into the house like she owns the place, leaving me in the wake of her overpowering perfume.
“Colton?” I shout out at him the same time he walks into the foyer, the towel he’s using to dry his hair drops to the ground.
Several emotion
s flicker through his eyes, the most prevalent one being annoyance, but his face shows absolutely nothing.
And with Colton, when his face is that cold and devoid of emotion, it means a storm is brewing just beneath.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Tawny?” The ice in his voice stops me in my tracks but doesn’t even faze her.
“Colt, baby,” she says completely unaffected by the bite in his words. “We need to talk. I know it’s been a while and—”
“I’m not in the mood for your melodramatic bullshit so cut the crap.” Colton takes a step farther into the room. “You know you’re not welcome here, Tawny. If I wanted you here before, I would’ve invited you myself.”
I shrink back at the venom lacing his voice, but at the same time, I’m pissed. Pissed that she just waltzed in here—a home where I’m the only woman he’s ever brought—like she deserves to be here.
“Testy, testy,” she scolds playfully, unfazed by his complete disinterest. “I was so concerned about you and how you’re doing and if you’ve gotten your memory back yet that—”
“I don’t give a flying fuck about your concern! You have two seconds. Start talking or I’m throwing your ass out.” Colton takes another step toward her and I can see his grinding jaw and his complete callous disregard for her.
“Just because you’re pissed your recovery is going so slow—that you can’t remember important things—doesn’t mean you get to take it out on me.” Tawny lets out a condescending laugh and turns slightly to look over at me with disbelief in her eyes as if she’s saying “Really? He’s picked you over me?” before she says, “I’m sure this is amusing to you being his nursemaid and all, doll, but you’re no longer needed.”
I’m off the wall in an instant, a ball of anger flying at her, but Colton beats me to the punch. Rage emanates off of him in palpable waves as he grips her bicep. “Time to go!” he growls out as he starts to direct her toward the door. “You don’t come into my house and disrespect, Ry—”
“I’m pregnant.”
The words that float out of her mouth die in the sudden silence of the room, and yet I can see them vibrating within Colton. His body stops, fingers flex on her arm, and teeth grind. It takes a beat for him to catch his stride again, pulling her toward the front door.
“Good for you. Congrats.” He bites out, sarcasm dripping from his words. “Nice knowing ya.” He starts to open the front door as she yanks her arm free.
“It’s yours.”
Colton’s hand stills on the doorknob as my heart twists at the words coming from her lips. I’m watching this unfold—all of it right before my eyes—but I feel like a complete outsider, a hundred miles away. I watch his head sag down between his shoulders for a beat, notice his hands clench in fists at his sides, see the fury rage in his eyes as he turns ever so slowly around. His eyes dart over and hold mine for a beat, and what I see knocks the wind out of me. It’s not the rage they glisten with—no—it’s the disbelief laced apology he’s offering up to me. The apology that tells me deep down he fears her words are true. Lead drops into my stomach as the mask he’s let slip is reapplied, and he turns to direct his anger toward Tawny.
“You and I both know that’s not possible, Tawny.” He takes a step forward and I can see every ounce of restraint he has—how he’s trying so hard to not pick her up and physically throw her out. His eyes dart from her face to her stomach and then back up again.
“What?” she gasps, shock laced with hurt in her voice. “You don’t remember?” She holds a hand to her mouth, tears welling in her eyes. “Colton you and I … the night of Davis’ birthday party … you don’t remember that?”
My stomach wrenches because if I thought she might be acting—playing the part to get him back—she just stole the show with the hurt look on her face and desperation in her voice.
Oh my God. Oh my God. It’s my only coherent thought because my entire body trembles with every imaginable emotion possible.
“No,” Colton says, shaking his head back and forth, and the look on his face—the one that says if he keeps repeating no over and over this will all just be a nightmare—kills me. Tears into parts deep inside of me opening me up, preparing me for the onslaught of hurt to come.
“It’s the only possibility,” she says quietly, placing her hand over her midsection where I can see the slight bump now that her shirt is smoothed down. “I’m five months, baby.”
I have to fight the bile that rises in my throat as my faith falters. I have to force myself to breathe. To focus. To realize that this isn’t about me. That this is about Colton’s worst nightmare coming true on the heels of a truly magical night between us. But it’s hard not to.
All my mind can focus on is dates—days past—as her words sink their claws into me. Five months, five months, five months, I repeat over and over because time is so much easier to focus on than the world that’s just been shifted beneath my feet. When my mind can formulate coherent thoughts again, I realize it’s been a little shy of five months since we met. Fuck, it’s possible.
