Driven Collection

by K. Bromberg

  “So,” he says as he scoots a table next to me, “I have two options for you. Mint chocolate chip ice cream or chocolate kisses.”

  “You remembered!” I gasp.

  “Well when it comes to you and sweets, I have a hard time forgetting.” He smirks as he puts a hand on my back, urging me to sit up, and then slides himself behind me.

  A smile he can’t see spreads on my face as I think of Colton and his imaginative ways of eating a certain confection. I lean back into his bare chest, fitting myself to him, and reach out at the tray to grab a Hershey’s kiss. I unwrap it and pop it in my mouth, laying my head back onto his shoulder and groan at its heavenly taste.

  “If that’s all it takes to hear you make that sound, I’m buying you a truckload of them,” he breathes in my ear as he moves behind me, adjusting himself.

  “Want one?” I tease as I bring it to his lips and then take it away and put it in my mouth, moaning intentionally this time. He laughs and I give him a Hershey’s kiss for real this time. “A girl could get used to this,” I murmur, liking the warmth of him against me.

  We sit for a while and talk about families, travels, experiences, and work. I avoid the topic that I really want to delve into, knowing that his past is off limits. He is funny and witty and attentive, and I can feel myself falling deeper for him, entangling myself further in his tantalizing web.

  “Awesome, charismatic, and exciting,” Colton says, breaking the silence between us.

  I can’t help but laugh out loud. “Nope,” I say again, leaning back further into the warmth and comfort of his chest.

  “You’re never going to tell me are you?” he asks lifting a hand to brush hair off the side of my neck, exposing my bare skin so that his mouth can place a kiss there.

  “Nope,” I repeat, fighting the shiver that runs through me as he nuzzles his nose down to my ear.

  “How about addictive cock experience?” he murmurs, his breath tickling my skin.

  The laugh that bubbles in my throat falls to a sigh as he nips at my earlobe and sucks gently on the hollow spot just beneath it. “Hmmmm, that could work,” I manage as he wraps his arms around my chest, and I begin to run my fingers up and down the parts of his arms that I can reach. I angle my head further to the side, giving him more access to my sensitive skin as my nails cross a jagged line on his right forearm.

  “That’s a nasty scar,” I murmur. “What super-masculine thing were you doing to acquire that?” I cringe at the thought of how much it must have hurt.

  He’s quiet for a beat, kissing my temple and pressing his face to the side of mine so I can feel him swallow. “Nothing of significance,” he says then falls quiet again. “Do you surf, Rylee?” he asks, changing the subject.

  “Nope. Do you, Ace?” I take a sip of wine as he murmurs in assent.

  “Ever tried?” he asks, the rasp of his voice in my ear.

  “Uh-uh.”

  “I should teach you sometime,” he says.

  “Probably not the best thing to do for someone like me who’s scared of sharks.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” When I don’t respond, he continues, “Oh come on, it’d be fun. There aren’t any sharks out there that’ll bug you.”

  “Tell that to the people who’ve been chomped on,” I challenge, and despite the fact that he’s behind me, I cover my face in embarrassment when I say, “When I was little I was so scared of them that I never swam in our pool because I used to think they’d come out of the drain and eat me.”

  Colton laughs. “Oh, Rylee, didn’t anyone ever tell you that there are much more dangerous things on dry land?”

  Yes. You.

  As I try to think of a witty retort, my ear catches the song playing over the speakers and I murmur, “Great song.”

  Colton stills as he listens to the music, and I can feel his head nod against the side of mine. “Pink, right?”

  “Hmm-hmm. Glitter in the Air,” I respond, distracted as I listen to the words of one of Haddie’s and my all-time favorite songs. Colton runs his hands up my arms and starts to knead my shoulders. His hands are powerful and add just the right amount of pressure. “That feels like heaven,” I breathe as my already relaxed body turns to gel beneath his skillful fingertips.

  “Good,” he whispers. “Just relax.”

  I close my eyes and hand myself over to him, humming softly to the song. Colton runs his fingers down the line of my spine and rubs my lower back, my head lolling to the side at the sublime feeling.

  “Here comes the best part,” I say. I sing along as the words wash over me, moving me as they always do. “There you are, sitting in the garden, clutching my coffee, calling me sugar. You called me sugar.”

