Her eyes are heady, her mouth swollen, and her nipples so goddamn hard that my mouth falls to them again as I reach between us and bring the head of my cock to her slit. I rub it up and down slowly, sucking hard at the same time.
“Oh, God. Oh, Colby.” She holds on to my shoulders, stilling beneath me as I work her body like my own damn instrument. Stroking, sucking, licking, pleasing every inch of her.
Bringing my mouth to the side of her head, my teeth nibbling on her ear, I say, “Spread your legs, Sage. Wide.”
She nods and moves her body so she’s completely spread for me.
I press my forehead against hers and say, “Grab on to my neck and hold me in place. I want to watch your eyes as I slip my cock inside of you. I want to see you take me all in.”
Slowly, I push my erection inside her, wanting to die a very happy death with every inch. It’s been so damn long since I’ve been inside a woman that this feels like absolute heaven. We’ve gotten off together, but nothing like this, nothing this good.
When I’m fully inside her, I still, letting her adjust to my thickness. “I’m going to be honest,” I breathe out. “I’m not going to last long.”
“Me neither,” she answers as she starts to pant. “I’m right there. Move once and I’m falling over.”
Her pussy starts to spasm, and fuck if it doesn’t feel amazing.
Wanting to follow close behind her, I pump my hips, pulling my cock almost all the way out and then slamming hard inside her. With each thrust, her head falls from side to side, eyes shut, pleasure morphing her face.
“Yes, Colby. Yes, right there.” Her fingers sink into my skin as her moans grow louder and louder.
“So close. This pussy, fuck, Sage, so tight, so perfect.” I drive harder inside, my vision starting to tunnel as a wave of pleasure starts to ripple up my spine. “Fuck, I’m going to come. Where are you, sweetheart?”
“Right . . . there . . . yes,” she screams and moves her hips with mine, pulling my orgasm out of me.
My stomach bottoms out, my dick pulsing, as I fall over the precipice, my entire body feeling like it’s floating on a cloud.
Slowly, I move my hips in and out, dragging out our orgasms until we have nothing left to give.
“Shit.” I look at her, smiling. “That was . . . fuck, Sage.”
She lifts her hand to my face where she slowly traces my cheek. “That was amazing, Colby.”
“It was.”
Sincerity crosses over her face, and I lose my breath when tears slip from her beautiful eyes. I’m about to ask what’s wrong, but she says, “I’m so glad I met you. You’ve made me so happy these last few months.”
Still inside of her, I lean down and kiss her lips. “You’ve made me happy, sweetheart.”
Continuing to stroke my face, she locks me in place, not letting me leave my position. She studies me for a few heartbeats before she licks her lips and says, “I love you, Colby.”
Everything around us stills as her words sink in. The only other person who’s ever said that to me is Rory, and she’s the only person I’ve said it to. But in this moment, with this girl slowly working her way into my life, I can honestly say I feel the same way.
I press my lips against hers one more time, loving the way she tastes, and with happiness feeling my chest, I say, “I love you too, Sage.”
* * *
Colby: It happened.
Ryan: What happened?
Colby: Seriously? You ask me every single day of my life.
Ryan: Wait . . . did you . . .
Colby: *Nods*
Ryan: You got the freaking panini without me?? How could you? I told you I could go on Thursday. What is wrong with your self-control?
Colby: You know, your blonde really shows sometimes.
Ryan: Soo . . . you didn’t get the panini without me?
Colby: NO! Sage and I had sex. Jesus.
Ryan: WHAT?!?
Colby: Do I really have to type it again? You know I hate this shit.
Ryan: TELL ME EVERYTHING!
Colby: No.
Ryan: Did she orgasm?
Colby: Of course she fucking orgasmed. What kind of question is that?
Ryan: Got you to talk about it.
Colby: You’re really annoying.
Ryan: And yet, I’m still your best friend.
Colby: Best friend?
