First Love: A Superbundle Boxed Set of Seven New Adult Romances (142 page)

Now he’ll know.

I send the message.

All I can do is wait.

Chapter 13

I don’t think it is possible to fall asleep in the state I’m in, but apparently I do.

I startle awake, my face in the sofa cushion. I’ve heard a sound. Something moves in the room, and I’m up, standing on the sofa, arms in punching position.

“Your hands are too high,” Colt says. “I could sink you with a low jab.”

He stands behind the armchair. “You shouldn’t leave your door unlocked if you don’t even know where to hold your hands.”

I drop my arms. I want to throw myself at him, hang on, and refuse to let go. But I stay on the sofa, watching his shadow cross the room in the near-dark.

“I just got your message,” he says. “You sent it hours ago.”

He’s close now, beside the coffee table.

I back up against the wall. My feet are buried in the cushions. Still, I’m barely taller than him.

“Was it like when you went after those boys?” he asks. “That first day I met you?”

I nod, although I’m not sure if he can see me in the low light.

“He was your stepbrother?”

I nod again.

“How old were you?”

I slide down until I’m sitting on the back of the sofa. “Seventeen.”

“Did he hurt you?”

A dozen scenes flash through my mind. Pinches. Grabs. His body on mine, pressing my face into a pillow. “Sometimes.”

“Did he ever…rape you?”

I stand up again. “No.” My breathing speeds up. “I didn’t let that happen. I wouldn’t. I was able to fight.”

“He tried?”

My legs wobble on the uneven springs of the sofa. I sit all the way down, my knees pulled to my chest. “He was working his way up to it.”

Colt settles on the coffee table, closer, but still distant. “What happened that last night?”

I bury my face against my knees. “I thought he was out for the night. I was always so careful to be out of the house if my stepmother was out.” I pause. I’ve never told anyone this story, but it’s played in my mind many times, like a movie I’ve watched too often.

“I was taking a shower. I hated taking showers there. The door didn’t lock properly. You just had to jiggle it.” I can see the crystal doorknob, how it rattled in its setting.

“He came in. It was so sudden. His hands were on me. It was so easy since I didn’t have clothes on.” I can still feel his hands going straight for the prize, fingers pressing between my legs. He’d never gotten that far before. It was like his game. How much could he grab before I fought him off?

“I brought the whole shower curtain down trying to get away.” The water sprayed everywhere, across the clear curtain, onto his clothes.

“It didn’t slow him down. He thought it was funny, us lying on the floor.” I was naked and scrambling to escape. He managed to trap me underneath him.

“Then I found my strength. I used it. I beat him.”

I close my eyes to the scene. I don’t want to see it. My elbow landing on his face. My knee in his belly. And even when I knew I had stopped him, I kept going. I kept hitting and hitting like he wasn’t a person. He was an object. I hit him long after I should have quit, long after his silence, his stillness.

The room is quiet. Colt still sits on the coffee table. A streetlamp outside casts feeble light across our shadows.

“And then you ran,” he says. “You didn’t call for help. No police. No ambulance.”

I flood with shame. “No, I didn’t call,” I whisper. “I ran.”

He moves over to the sofa and wraps his arms around me. In one subtle shift, I’m on his lap, still curled in my tight ball. “Jo, poor Jo,” he whispers against my hair. “No wonder you fight like you do.”

“My father is dead,” I say. “My mother left when I was born.”

“You didn’t have anybody to tell,” he says. He gets it.

“I’ve been fine,” I say. “LA has been just fine. Zero is good. I’ve had work.”

His arms surround me, and we rock together. My body begins to uncoil. I release my legs and lay my head on Colt’s shoulder.

“I’m glad you told me,” Colt says. “When you’re ready, we can sort it out. See what happened to him.”

“Last thing you need is a fugitive on your payroll,” I say.

His hand moves to my cheek. “You’re Buster’s problem,” he says. “I’m just here because I can’t stand to be anywhere else.”

His features are hard to make out in the low light.

“I’ve never had a boyfriend,” I say. “Never even kissed anyone until you.”

His exhales slowly. “That’s a lot of responsibility for a rough-cut fighter like me.”

“I don’t think I will break,” I say.

