“Colt—” she whispers, twisting her head a little.
“Hush. Not yet.”
She makes a disappointed sound in the back of her throat, but clasps a hand over my hand. I hear her snoring not long after.
It’s a long time before I find sleep again, wondering what kind of fool I am to pass up such an obvious invitation. She wants me, I want her, we have mad chemistry. But I don’t just want a quick fuck. I don’t want a blow job in the backseat of a car, given by a girl whose name I’ll never even ask. I want more. I want something meaningful with India. She’s worth more. She’s not a hookup kind of girl. She’s not a back-alley fuck kind of girl. She’s not a bent over the arm of a couch after a fight kind of girl.
She’s quality. She’s got potential, a future. She has dreams.
I fall asleep wondering what she wants out of life, and realizing that’s why I waited, why I turned down her invitation: I want to know her dreams, I want to know what she wants, where she’s going.
When I wake up, she’s facing her closet, in the middle of pulling off the clothes she slept in. She still has the shorts on, and it’s a good thing I couldn’t see her last night, because the shorts are…not really a garment, in any sense of the word. Just a bit of cotton stretched across her hips and molded to the cheeks of her fucking incredible ass.
I realize she doesn’t know I’m awake, and I also realize I’m holding my breath. She shimmies out of the shorts, baring her ass for me. I’m hard, rock hard. No panties underneath, either. Now she’s naked, and she twists a little as she kicks the shorts off and toes them onto a pile of dirty laundry. The kick and twist gives me a tantalizing glimpse of her breast via sideboob, a hint of nipple, the rounded outer edge. I swallow hard as she turns to the dresser, and now I’ve got a full-profile vision of her. Thin, lithe, lovely. Full, heavy breasts, dark caramel skin. Wide brown areolae, flat nipples just begging to be kissed and licked. Trim hips, and a taut, muscular, bubble-shaped ass. Strong thighs, shapely calves. Hair is loose and wild, a profusion of black spirals. And god, her face, the beauty of her face in profile takes my breath away even more than her body does.
She withdraws a green thong from the drawer, and glances at me as she does so. Realizes I’m awake, and watching her. Twists to face me, giving me a front view, now. She’s trimmed close, between her thighs. The shadow of the V of her thighs is taunting me, beckoning me.
I just look at her. Let my gaze move up and then down and then back up, and her eyes are warm, dark, probing. Not shying away from mine. She looks me up and down too, blatantly. Returning the gesture. I’d kicked off the blankets, apparently, so I’m in nothing but a pair of shorts, and the evidence of my desire is obvious, clearly outlined. Her gaze goes to the bulge, then to mine.
“You’re beautiful.” It just pops out. I feel like an idiot stating the obvious, but I’ve thought it every day since I’ve been here. And right now, her bangin’ body on full display for me, I can think of nothing else.
She smiles at me, though. Ducks her head, grinning. “Thanks.” A glance up at me. “So are you.”
“I didn’t mean to watch,” I say, needing her to understand. “I just woke up and you were taking your clothes off, and—there was no way I could look away.”
“I understand.”
“I just wanted you to know, I’m not, like, a creeper or anything.”
She takes a step closer. “It’s fine, Colt. I wouldn’t have risked getting undressed with you in the room if I was worried about it.” Another step.
She’s less than a foot away now, and my every sense is on high-alert, attuned to her. I could reach out and touch her, take her in my arms and pull her down to me. Do a million dirty, wonderful things to her.
“About last night,” I start.
“You don’t have to explain,” she cuts in.
“No, I do. I wanted you so bad. Right now, I want you.” I sit up. Clench my fists on my knees.
Her eyes go to my erection, still raging, still visible as a bulge in my shorts. “I felt it last night, and I can see it now.” Her eyes flick to mine. “So why aren’t you moving on it?”
“Because…I want more than that with you. I’ve never had a real girlfriend before, India. Not someone I cared about. But you…you’re different.”