Ryan: Don’t you dare deny it or try to tell me it’s Stryder or Bent. It’s me. I’m claiming the title and that’s final. I would appreciate a T-shirt with our faces on it that says best friends forever.
Colby: No.
Ryan: God, I hate it when you get all one-worded on me. It’s super annoying.
Colby: I’m glad we both annoy each other.
Ryan: So . . . tell me more. Was it everything you ever hoped for?
Colby: We’re not doing this.
Ryan: Please!
Colby: No.
Ryan: Lighten up.
Colby: Best friends know when to quit.
Ryan: Not this best friend. Nice try. At least tell me this . . . was it missionary?
Colby: Jesus Christ.
Ryan: It was, wasn’t it? You totally looked her in the eyes while sliding inside of her, didn’t you? Hands interlocked? Why am I picturing this so well in my head? Is that weird?
Colby: I’m saying bye now.
Ryan: I am so right! Aren’t I? Just say it. Just admit to it. Come on.
Colby: No.
Ryan: Come on . . . just tell me I’m right. Say it.
Colby: Don’t expect to hear from me for a week. We’re on a break.
Ryan: Don’t you dare Ross Geller me. Just give me an answer.
Colby: No.
Ryan: I have all afternoon to text you, nothing better to do. Tell me.
Colby: No.
Ryan: Yes.
Colby: No.
Ryan: Yes – I can do this all day.
Colby: Fine! Yes, it was missionary. Happy?
Ryan: Very much so. Have a good day, bestie.
Chapter Eighty-Six
RYAN
“What’s up.”
“Hey,” I cough into the phone. “Uh, I don’t think I can make the barbecue tomorrow night.”
“Why?” Colby asks. “Wait, are you sick?”
I cough some more. “Just a little, but I’ll be okay. I don’t want to make anyone else sick. I’m finishing my shift here at the show and then I’m taking the day off tomorrow to get better. Figured going to a barbecue won’t help.”
“What kind of sick are we talking about?”
“Sore throat. I think it’s a post-nasal drip situation. So much snot, Colby. So much snot.”
He chuckles. “Thanks for the details.”
“You asked. You know I don’t hold anything back.”
“Well, you sound like shit. Don’t you think you should take tonight off?” he asks, concern in his voice. What a stand-up guy.
“I would but taking two nights off won’t do well for me, plus I can’t call in this short of notice.”
“Sneeze on one of the girls, then they’ll send you home.”
“Now there’s an idea.” My Uber driver pulls up to the theater, and I thank him quickly before exiting the car. I’ll tip him after I get off the phone. “I just got to work, so I should go, but thought I would give you the heads-up.”
“Okay. Sage will be upset. You know she was looking forward to seeing you. She hasn’t seen you in a long time.”
“I know. I miss her.” I heft my purse on my shoulder and make my way through the back entrance of the theater, using my employee key card. “But the last thing you guys need is to be sick, especially since you’re probably going at it like bunnies now, am I right?”
“Just when I was feeling bad for you, you go and say something like that.”
I chuckle, my lungs constricting on me, causing a nasty cough to fly out of my mouth. “Ugh, sorry. I should go.”
All annoyance leaves Colby’s
voice. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yup. All good.” I hold back the cough that wants to escape me, my voice tight. “Just going to drink some tea. Talk to you later.”
“All right. Let me know if you need anything.”
We hang up, and I make my way to my little makeup station where I slouch in the chair, the bright bulb lights shining on me, highlighting the bags under my eyes and the dryness of my red nose from blowing it every few minutes.
Like I said, so much snot.
“Hey girl.” Leah comes strolling up to me, takes one look and slowly backs away. “You look like you were hit by a truck.”
“Thanks.” I rest my head in my hand and shut my eyes.
“What happened to you?”
“The post-nasal drip. It has taken over my body, seeped into my brain, and has made everything fuzzy.”
Leah makes her way to the makeup vanity and leans against it, arms crossed, wearing her short purple silk robe. “Mucus doesn’t do that.”