When his lips meet mine, it’s nothing like before. The passion is there, and the need. But something else has taken over. It’s tender. Careful. The sensations don’t start at our mouths, or where our bodies touch. But inside. There’s a connection that goes deeper. I trust him completely. I have no doubts.

Chapter 14

Colt rains kisses across my cheek and down my jaw. Each touch is careful, like I’m made of glass. He eases me down onto the sofa. Our bodies barely graze each other as he braces himself above me.

His hand on my ribs is gentle. Only after I arch into him does he finger the hem of my shirt, exposing a narrow strip of skin.

“Just one little piece at a time,” he says. He trails his fingers along my belly. His lips return to my mouth.

He waits until I shift against him, writhing down so the shirt catches on his hand and pushes a little higher. He smiles against my mouth. “A bit more, then?” His fingers slip into the hollow below my rib cage, feathering light caresses across my skin.

I’m filled with a slow burn, a gradual increase in need. I match his pace and let my hands explore his back just above the waist of his jeans. His sweater is soft and thick. I push it up, running my fingers along the taut muscles up each side of his belly.

Like that first time on my sofa, he keeps everything easy. His lips are gentle, not pressing. They move from my mouth to my ear and back again. When his hand inches enough to graze the bottom of my bare breast, he pauses, his breath on my cheek. He waits for my response. When I relax back into him, he kisses me again.

He’s just far enough above me that I can slip my hand up the front of his sweater. His skin is smooth and hot. The position is work for him, as I can feel the shifting of muscles as he holds himself above me. I move higher, across his abs to his chest. When I reach a nipple, he sucks in against my mouth.

His hips rock against me, but he catches himself, and holds back. I want more, so I arch up to meet him, reestablishing the connection. He’s hard against my thighs. I remember his thrusts in the cage, and the burn begins to flare into something hotter.

His mouth becomes more urgent. I part my lips, and he dives in, his tongue seeking mine. His hands move beneath me, lifting my body to press into his. I feel the heat rising, spreading out, flaming between my legs.

One hand pushes my shirt up again. His head lowers to capture the naked breast in his mouth. He rocks against me, and I’m lost in it all. Pleasure, anticipation, need. I clutch at his hips, moving with him. I want more skin, more connection. I reach between us for his belt buckle and fumble to pull it loose. His jeans open with a snap.

I feel my way across his belly, hard and smooth. I want to see him too, but our position is too difficult. I tug at his jeans. “Shall we move?”

He nips his way up to my jaw. “Yes,” he says.

He stands with ease and pulls me up. “We should do this right,” he says. Before I realize his intent, I’m swept up in his arms.

I feel weightless. He walks me to the back of the living room. We pass the kitchen and go down the hall. He doesn’t know the way, but my place is small. He shoulders open the door to the bedroom. I had planned for this earlier, before our disaster. I left the closet light on, the door cocked. The bed waits by the window.

I realize I’m holding my breath. He lays me down on the cool sheets. His back is lit from the closet as he pulls his sweater over his head. I’ve seen his chest many times, daily. But it’s different now. It’s mine to touch and explore. I want to do all sorts of things, run my tongue along the grooves of his abs. Bite the base of his ribs. I’m overwhelmed with it. I have to slow down, take my time.

He kicks off his boots and slides the jeans down. His boxers are navy blue, and fitted rather than loose. I can clearly see the bulge of him. I know how things fit together, but it seems so big. Suddenly I realize how little I know. If it’s skin, won’t it rub? Won’t it hurt? Wouldn’t it be like a friction burn? Are we supposed to use some sort of lube? Does he have it?

“Jo,” he says softly. I realize I’m breathing fast again. “It’s all right.”

The bed dips as he settles next to me.

“How does it not hurt?” I ask.

He smiles down at me. “It works out.”

Colt goes back to the simple touch along my stomach, inching my shirt up again. I have trouble relaxing, thinking maybe I just want this first time over and done with. But then he leans in, his lips on my belly button, and I flood hot. He reaches for my jeans and tugs at the button.

I shiver as the zipper opens wide. His hand is flat on my skin, his thumb tracing lazy circles at the edge of my panties.

His hand works his way along the outside of my jeans to my hip bone, down my thigh, and across my knees. I want to writhe beneath him and make him go where I want.

