by Sylvia Fox
You know what? Scratch that embarrassment part, too.
Honestly, I can’t remember a time the way I feel about Colt has ever embarrassed me. He’s one hell of a sexy man. My attraction to him was inevitable the minute I became woman enough to notice.
I used to fantasize about him taking my virginity. It was all totally romanticized and very much the kind of stuff a little girl would dream up, filled with sappy music and dramatic confessions of love. But then, once I gave my virginity to someone else in one of those typical, fumbling and awkward experiences, my fantasies about Colt switched over to something a little more elicit.
Nowadays? My Colt fantasies are downright dirty.
Remember how I said he might be the one person I thought I was looking forward to seeing this weekend? I take that back now. I’m not sure I can look this man in the face after the things I’ve imagined him doing to me over the last few years.
You know what I need? More liquor. I throw back the rest of my drink and wander back to the bar to make myself another. Outside, the storm rattles against the windows, the rest of the snowflakes wanting in to join their friends melting into a puddle around my boots. Maybe it’ll all turn out okay anyway. Maybe everyone will end up snowed in for the whole weekend and I can just go back to Colorado State without having to face the passive aggressive comments that will start flying at me from every direction as soon as my family gets here.
Except then I wouldn’t get to see Colt.
Now that I’m sufficiently buzzed, I make a beeline for my favorite picture of all time. This particular picture sits on the long mantel over our stone fireplace and has been the highlight of one too many fantasies since the very moment it was taken. It’s just me and Colt and even though I’m way too old to be doing it, I’m sitting on his lap. I remember the day so clearly. His proximity intoxicated me. His scent enveloped me. His hard angles and strong arms fascinated me. But most importantly, I was totally and completely aware of his dick and just how close it was to my ass.
If you know what you’re looking for, you can see it written all over my face, but that isn’t all there is to see. The thing I love most about this picture is that I swear Colt was just as aware of me as I was of him. We’re both smiling at the camera, but there’s something so sexually charged about the way he’s holding me, the way I’m leaning in…
Just staring at it now makes me hot. I down the rest of my drink and set the empty glass on the mantel. My hands move on auto-pilot, one squeezing my breast and tweaking a nipple while the other slides into my pants while I stare at the hard line of Colt’s jaw in the picture. I close my eyes and imagine Colt’s hands on me, his tongue on my clit, his dick pressing against my pussy.
My breath quickens as I draw little circles on my clit and I swear I’m about to have one of the most mind-blowing orgasms of the last year when the front door swings open. A blast of cold air jets into the living room and I yank my hand out of my pants and spin as someone walks through the door, looking down as they stomp snow off their feet.
And by someone, I mean the one and only Colt Barrett.
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