“This mucus does.” I rub my eyebrows where it feels like there is a hammer trying to erupt out of my forehead. “I already said I can’t come in tomorrow.”
“Why are you here?”
“Tera couldn’t make it in on such short notice. So I’m going to wear this.” I lean over to my purse and pull out the same mask dentists wear, planning to wear it to cover my mouth tonight.
“You are not.”
“Yes, I am. You know Amanda; she’s going to bitch about the fact that I’m sick, and I’ll never hear the end of it.”
Slowly, Leah nods her head. “You’re right. She will.” Leah tilts her head from side to side stretching. “I’m so sore.”
“If you say it’s from sex I’m going to smack you.”
She’s silent.
“Ugh,” I groan. “Come on, everyone is getting sex, and here I am trying to live my life, avoiding men, growing a healthy self-image, and all I want is penis.”
She chuckles. “Well, you’re definitely not getting penis with mucus dripping out of your nose.” She tosses a tissue at me that I quickly use to wipe the snot away.
“What?” I hold out my arms. “This isn’t attractive?”
“Not even in the slightest. But you know, Tyler was telling me his friend Donovan is single now and looking to date.”
“No.” I shake my head, feeling foggier by the second. “I’m not going out with anyone.”
“He’s so hot though, has an amazing body, and he has money.”
“Oh wonderful, because money is on the top of my list of must needs when it comes to a man.”
Leah examines her freshly manicured nails. “Doesn’t hurt.”
“I don’t want a hot guy with money. Been there, done that. I want someone who’s going to want to be with me, hang out with me, take me out to lunch, care for me.”
Leah rolls her eyes. “You want Colby.”
“No.” Although, if I think about it and connect all the dots, maybe I do want someone like Colby. And is that such a bad thing? To want someone genuine and kind, someone with a heart of gold, who would do anything for me?
It’s not.
I’ve been through horrible relationships, survived some of the toughest criticism and bullying growing up. I think it’s time I wait to find someone who will treat me like a queen, and not by showering me with gifts, but someone who will drown me in their kindness and sweet gestures.
I deserve a Colby.
“Would it be bad if I wanted a guy who had the same values as Colby?” I ask, biting on the tip of my finger.
“No,” Leah answers honestly. “But good luck finding someone like him. He’s a once-in-a-lifetime guy.” He is. That’s exactly what Colby Brooks is. But he’s not my once-in-a-lifetime guy. There must be another man out there like him. And I’ll find him. Because I deserve a Colby.
* * *
“Fast money,” I groan with tissues stuffed up my nose and a water bottle clutched to my chest. Steve Harvey is the only good thing in my life right now and Family Feud. I’m on episode five so far for the day, my second box of tissues, and a round of cold medicine in my stomach.
Taking the night off was a really smart idea. There is no way I would have been able to make it through work later on tonight. I’m barely making it through lunch.
Steve Harvey is funny, at least in my delirium he is. I would be so good at this game. I would be the leader of the group, that’s how good I am. And if I were to assemble a team, if it was a friends group instead of family, my right-hand girl would be Rory, then Stryder, then Colby and finally, I would take on Rowdy because he’s the wild card, the guy you need who gets the obscure answers that only four people answer with. We would kick ass.
If only Family Feud didn’t require us to be a real family.
Damn you, Steve Harvey.
There is a knock at my door. Ugh. I don’t want to get up.
“Not here,” I call out.
“Ryan. It’s me, Colby.”
Colby? What the hell is he doing here? I quickly assess my attire and cringe. Holey sweatpants, oversized sweatshirt, hair tied on top of my head in a frantic mess, and absolutely zero makeup.
“Uh, what are you doing here?” I call out, sitting up on my bed.
“Don’t make me talk through the door.”
“I’m sick,” I call out, inching off my blowup mattress while looking around my apartment. There are tissues everywhere, one of my camping chairs is flipped over from when I tripped over it this morning, and there are dirty dishes in my bathroom sink. This is not good.
“Open the damn door, Ryan.”
