The Driven Series Boxed Set - Limited Edition (Driven #1-4)

by K. Bromberg

  Can you handle me, Rylee? You fix the broken but there’s no hope left here. Can you live with that? Can you handle temporary when your eyes say you’re a forever? Do you want me? Can you live with sex and secrets and a selfish son of a bitch who will use you in the end?

  Tell me no. Please tell me no because I can’t find it in myself to walk the fuck away like I should. Make the choice for me. Push me away. Hurt me.

  She holds my gaze and then lifts her chin in a subtle nod.

  Fuck! Every part of my body screams the word, each one holding a different meaning to the reaction.

  She just said yes, and I swallow the fact that my warnings were all in my head. My excuse to fall back and ease my guilt later when I walk away.

  But right now? Right now, I’m taking what she’s offering. Restraint obliterated and my dick in command.

  Add another demon to the pile within because I sure as fuck don’t deserve a quick stop in Heaven before I take the long ride to Hell, but I’m taking it.

  Without thought, my hands frame her face and my lips are on hers. I’m hungry for the taste of her, desperate for the feel of her. Smooth skin, gentle moans, soft against hard.

  She’s like a fix to an addiction. I thought if I had a taste, I’d want it less, but fuck me, all I can think of is more. Take more, want more, feel more, need more.

  One hand is on her neck, the other on her back, and I pull her against me, need her against me from chest to knee. My mouth takes, nips, and sips. Her reactions spur me on. The moan in her throat when I suck on her tongue. The arch of her back when I tug on her lip with my teeth. Her body begs for the things her lips refuse to ask me for. And fuck if it’s not the hottest thing to know she wants this as desperately as I do, but I need to be in control here. Need to own the situation and the shit I keep pushing out of my head.

  Her hands fist my shirt, need burning a hole through me, my dick aching, my body waiting to claim. In reflex, I grab her hands and pin them above the wall over our heads so she’s completely open to me.

  Mine to control. To set the pace. To prevent her from revealing the shit that needs to stay behind lock and key.

  I bring my free hand down to hold her chin so I can brand her lips again. Kiss her senseless so she has no other fucking option than to say yes to the question I so desperately want to ask. But when my fingers hold her there, her eyes flutter up to look into mine, dark lashes framing the most unique of colors. And although my dick is rock hard and wanting to act, I stumble over thoughts I don’t mean to say but that fall out of my mouth before I can stop them.

  “Not inconsequential, Rylee. You could never be inconsequential.” I close my eyes and rest my forehead against hers to give myself a moment to try and figure out what the fuck is wrong with me. “No—you and me—together, that would make you mine. Mine.”

  My confession shocks me. I mean it’s one thing to think the words and another fucking thing to say them. Hell yes, they’re true, but since when do I say crap like this? Give a woman a drawer for her shit when I only plan on letting her pass through the ever-revolving bedroom door.

  My honesty scares the shit out of me. Makes me question when I never second guess myself.

  I take a deep breath and step back, releasing her hands still held by mine, our eyes never breaking. And I don’t know what it is now that I’m asking her because hell if I know. I’m confused as fuck, desperate to bury myself in her and at the same time trying to figure out what this feeling in the pit of my stomach is.

  It’s always been pleasure to bury the pain. The sex to quiet my head, override the shame coating my soul, so why the hell is my head screaming right now?

  She reaches out to me, her fingers scraping against my abdomen, and fuck if my body doesn’t jolt at the connection. I cuffed her hands because I’m used to being in control, used to setting the pace, so why the fuck am I not stopping her. Why do her fingers feel like she’s lighting my skin on fire? Like she’s burning me with her touch.

  I close my eyes, her hands on my back, and my breath labored with the desire that’s so strong I feel like I’m ready to snap. To take without asking.

  And then her lips touch mine. Soft and sweet. That fucking perfect contradiction against her hands pulling my body into hers. Her tongue teases by tracing my bottom lip and thoughts of how it can trace the line of my cock have me reaching up to touch her face.