  “I don’t get it,” Colton says, “Why is that the best part?”

  “Because it’s the moment she realizes that he loves her,” I say, a soft smile on my face.

  “Why, Rylee, you’re a hopeless romantic, aren’t you?” he teases.

  “Oh, shut up.” I shift to swat him, but Colton grabs my wrist before I can, and pulls me into him. His lips slant over mine and make a languid sweeping pass before licking mine. He tastes of chocolate and beer and everything that is uniquely Colton. He cradles my head with one hand while the other runs aimlessly over my bare thighs. Fingertips graze softly, without urgency, or attention to any one spot. I could sit in this moment forever, his actions unraveling me.

  Colton brushes a kiss on the tip of my nose before resting his forehead to mine, his hand still cupping the back of my head, fingers still knotted in my hair, his breath fluttering over my lips. “Rylee?”

  “Hmm-hmm, Ace?”

  He flexes the hand in my hair. “Stay the night with me.” He says quietly.

  I still, holding my breath. Oh. My. I can feel the emotion behind his request and can sense a change from the last time he said it to me. He’s not saying it out of obligation but because this is what he wants..

  “I’ve never said that before and truly meant it, Rylee.” His voice is a hushed plea that tugs at my heart. He wraps his arms around me, cradling me in his lap, and pulls me with him as he leans back in the chaise, fingers playing in my hair. I remain silent, trying to clear the emotion from my voice before I speak.

  “Hmmm, I don’t think I could move even if I tried,” I murmur.

  “You’ll stay?” The eagerness in his voice surprises me.

  “Yes.”

  “In that case,” he muses, “I might have to take advantage of you again.”

  “Again?” I laugh. His response is to grab my hips, lift me up, and place me astride him. He situates me on him so that our bodies fit together perfectly, each movement from him traveling through my thin panties and hitting me in just the right spot.

  He sits up and kisses me forcefully, his tongue plunging between my parted lips, his hands pressing my body to him possessively. I grow dizzy wanting more of everything from him.

  “I. Want. You. So. Much. Rylee.” He pants between kisses down my neck. I bring my hands to his face, fingers touching coarse whiskers, and draw his head up to meet my eyes. “You’re addictive.”

  “I know,” I whisper, telling him with my eyes that I feel addicted to him too. The muscle in his jaw tenses momentarily before he crushes his mouth to mine, the connection between us a necessity like air.

  “Ride me,” he pants. Such a simple command, but the way he says it—as if the sun won’t rise in the morning if I don’t—has me pulling back. I stare into his eyes, so hypnotizing, so intense and so full of desire I wouldn’t deny him even if I could.

  So I begin to move, surrendering myself to him. Again.

  THE COOL AIR THAT WISPS over my skin is a stark contrast to the radiating heat pressing against me. My sleep-induced haze slowly clears from my mind as my eyes flutter open, startled by the natural light filtering in through the open windows.

  I start to shift in the sinfully comfortable bed, wanting to stretch my muscles that oddly feel sore, until I realize why.
Sex, sex, and more sex. A smug smile crosses my lips.

  Colton is wrapped around me like a vine. He is on his side, one leg bent and slung over mine, and his hand splays possessively over my bare chest with his palm cupping my breast. I turn to find his head half on my pillow, half on his.

  I study his face: the angles, the fan of thick, dark lashes against his golden skin, the curve of his nose. I reach over and brush an errant lock of hair off his forehead, careful not to disturb him. In sleep, Colton’s dark and dangerous aura is softened by his disheveled hair, the absence of the intensity he carries around like a badge of protection, and the lack of tension in his jaw. I enjoy catching this rare glimpse of him—vulnerable and relaxed.

  Staring at him, my mind drifts back to last night. I recall his complete and unyielding attentiveness to me and my every need. I think of the new experiences he introduced me to, and the pleasure he’s induced in me. My thoughts stray to leather restraints, vibrating eggs, and ice cubes inserted to melt as we became one, evoking that walk down the fine line of pleasure edged by pain. I think of how he showed me slow and soft before pushing me to the brink of oblivion with hard and fast. How, by the light of the moon, in this expanse of a bed, he hovered over me, eyes intense, voice beseeching, and asked me to submit to him. Asked that I trust him to know what my body can handle and which threshold to push it to. And in that moment, I was so captivated with him, I handed myself over to him without question, or second thought. I agreed, knowing he already dominated my mind, heart, and body.