“How am I different?” She still has the green thong dangling from her fingers. She’s still naked, inches from me, testing me to my limits.
“Jesus, India, you’ve got to put on clothes.” I mutter this, because the majority of me doesn’t want her to. “You’re not a girl I’d just hook up with. And that’s all I’ve ever really done, is hook up. You’re better than that. More than that. And I want that with you.”
“So you’re saying you want to wait to have sex because you want to get to know me?”
I sigh. “Yes, that’s what I’m saying.”
She laughs. “I think that’s a dream come true for most girls, to hear a guy she likes say that. But you know how frustrated I am, right now? This is the second time I’ve all but thrown myself at you and been shot down.”
“I’m not shooting you down, India.”
She furrows her brow. “Yeah, you kind of are. Sweetly, and for a really great reason. But Colt…I want you. I want you to touch me. I want to reach into your shorts and…” She shakes her head, cutting off. “And you’re just sitting there, got that big ol’ hard-on going, me naked in front you, flat out telling you I want you, I want this. And you’re not making a move.”
“You think this shit is easy?” I shake my head. “It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done, keeping my hands to myself.”
A moment, then. Her eyes searching mine. Mine searching hers. “You for real? You want something long-term with me?”
“Hell yeah.”
“And you for real want to get to know me—” That phrase is heavily emphasized, almost sarcastic, “before we sleep together.”
“Yes.”
“You’re crazy.” But her smile is bright, brilliant, and hopeful. “But I’ll play your game.”
“It’s not a game, India.”
“I know. I guess I don’t see why we can’t get to know each other and get it on.”
“Because once I get a taste of you, I won’t be thinking of anything except getting more of you. Not for a long-ass time.”
I’m not sure that helped, judging by the excitement that lights up her features.
“Oh,” she breathes. “It’s like that?”
“It’s like that.”
“So I’d better cover up, huh?”
“Before I come in my pants just looking at you, yeah.”
“I could help you out with that.”
“Don’t tempt me, woman. I’m trying to be the good guy, here.”
“Oooh, the bad boy is trying to be good.” She’s teasing me, on so many levels.
She tags a robe off the top of a laundry basket full of clean clothes, shrugs into it, sadly but prudently covering her glorious body.
“So, I’ve been wondering. Why doesn’t Callie want this to happen?” I gesture between us. “What’s she got against white people?
Another smile and my heart flutters. “It ain’t because you’re white. Not really. It’s more because you’re part of the Bishops. She’s worried about me,” she says, sitting on the bed beside me.
“I’m not exactly part of the gang.”
“You’re Split’s friend. That’s all that really counts to her. She’s just protecting me.”
“That’s what friends do, I guess.”
She nods. “She’s afraid I’ll get attached to one of Split’s boys, and then—” India shrugs, waves a hand. She doesn’t really need to finish the thought.
I nod. “I know what she means. After what I experienced, it makes sense.”
“There’s history behind it, though.” India returns her attention to me. “Callie had a brother, Isaac. Split grew up next door to Callie, and me on the other side. Split and Isaac were like brothe
rs—closer than brothers, really. The three of them started the Bishops together. Split’s mom is…not a good person, so he was at Callie’s most of the time. Cleo is like a mom to him, only one he’s ever really had. Him and Callie have been together forever, their whole lives. Never was much of a question about that.” She blinks back tears. “And Isaac and me…” The way she trails off says everything that needs to be said.
I don’t like where this is going. “What happened?”
She nods. Her tight spiral curls bounce. “They were out with the other guys. Some kind of beef with some other gang, the usual shit. Split and T-Shawn came home carrying Isaac and they were all bleeding. Shot up bad. Isaac died in his own living room. Cleo tried her best, and Mama too, but they knew, they both knew it was too late, even for an ambulance. Split blames himself, even though he’s never really said what happened. Can’t forgive himself for letting Isaac die.” A long, shuddering breath. “They carried him two miles to get back home, even though they were both shot too.”
“Were you—there?”