  I make my hands go there so I can control the need to rip zippers and feast on her flesh, take the usual route when she is anything but my usual, when the situation is so far from my norm that I’m flying solo without a pit crew for back-up. So instead I force myself to part her lips with my tongue, challenge myself to see how long I can last with this tender and soft when all I really want to do is be rough and sate my greed.

  I push my limits. Control the desperation. Even when her fingers dig in my shoulders and urge me on, I rein it in. Every time she moves, my dick rubs against her lower belly and I kiss her a little deeper to lose myself for just a moment. To encourage my resistance.

  And then she sighs.

  Sweet Christ. How can such a simple sound make a man want to lose his fucking control when he’s already held out against every other form of her unbeknownst seduction? But that sigh … fuck, the sound owns me in ways I never thought possible.

  I can’t take the assault on my senses anymore. I just fucking can’t. I press my hands on the wall on either side of her head, my last attempt at restraint. And I’m such a dumbass that I think if my hands are not on her, I can control my urge to take her as I see fit. Take her in ways I don’t think by the innocence in her eyes she’s experienced yet.

  Because shit, she’s a soft and slow, make love not just fuck kind of girl and I’m the exact opposite. Physical overriding emotional every day because I can’t do emotional. And she deserves so much better than me. I might be a selfish prick but I know this much.

  The problem is she’s so goddamn addictive that even though I’ve occupied my hands, I allow myself one small hit. I rest my forehead against the curve of her neck, nose buried. My chest heaves for air. The scent of her perfume and shampoo make my balls tighten and use up my last ounce of control.

  “Sweet Jesus, Rylee.” I lace kisses along her shoulder while my body aches painfully to have her wrapped around me. “We need to get out of here before you unman me in the hallway.”

  I raise my head and look into her eyes. Last chance, Ryles. Escape while you can. But she stands her ground, unwavering, accepting of the warning in my eyes and the dominance in my stance.

  “Come.” God help me because when all is said and done, I think I’m going to need it to walk away from her. She bites her bottom lip to stop it from quivering. Even she knows I’m inviting her into the lion’s den.

  I give her a soft smile, pretending I can’t see the vulnerability in her eyes, ignoring it as I draw her further in … and that makes me even worse of a man than I already thought.

  We walk, desire leading us and desperation owning our thoughts. I think I mumble an explanation that I have a room, but I’m not sure because my thoughts are consumed by every single thing about her. Fucking consumed when I’ve never been this way before.

  I usher her into the elevator, unlock the penthouse all the while my dick is begging me to push the red button, halt the elevator right here, right now and take her on the floor. Feed the greed and be done with her.

  Return to familiar ground and be the asshole I know that I am.

  I reach out to touch her back, begin the process, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I can’t treat her like she’s inconsequential and prove her right. I mutter something about her hair, asking why she’s changed the curls I’ve thought about holding in one hand so I can watch while my cock fucks her mouth. She responds about not fitting a mold but shit my mind is back onto the image of her bobbing her head up and down with hollowed out cheeks and I can’t focus.

  “Sometimes change is good.” She’s staring at me when I break
from my thoughts.

  I mumble a response about liking her curls, sounding so innocent but really being anything but because my mind is thinking about how fucking bad I want her right now. And then her comment breaks into my thoughts … sometimes change is good.

  Is that what this is? A change from my typical so it’s got my dick in a twist?

  Gotta be.

  The warnings flood my head again. I need to tell her I’m in uncharted territory, that I’m not sure what the hell is going on, but the one thing I do know for certain is that she deserves a chance to leave before I can’t turn back.

  “You have one chance to walk away.” The elevator dings, shattering my concentration that’s scattered as it is. I stare at her, need to see her eyes and hear her tell me she wants this without hesitation. “I won’t be able to walk away, Rylee.”

  And that’s exactly what I need to do to ease the unsettling I already feel deep down in the parts of me I buried so very long ago. In the dark recesses where the promises I made to myself feel like they are beginning to unseat themselves.

  Am I doing the right thing here when I know that fucking her just might hurt … both her and me?

  Fuck. That’s exactly what all this is. I turn from her, needing a minute myself to decide whether the discorded peace in my soul is worth disturbing.