  Afterward, as I drifted off to sleep, his warm body pressed against my back and his mouth pressed softly in my hair, I questioned my judgment. Before drifting off to sleep, I wondered what the hell I was getting myself into by accepting his seemingly innocent request, for what is simple under a blanket of moonlight never seems to be when the next morning dawns.

  Colton shifts beside me, rolling over so his back is toward me, and pulls the covers with him and off me. I shiver from the chill but am happy that I can now stretch out my overused muscles. I wince as I flex my feet and extend my legs. I definitely wasn’t treated like glass last night, but my body quite liked it too.

  I’m starting to get cold. I look over at the artfully sculpted lines of Colton’s back and I turn into him, tucking my body around him so I can enjoy the feeling of my bare skin against his. My chin rests on his shoulder and my breasts press up against his back as I curl my arms around him. I absently run my fingers across his chest, as I slowly sink back into sleep.

  I’m in the first stages of sleep when Colton suddenly emits the most gut-wrenching, feral cry I’ve ever heard. I would’ve remained frozen in shock but he bucks his body violently back against me, connecting his elbow against my shoulder. “No!” falls from his mouth in a strangled shout. He jumps from the bed and turns around, legs spread, knees bowed, arms bent, and hands fisted in front of his face. His face is the picture of terror: eyes wild and haunted, flickering, teeth clenched, and tendons straining in his neck. His chest heaves shallow breaths, body tense and vibrating with acute awareness as sweat beads on his forehead.

  I instinctively grab my shoulder where it is smarting with pain. The shock of what just happened is sinking in, my adrenaline is pumping, causing my body to shake. If I hadn’t witnessed this reaction from a nightmare before, from my kids, I would have been more startled than I am right now. If Colton didn’t have such a look of complete fear in his eyes, I would have laughed at him standing nude, looking like he’s ready to throw down. But I know this isn’t a joke. I understand that Colton has had a dream dredging up the past that silently chases him and continues to traumatize him on a daily basis.

  I roll my shoulder, pain still shooting through it. “Colton,” I say evenly, not wanting to startle him.

  I see his eyes slowly come into focus and the tension in his stance slowly abate. He turns his head and looks at me, a plethora of emotions in his eyes: embarrassment, shame, relief, fear, and apprehension. “Oh, fuck!” He shudders a breath, bringing his hands up to rub the fear from his face. The only sounds in the room are his heaving breaths, hand chafing over his stubble, and the ocean outside.

  “Fuuuccckkk!” he repeats again, his eyes narrowing on my hand rubbing my shoulder. I can see him clench and unclench his fists as he realizes he’s hurt me. I remain still as his eyes lower and his shoulders slouch. “Rylee—I—” he turns abruptly and grabs the back of his neck with his hand, pulling down. “Give me a fucking minute,” he mutters as he quickly strides into the bathroom.

  I gather the sheets up to my chest and watch him leave, wanting to reach out to him and tell him things he doesn’t believe or want to hear. I sit in indecision when I hear the unmistakable sound of Colton vomiting. A knife twists deep down in my gut, and I squeeze my eyes shut, wanting desperately to comfort him.

  The toilet flushes followed by a muttered curse, and then I hear the faucet turn on and the brushing of teeth. I rise from the bed, sliding Colton’s shirt on when I hear him sigh again. I enter the bathroom, needing to make sure he is okay. We stand frozen, as he focuses on the water running from the faucet. His angst is palpable and hangs in the air between us. Colton scrubs the towel over his face and turns toward me.

  When he drops the towel from his face, the eyes that stare back at me are not his. The ones I’ve come to love. They are dead. Cold. Devoid of emotion. The muscle in his jaw pulses and the cords in his neck strain as he works his throat.

  “Colton…” His glazed green eyes glare intently on mine causing my words to falter on my lips.

  “Don’t, Rylee,” he warns. “You need to leave.” His command is flat. As lifeless as his eyes.

  My heart lurches into my chest. What happened to him? What memory has reduced this vibrant, passionate man to nothing? “Colton,” I plead.