“Uh”—I give my room another once-over—“give me a few minutes.” Or an hour. Or maybe come back when my place doesn’t resemble Snotville. Now, that’s a plan.
He bangs on the door, the force of his fist startling me. “I’ll be obnoxious until you open up.”
God, my neighbors are going to flip. I hobble to the door, my legs half asleep from being crossed a good portion of the afternoon. Unlocking the locks, I swing the door open just in time to halt one more pound to the wood.
Colby stands in front of me, wearing his flight suit and carrying a bag. He looks me up and down and the scowl in his brow softens.
I cover my face with my hands and say, “Don’t look at me. I’m not wearing any makeup.” Turning away, I go to my bed where I bury my head in my pillow and turn toward the wall.
The soft click of my door shutting echoes through the room, followed by the sound of Colby’s boots approaching the bed. He sits down next to me, places his hand on my hip, and rolls me so I’m forced to face him. I throw my pillow over my face and say, “Why are you here?”
Not saying a word, he takes the pillow from my hands and tosses it to the other side of my bed. I quickly cover my face with my sweatshirt-covered arms. “Stop it,” I scold.
Leaning over some more, he grips both of my arms and pins them to the bed, his body slightly hovering over mine.
Eyes blinking rapidly, I look up at him. His pupils are wide, his irises dark and sinister, but there is a sense of calm in his features as his eyes roam over my face, taking his time, almost as if he’s memorizing every curve.
“Colby, stop.”
Gently, his thumbs rub my wrists, sending a soothing warm ripple through my body, his assessment making me feel raw and exposed—a feeling I absolutely hate.
I’ve had to deal with that feeling for so many years. I was so grateful when I was finally allowed to wear makeup, because it’s my safety blanket, my mask, my ability to stay on the right side . . . It provided the ability to fool people into thinking I’m perfect rather than the little girl who was called chunky her entire childhood, or the girl who was made fun of at parties, or the girl whose boyfriends constantly cheated on her.
Right now, with Colby intently taking me in, I can feel all those emotions resurfacing, and I hate it.
I. Hate. It.
I try to shift out of his grasp, but he doesn’t
let me go. Instead, he holds me in place.
Panic starts to set in. “Colby, let go. Stop looking at me.”
I close my eyes, hoping that will help. Maybe if I don’t see him, he might not see me.
“Open your eyes, Ryan.”
“Will you just let me go?” I snap, doing everything in my power to release myself, but he tightens his grip.
“Open your damn eyes, Ryan.” His voice is sharp, commanding, and it reminds me of something Rory once told me years ago when she was dating Colby. He has this voice that he pulls out only on occasion, a voice that will send a shiver from the tips of your toes to the top of your head, and there is nothing you can do but listen to him when he uses it.
It has the same effect on me.
Despite the war raging inside me, my insecurities surfacing and the need to bury myself in a hole, I open my eyes to find the most sincere look on Colby’s face, soft and full of concern. My breath hitches in my chest as I try to bring air into them, the panic deep within me rising and rising until Colby opens his mouth.
“You look beautiful, Ryan.”
Everything inside me comes to a halt, my body turns numb, my blood no longer pumping, my lungs no longer taking in air as his words float into my ears and trying to register in my brain.
I what? I’m sick, I look revolting, I haven’t showered since yesterday, and I know without even going near the bathroom mirror, that beautiful would not—could not—describe me.
I blink a few times, trying to understand if I heard him correctly. He must sense my confusion, because without skipping a beat, he repeats himself. “You look beautiful, Ryan.”
I search his eyes, looking between them, trying to find the humor in them, or the lie, or the pity, but when I come up short, my eyes start to well up with tears.
You’re not the right shape to wear that.
Stop eating all that junk food. You’ve grown another size larger.
You’re not his type.
Boys do not want fat girls, Ryan.
If you shed some more pounds, you might be pretty.
Luckily you’re smart, Ryan. It’s good you’ve got that going for you.
The Duets Page 70