  Snap out of it, Donavan. Quit being such a pussy. You have a woman willing right now. The same one you’ve passed up Raquel and her blow job skills for twice. You obviously want this. So fucking take it. You know how to walk when the sex turns to emotion so get your shoes and put them by the door for an easy escape.

  But fucking hell take what she’s offering. Man the fuck up. Tell her how it’s going to be and then do it. Give her the option to only say yes because sweet fucking Jesus, if her kiss is that goddamn sweet imagine what the fuck her pussy tastes like.

  Problem solved. Everything back on its mental shelf.

  I stab the button with my finger for the elevator door and then hang my head as I figure out how to say it all. “I want to take my time with you, Rylee. I want to build you up nice and slow and sweet like you need. Push you to crash over that edge. And then I want to fuck you the way I need to. Fast and hard until you’re screaming my name. The way I’ve wanted to since you fell out of that storage closet and into my life. Once we leave this elevator, I don’t think I’ll have enough control to stop … to pull away from you, Rylee. I. Can’t. Resist. You.”

  My confession is cathartic. Allows me to fuck her without the guilt because I’m giving her a choice. More steady in my shoes that I momentarily stepped out of, I finally turn back to face her. I need to see her eyes when I give her the only choice I’m going to until after we’ve come and are panting out of breath and spent.

  “Decide, Rylee. Yes. Or. No.”

  I LOOK UP AT HIM through my lashes, my bottom lip between my teeth, and nod in consent. When he continues to look at me, I find my voice and try to push the nerves out of it. “Yes, Colton.”

  His mouth crushes down on mine instantly, his hunger palpable as he pulls me out of the elevator toward the penthouse. I giggle freely as he tries to insert the key in the door while trying to keep his lips on mine. He finally gets the key in and the door opens as we continue our ungraceful entrance, mouths never leaving each other’s. He kicks the door shut and presses me up against it, his hands sandwiched between the door and my butt. His fingers grip my flesh fervently, pressing me into his muscular frame.

  I lose myself in him. In his touch, his heat, his quiet words of praise as he rains kisses over my lips and neck and the bare skin in the deep V of my dress. I turn myself over to the moment and experience what it is to feel again. To want again.

  I clumsily try to unbutton his shirt, needing to feel his skin against mine but am hindered by his constantly moving arms that are running fervently over every inch of bare skin that his fingers can touch. His lips find my spot just under my jaw line, and I forget the buttons and fist my hands in his shirt as sensation overwhelms me. Consumes me. A strangled cry escapes my mouth, little explosions detonating from my neck down into the pit of my belly.

  Colton presses his hands to my backside again, and I wrap my legs around his hips at the same time he lifts me up. One hand supports my back while the other dips beneath the fabric of my dress to palm my breast. I bow into him as his thumb and forefinger rub my pebbled nipple. The electric shock of his touch spreads heat to my sex and wildfire to my senses.

  Colton starts to move while holding me, his lips feasting on the ever-sensitive line of my shoulder, his erection pressing between my thighs. With every step he takes, he rubs against me, creating a glorious friction against my clit. I press into him, a ball of tension building, surmounting, and edging toward my need for release.

  We enter the bedroom of the suite, and despite the overabundance of sensations surging through me, I’m still nervous. He stops at the edge of the bed, and I lower my legs, dropping my feet to the floor. I resume my attempt to free him of his shirt, and this time I’m successful. He lets go of me, momentarily stepping back as he slips his arms out and lets the shirt fall to the floor.

  I get my first glimpse of Colton’s naked torso, and he is utterly magnificent. His golden skin covers the well-defined muscles of his abdomen. His strong shoulders taper down to a narrowed waist, which give way to that sexy V that sinks below where his slacks hang. On his left flank is a tattoo of some sort, but I am unable to make out what it is. He has a slight sprinkling of hair on his chest and then below his belly button, amidst tightened abs, he has a sexy little trail of hair that disappears beneath his waistband. If my hormones weren’t raging already, the sight of him alone would have sent my system into overdrive.