She nods again. “Yeah. I was…I had Isaac’s head on my lap. I watched him…I watched him—”
“Fuck. I’m sorry, I—”
She shakes her head, tries to smile, blinks hard. “It’s just a sensitive subject. For all of us, but for Split most of all.”
“Are you worried?” I wonder where the question came from, but now that I’ve asked it, I can’t take it back.
“About?”
“What Callie is worried about.”
“Oh.” She bobs her head side to side. “Yes, and no. I’m an optimist. I try to believe the best. I want to get out of the ’hood. I want to make something of myself. I want to find a man who ain’t like the others in the Bishops. Nothing wrong with them, necessarily, but…that’s all they know. That’s all they’ll ever know.”
“And you want more.”
She nods. “I want more.”
“Me too.” I hear myself say it, even though I hadn’t even dared think it to myself until now.
“You do?” Once again, she sounds surprised.
I laugh, a little self-deprecatingly, a little sarcastically. “Yeah, I mean I never thought I’d be…doing what I’m doing. I’m not exactly sure what it is I do want. But I want more. I’m from the white suburbs outside Detroit. My dad is a senator. It’s not like I moved to New York and went, ‘Hmmm, I sure do want to join an inner-city gang.’”
India eyes me. “A senator? Like in the Senate in D.C.?”
I shrug. “Yeah. Don’t get too excited, though. I refused to go to college and he disowned me.”
There’s more to it, of course, but I really don’t want to get into all that shit. Not now, anyway.
But she persists. “You got disowned for not going to college?” she asks, compassion and confusion in her voice.
I nod. “I mean, it’s a complicated situation. Even my mom, a career stay-at-home mother, has a college degree. But I’m just—I’m not cut out for college. Never have been, never will be. My dad couldn’t accept that, and one thing led to another, and…here I am.” I shrug.
“So what do you want?”
I think about her question, and look at her out of the corner of my eye. Her long legs are tucked under one thigh, and her hair is loose and wild and incredible, a massive explosion of thick black spiral curls around her face and shoulders and hanging to mid-spine.
What do I want? Besides India, that is?
The answer emerges on its own. As I speak it, I find the truth rupturing up through me and into my consciousness. “I want to be a mechanic. I want to own my own garage. I want to custom-tune hot rods and rebuild classics.”
“You can do that?”
I nod. “Yeah. I’m good with cars. I can take apart an engine blindfolded and put it back together so it works better than it ever did.”
“Really?”
“Sure. It’s what I was good at. It was more than just a hobby. It was really all I had.”
India twists to face me. I turn as well, and our knees brush. She pulls herself closer to me and her gaze is dark and serious.
“You’re gonna get that garage.” Long, thin, elegant fingers toy with the knot of her robe.
The edges have fallen loose a bit, giving me a tantalizing glimpse of her fucking amazing tits, and I find myself hardening, glancing at the hint of cleavage, trying mentally to justify a way to let myself have her despite what I said.
“I hope so,” I say.
She shakes her head, curls bouncing. “No, Colt. You’re gonna. You’re too good for that shit.” She points at my shoulder.
While I had been talking with India I’d almost forgotten about the pain in my shoulder—she’s just that distractingly beautiful.
“What do you want, India?”
She ducks her head, lifts one delicate shoulder. “It’s silly.”
“No, it’s not.”
“You don’t even know what I was gonna say!” she protests, laughing.
“It doesn’t matter. It won’t be silly.”
“A model.” She whispers it. “I want to be a model.”
“You totally could be. You’re so gorgeous, I swear magazines would be tripping over each other to sign you up.”
She laughs, and it’s a sweet sound. “That ain’t how it works. You sign up with an agency, go to calls and hope for a call back. But I think I could do it. I’m tall and naturally thin. I’ve got exotic features, or so I’ve always been told.”
“So why don’t you try it?” I ask.
She tries to pull away, but I feel a rush of daring, and grab her, locking her close to me. She doesn’t pull away. The robe, the fucking robe isn’t staying closed, and she doesn’t seem to mind.