I tell myself she’s lying. That she’s trying to dig her hooks into Colton—catch the prize she wants more than anything—by pulling the I’m pregnant card. The oldest one in the book. But the evidence is there in her swollen belly and the terrified look on Colton’s face says it’s a possibility—that he’s reaching deep within the locked vault of memories and trying to find the one she’s telling him about. Fear flickers across his face, embeds itself in those eyes of his that all of a sudden refuse to look at me.
And no matter how much I want to, I can’t look away. It’s like if I keep staring at him, he’s going to look up at me and give me that smile he gave me moments ago in the pool and she’ll just disappear.
But it never comes.
He stands in the middle of us, motionless, lost in thoughts I can only imagine. The playful man I love from last night is nonexistent. I can see the cogs in his head turning, notice the wince of pain that I’m sure is from another headache hitting him … but if he’s completely frozen, then I’m fucking paralyzed.
Tawny’s eyes flicker over and assess me with complete disregard, before looking back at Colton, a soft smile on her face. “You drove me home from Davis’ house, asked to come in … we had sex, Colton. The first time we were drunk … desperate to be with each other again and didn’t use a condom.”
And if her dagger isn’t already breaking skin and pushing into my heart, she has to add the notion that they were together multiple times to twist it a little deeper.
“Before … when we dated before...” he clears his throat “...you used to be religious about taking your pill.” I don’t recognize his voice, and I’ve been on the receiving end of Colton’s wrath, but right now the absolute contempt in his tone sends shivers up my spine.
“I wasn’t on the pill,” she says softly with an unapologetic shrug as she takes a step toward him, the possible mother of his child. The gentle intimacy in her tone causes tears to spring in my eyes. She reaches out to touch Colton’s arm and he yanks it out of her reach.
His reaction and the unfettered panic in his eyes causes the reality of this all to begin to seep through my denial, the possibility that this isn’t a ploy to merely get him back.
I sag against the wall behind me, my ghosts and inadequacies as a woman threatening to rear their ugly head. I place a hand on my abdomen to stifle the pang I feel in my useless womb. The one that will forever remain empty. The one that can’t give him the only thing she can. I feel the beginnings of a panic attack—breath laboring, heart racing, eyes unable to focus—as I wonder if the man who professes to never want kids just might change his mind when faced with the possibility of one. It happens all the time. And if it does, then where does that leave us? Leave me? The woman who can’t give him that.
“No!” It falls from my lips in response to my silent thoughts.
Colton whips around to look at me quickly, distress etched in his features at my unexpected w
ords. And then she snorts out in disregard and adds gasoline to Colton’s fire.
“Get out!” He shouts so loudly I jump, and for a moment, because he’s facing me, I fear that he’s speaking to me. I force a swallow, his eyes flicking over me before he turns his back to me and points toward Tawny and then the door. “Get. The. Fuck. Out!”
“Colty …”
“Don’t you ever call me that!” he yells, grated steel in his voice as he raises his eyes to look toward where she’s not moved an inch. “No one gets to call me that! Do you think you’re special? Do you think you can just waltz in here and tell me you’re five fucking months pregnant? That I’d care? Why are you telling me now, huh? Because it’s too late for me to have a say in anything, so you think you’ve trapped me? Found your golden fucking ticket?” He begins to pace, lacing his fingers behind his head and blowing out a loud breath. “I’m not Willy fucking Wonka, sweetheart. Go find yourself another sugar daddy.”
“You don’t believe me?”
Colton whirls around in a flash, his gaze meeting mine and the void in his expressionless eyes startles me. Dead eyes look at me momentarily before he breaks our connection and strides back across the room to where Tawny still stands. “You’re goddamn right I don’t believe you. Quit the crap and get the fuck out with your bullshit lies.” He’s inches from her face, eyes glaring, and posture threatening.
“But I still love—”
“You don’t get to love me!” he bellows, fist slamming down on the sideboard next to him, vases rattling and noise resonating in the otherwise quiet of the house. Tawny lets out a sob and Colton remains completely unaffected by her outburst of emotion. “You don’t get to love me,” he repeats again so quietly that I can hear his pain beneath it, feel the desperation roll off of him in waves.
He reaches up and rubs his hands over his face. He looks out the window for a moment toward the tranquility of the ocean as I watch the storm rage inside of him. I’m rocked in the turbulence of his emotions without a lifeline to hold on to. When he looks back at Tawny, I can see so many emotions behind his slipping mask that I’m unsure which one he is going to grab and hold onto.