  I drag my gaze back up his torso and meet his eyes. He looks back at me, eyes drugged with desire, enflamed with lust. A sexy grin spreads across his mouth as he pushes off his shoes and removes his socks before approaching me again. He raises his hands to my face and frames it, his mouth on mine in a slow, tormenting kiss that has me pressing into him. His hands slide from my face, down my shoulders, and make the slow descent down my torso until fabric gives way to the bare skin of my thighs.

  “God, Rylee, I want to feel your skin on mine.” His fingers play with the hem of my dress momentarily before grabbing it and slowly lifting. “Feel your body beneath me.” His words are hypnotic. Inviting. “My cock buried in you,” he murmurs against my lips before he leans back a fraction, his eyes never leaving mine, to pull the dress over my head.

  I start to take my high heels off, but Colton reaches down to grab my hand before I can reach my shoe. “Uh-uh,” he tells me, smiling lasciviously. “Leave them on.”

  I suck in my breath, insecurities rearing their ugly head as I stand before him in a bra, a scrap of lace as an excuse for panties, and my stilettos. “I think—”

  “Sh-sh-sh,” he whispers against my lips. “Don’t think, Rylee. The time for thinking is over.” He steps us backwards, the back of my knees hitting the bed, and he slowly lays me down, his mouth still lacing me with kisses. “Just feel,” his husky voice demands of me. One of his hands cups the back of my neck while the other roams slowly down to the black lace of my bra and over my rib cage before starting the path back up again. A moan escapes my lips. I need his touch like I need my next breath.

  “Let me look at you,” he whispers, leaning back on his elbow. “God, you are beautiful.”

  I freeze at the words, wanting to hide the scars that mar my abdomen, wanting to twist away so that I’m not asked, not reminded. I do none of that though. Instead, I remind myself to breathe as his eyes wander down my body. I know the moment he sees them; shock flickers across his face before his eyes flash back to mine, concern etched in his brow.

  “Rylee? What—”

  “Not now,” I tell him before I reach out and grab his neck, yanking him to me in a demanding kiss that obliterates all sense of control. Quiets all questions before they can be asked. A carnal p
assion ignites within me as I take hold of him—kissing, caressing, digging fingernails into his steeled skin. A feral growl comes from deep within him as his tongue skims a trail down my neck. He palms my breast, slipping the finger beneath the lace and pushing the cup below it. His mouth teases on its descent down before closing over the tight bud of my nipple.

  I cry out in ecstasy as he laves my breast, sucking it into his hot, greedy mouth. His hand assaults my other breast, rolling my nipple between his thumb and forefinger—blurring the fine line between pleasure and pain. His acute attention to my sensitive buds mainlines a fire to my sex. It clenches, throbs, and moistens, silently begging him for more to push me over the edge. I shift beneath him to try and ease the intense ache that is building, but the coils of craving are so strong my breath pants out erratically.

  I tangle my fingers in his hair as he moves from my chest, sucking, kissing, and nipping his way down my abdomen. I fist my hands in it and grate in a sharp breath as he deliberately lays a row of kisses along my worst scar. “So beautiful,” he repeats to me again as he continues his tormenting descent. He stills at the top of my panties, and I can feel the smile form on his lips from his mouth pressed against my skin.

  He looks up at me, a mischievous grin lighting his face. “I hope you’re not overly fond of these.” I don’t even have a chance to respond before he rips the panties off of me. A low satisfied purr comes from the back of his throat as he trails a finger down the small strip of curls beneath the material. “I like this,” he growls at me, his finger tracing below the strip where I’m void of hair, “and I like this even more.”

  My breath catches as he slips a finger between my folds, sliding it slowly back and forth. “Oh God,” I groan as I grip my hands into the sheets of the bed, ecstasy detonating in sparks of white hot flashes behind my closed eyelids.

  Colton sucks in an audible breath as he slips a finger tantalizingly slowly into my passage. “Rylee,” he groans, the break in his voice as he says my name betrays his front of control. “Look how wet you are for me, baby. Feel how tight you grip me.” I arch my back, shoulders pressing into the mattress as his finger leisurely circles inside of me, grazing over that sweet spot deep along my front wall before deliberately withdrawing, only to start the whole exquisite process again.