But he’s careful and slow. His fingers move high again, to my belly. I want to beg him, to grab his hand and put it there. He makes another round across to my hip. I want to weep with need. But this time, he comes straight across, grazing me lightly between the legs.

My body responds like a lightning strike, lurching against him. I can’t suppress the sound that escapes, a strangled cry.

He cups me hard then, his hand firm between my thighs. His fingertips bend in, applying exquisite pressure. I rock against his hand, loving it, wanting more, desperate.

Colt shifts over me and grasps the waist of my jeans to peel them down. Goosebumps erupt along my skin as it is exposed to air. My panties are simple, pale yellow cotton. He slips a thumb along the lace edge until my legs part for him.

“That’s it,” he says. He lies down next to me, propped on his side. “Just let it come.”

His eyes are on my body. I feel a rush of wetness, and it all makes sense. Of course. That’s how it works. Then his thumb presses against me, and I can’t think anymore.

He runs his fingers along the outside of my panties. I can barely take it, wanting so much more. Pleasure flashes through me from his touch. My mind feels erased, like there has never been anything but this. He eases the fabric to one side, and his skin connects with mine.

I cry out again. Colt is so careful, so slow. He runs his fingers just inside, pausing at the top of the folds to circle the nub. I’m lost, desperate, forgetting I want to wait for him, needing to cross that peak. I lift to meet him, trying to increase the contact, wanting it all. But he pulls away and slips his fingers in the waist of my panties to tug them down and away.

He rolls over me and covers my mouth with his, our kisses deep and frenzied. When I push up against him, my naked hips grinding into his soft boxers, he presses down. I can feel each solid inch, separated only by the fabric. He teaches me the rhythm, the speed and pressure. His hands come beneath me, lifting me to him. I’m starting to peak again, sparks flying from our connection. I feel constantly on a knife’s edge, teetering on a brink.

Colt lowers me to the bed and lifts the bottom of my shirt, slowly this time. I know he’s concerned about my last reaction. But we’re so beyond that now. I raise my shoulders, and he lifts my shirt away. For a moment, he just holds me against him, skin to skin. I realize this contact is something he’s longed for. I clasp his back and revel in the feel of him against me, warm and breathing.

He lowers me to the bed again, his lips returning to my mouth. But he doesn’t linger, moving down my body to capture a nipple. His hands rest lightly on my hips, but his thumbs begin circling lower. I’m not sure where to pay attention, I’m feeling so many things at once.

He sends little nipping kisses along my ribs down to my stomach. When I realize his destination, I almost seize up, embarrassed. But his hands slide down my thighs, keeping them wide and relaxed. When his warm mouth lands on my mound, it’s like an explosion. I am no longer shy. I lift my hips to meet him. He finds the nub and sucks it, and I’m so close. My body moves on its own, establishing a rhythm Colt follows. His tongue flicks against my folds, and I am almost there. I forget that I want to wait, and I know that soon I won’t be able to.

His fingers slip into me, and that takes me over the top, crashing against him, every muscle in my body going tight at the same moment. I know I’m crying out, but I can’t hear it in the blast of pleasure that’s coursing through me. Colt teases it along, then lets me come down only when he decides to. I feel the sheets against my back and realize I’ve been arched against him.

I relax in waves, like a tide going out. Colt withdraws his fingers, spreading soft kisses along one thigh to the inside of my knee. My leg is draped over his shoulder.

When my breath has settled, he looks up at me with a small smile. He lets my leg drop back to the bed and stands up.

I see he’s going to pull his boxers down. I sit up quickly and grab his hands. He understands that I want to do it myself, and lets go.

I’ve seen most of Colt over and over again during workouts. Fighters don’t wear a lot. But there are parts of him that are still new. I swallow hard and run my fingers along the elastic of his waistband. I know I’m lucky. How many women ever get so close to a man this fit, this sculpted, this perfect?

I slide the boxers down slowly. The chiseled indention that begins at his waist near his hip continues down. As the elastic moves lower, I follow its path toward his thighs. The cut of this muscle doesn’t stop, delineating his belly all the way to a trimmed thatch of hair.

I glance up. “Did Kimi from the salon do that?” I ask.