“I’m scared,” she whispers, resting her head against my chest. “What if they say no?”
“Don’t let them say no. Keep trying until they say yes.”
“It’s just a dream.” She says this like it’s an excuse. Or a reason.
“That’s why you gotta work to make it real.”
Her head tilts up, her gaze finds mine. “Which is what you’re doing, huh?” Her voice is sharp.
“I’m just saying.” I smile in a pathetic attempt to defuse the sudden tension.
“Well, I’m just saying too.” Her smile in response is soft, a little sensual and no longer sharp.
“So how about we make each other a promise that we’ll both work as hard as we can to make our dreams a reality?” I suggest.
“So what are you gonna do to get that garage?” she asks.
“Save money. Getting a space is the biggest step. I need a hell of a lot of money to buy or rent a space. I’ve got some, enough for a space, but then I still have to get all the tools and equipment, and that takes more than I have. And then I gotta get the clientele. So, all the shit I’ve been through, all the money I’ve saved up, and I’m still only maybe halfway there.”
I have my back to the wall, and India is between the side wall and me, her head against my shoulder, curled in against me. Her head is tipped up so she can look at me, one small warm hand on my bare chest. I have one hand on her hip, almost casually, yet my heart thunders. Something about this girl has me mixed up; girls don’t make my pulse thunder, they don’t make my thoughts go wobbly, they don’t make my crotch throb with just a look. But India? She’s different. She does all that and more.
“What’s your plan in terms of becoming a model?” I ask her.
She lets out a breath. “I’m thinking cosmetology school. I like everything to do with make-up, and maybe someday I can go into the city and go to a call or something. I’ve got my job at Walgreens and I’m trying to save money for school, but it’s gonna take a long time. You know?”
I nod. “Me too. Kickin’ it with Split and T-Shawn hasn’t all been bad, and I owe him for getting me clear of some…well, some unpleasant shit. I owe him. I keep thinking I’ve got enough, because I’ve been stashing away as much as I can, but I sometimes
go looking at garages and whatever, checking out spaces, pricing out the equipment, and it always adds up to more than I’ve got. And being young, no credit cards or credit history, I’ve got zero chance of a loan, so cash is my only option. And no matter how much I save, it’s never enough.”
A silence falls between us. I’m thinking about the future, and I think India is, too.
Abruptly, India lifts up, leans in close, Her arms go around my neck and she’s pulling me toward her. She’s being gentle because of my shoulder, but I can feel urgency in her actions. Strong and demanding, her hands are soft and warm in the hair at the back of my head, guiding me inexorably to her. Warm wet soft lips mash against mine, and her tongue slides between my lips. She’s not holding back.
God in heaven, kissing her is like finding a whole new universe, it’s like drifting away into bliss. I lose myself in the kiss. Her breasts squish soft against my chest, and her hips are now wedged between my thighs, hipbones hard against mine. She knows what she wants. And, holy shit, so do I.
“Damn,” she breathes, barely breaking away far enough to move her lips. “You kiss good.”
I just breathe a laugh and kiss her again. Harder. Showing her what a kiss really is. I bury myself into the sensation of her arms around me, of her hands sliding under my shirt to feather against my skin.
My fingers find the edge of her robe, sneak under the cotton, find bare skin. Explore, seek, hunt. She’s moaning into the kiss, lifting up to get closer, begging for more. I’m lost. There’s no way I can stop now, no way to go back, now.
I need this.
Jesus, I need this.
But then the front door opens. “Hello!” It’s Maya. “I brought dinner. Thai from down the street. I hope you like pad thai.”
India pulls away reluctantly, sitting up, fixing her hair, pulling her robe closed. Sliding off the bed, ducking out of the room with a quick backward glance at me, a secret smile just for me, because we both know we’ve started something big, something hot and real and intense.
Chapter 9: The Last Night There’ll Ever Be
Falling for Colton (Falling #5) Page 14