  “Go, Rylee. I don’t want you here.”

  My bottom lip trembles at his words, for he can’t possibly mean them after the evening we’ve just shared. I saw the emotion in his eyes last night. Felt from his actions how he feels about me. But now … all I can do is stare at him, the man before me is unrecognizable.

  I’m not quite sure what to do. I take a step forward and I hear his teeth grind. I’ve worked with traumatized children but I am way out of my element here. I look down at my clasped hands and whisper brokenly, “I just want to help.”

  “Get out!” he roars, causing my head to snap up in time to see his dead eyes spark to life with unfiltered anger. “Get the fuck out, Rylee! I don’t want you here! Don’t need you here!”

  I stand there frozen, his unprovoked anger immobilizing me. “You don’t mean that,” I stutter.

  “Like hell I don’t!” he yells, the sound echoing off of the stone tiles and reverberating. Our eyes hold in silence as I process his words. Colton takes a threatening step toward me and I just stare at him, shaking my head. He throws the towel with a curse, the clatter of bottles it knocks over ricocheting around the pin-drop quiet bathroom. His eyes angle back toward mine as he clenches and unclenches his jaw. When he speaks, his voice is chillingly cruel. “I’ve fucked you, Rylee, and now I’m done with you! I told you that’s all I was good for, sweetheart …”

  His brow creases momentarily as the tears that burn the back of my throat well in my eyes and spill over. His callous words turn my stomach and wring my heart. My head tells my legs to move—to leave—but my body doesn’t listen. When I just stand there, dumbfounded and shell-shocked, he grabs my bag from the bathroom counter and shoves it forcefully against my chest, propelling me through the door. “Out!” he grates through gritted teeth. His bare chest heaving. His pulse pounding in his temple. His fists clenched. “I’m bored with you already. Can’t you see that? You’ve served your purpose. A quick amusement to bide my time. Now I’m done. Get out!”

  Blinded by tears, I fumble with my bag and run blindly down the stairs. I can feel the weight of his stare on my back as I descend. I race through the house, my heart lodged in my throat and my he
ad an absolute mess. My chest hurts so bad that pain radiates in it as I drag in each labored breath. Thoughts elude me. Hurt engulfs me. Regret fills me, for I thought what we had meant so much more.

  I burst through the front door into the bright early morning sun, but all I feel is darkness. I stagger, drop my purse, and fall to my knees. I sit like that, staring at a beautiful morning, but seeing none of it.

  Letting the tears wash over me.

  Allowing the humiliation to consume me.

  Feeling my heart break in two.

  To J.P. -

  Thanks for your patience while I take on this challenge that's always been a dream of mine. Oh and hey, it's not just a hobby anymore...

  FUCKING DREAMS. JUMBLED PIECES OF time that tumble through my subconscious. Rylee’s here. Filling them. Consuming them. And fuck if I know why the constant sight of her in a place that’s usually clouded with such horrible memories fills me with a sense of calm—of what I think might be hope—allowing me to realize that I might actually have a reason to heal. A reason to overcome the fucked up things that lurk here. That the black abyss in my heart just might have the capacity to love. Her presence here in a place so dark lets me think the wounds that claimed my soul and have always been raw and festering just might be finally scabbing over.

  I’m dreaming—I know I’m dreaming—so how come she’s everywhere, even in my sleep? She’s robbing me of thoughts every minute of every goddamn day, and now she’s woven her way into my fucking subconscious.

  She pushes me.

  Unmans me.

  Consumes me.

  Scares the ever-loving shit out of me.

  She feels like the start of a race, stopping my heart and speeding it up simultaneously. She makes me think thoughts I shouldn’t. Digs deep into the black within me and makes me think in whens, not ifs.

  Fuck me!

  I must really be dreaming if I’m thinking fucking shit like this. When did I become such a pussy? Becks will hand my ass to me if he hears me talking shit like this. It can’t be anything more than just needing to be buried in her again. Have her warm body beneath me to sink into. Soft curves. Firm tits. Tight pussy. That’s all it is. I’ll be fixed then. My head will return to where it needs to be. Well, both heads actually. And once satisfied, I’ll be able to focus on something else besides useless shit like feelings and a heart beating that I know is incapable of giving or accepting love.