Driven (22 page)

I lift my head up and arch my back so that he has full advantage of my chest. The thoughts I’d had moments before are now pushed away as he continues his barrage of incendiary kisses. I feel his arms wrap around me and fumble near my bottom before I hear the telltale rip of foil. He finishes jacketing himself as he trails kisses with his skillful mouth back up to my lips. He slants his mouth, taking tiny, delirious sips from mine as he brings one hand to my hair and fists in it. He whispers gentle praise in between each kiss, each one stoking my craving for him.

“Lift up for me,” he whispers as he brings one hand to my hip, helping raise me, while the other positions his turgid cock beneath me.

I bite my lip in anticipation as his eyes hold onto mine, watching as I gently sink down onto the tip of him. I stay suspended momentarily as I let my fluids coat him so it’s easier for him to gain entry. It is empowering to watch the desire cloud in Colton’s eyes while I slowly lower myself inch by delirious inch onto him until he’s sheathed entirely. I moan softly as he stretches me to the most incredible feeling of fullness. I’m forced to sit still for several moments so that I can adjust to the entirety of him. Colton closes his eyes, lifting his head back, lips slightly parted as he a low rumble comes from deep in his throat.

He brings his hands to my hips, and I start to rock myself on him. I raise myself up to his very tip and then slide back down, leaning back so that he rubs the patch of nerves within my walls.

“
Fuck
,” he hisses on a sharp intake of air between my sheathing. “You are going to make me lose my mind, Rylee,” he moans loudly as he kisses me possessively before laying back on the bed. He starts to piston his hips up in unison with my movements and soon we are moving at a frantic pace. Each needing more from each other. Each driving, pushing, tantalizing each other to the precipice.

I look down at Colton, the tendons in his neck strained, the tip of his tongue peeking through his teeth, eyes darkened by lust—he is sexy as hell. His hands grip my hips, muscles tensing as he holds me, lifts me, and drives into me. I am climbing, spinning dizzily as pleasure washes over me. I grip one of Colton’s hands on my hip, our fingers entwining, holding on. He moves his other hand to where we are joined, his thumb stroking my clit, manipulating it expertly.

My body quickens, my muscles clench around Colton, and once again I’m thrown into a staggering oblivion. I cry out his name as a rapturous warmth overtakes me, envelopes me, and pulls me under its all-consuming haze.

“Christ, Rylee,” Colton swears, sitting himself up without stopping his voracious tempo, taking control to allow me to lose myself in my orgasm. He wraps his arms around me, strong biceps holding me tight, and brings his lips to mine in a devouring, soul-emptying kiss. The onslaught of sensations pulling at me from every nerve in my body is so overwhelming that my only comprehension is I’m drowning in all that is Colton Donavan.

I can feel his body tense, his hips thrust harder, and his arms squeeze tighter with hands splayed wide on my back. Colton buries his face in my neck before yelling out my name, a benediction on his lips, as he crashes over the edge. I feel him convulse wildly within me as he finds his release.

We stay like this, me sitting astride him, arms wrapped around each other, heads buried into one another for some time, neither of us speaking. I am overcome with emotion as we hold each other.

Oh, shit!
How stupid was I to think that I could actually do casual sex? Feelings bubble up inside me. Feelings that I know Colton will never reciprocate, and I find myself struggling to maintain composure. I tell myself to hold it together, that I can wallow in the notion and break down once I’m alone.

Colton shifts his legs some and leans back. He takes my head in his hands and transfixes me with his intoxicating stare. “You okay?” he whispers to me.

I nod my head, trying to clear the worry from my eyes.

He leans in and kisses me. A kiss so gentle and affectionate that I have to fight back the threatened tears because his tenderness disarms me and strips me to the core. When he opens his eyes, he stares at me for some time. I see something flash through them quickly, nameless emotions that I can’t read since I’ve only known him a short time.

He shakes head quickly and lifts me off of him before scooting off the bed without a word. He stands hastily, averting my questioning look and runs his hand through his hair, the muttered word “fuck” coming out in an exhale. I watch his toned, broad shoulders and very appealing ass as he walks to the bathroom. I hear the water run and another muffled swear.

I pull the sheet around me, alone and uncomfortable all of the sudden in my unfamiliar surroundings and unknown predicament. After a few moments, Colton reappears from the bathroom with a pair of black boxer briefs on. He stands in the doorway and looks at me. Gone is all of the warmth and emotion that was in his eyes minutes before. It’s been visibly replaced by a cold, aloof appraisal as he looks at me in his bed. He is no longer relaxed for the tension around his eyes and in the strain of his jaw is obvious.

“Can I get you anything?” he asks, his voice a curt rasp. “I need a drink.”

I shake my head no, afraid that if I speak, the hurt I feel from his sudden detachment will make matters only worse. At my response, he turns and walks out to the main room of the suite. I guess I have my answer. I was just a challenge to him.

Challenge conquered, now I’m disposable.

I hold the heel of my hand to my breastbone, trying to stifle the pain inside. Trying to lessen the feeling of being used. I think of Max and the way he used to treat me after we made love as if I was so fragile I’d break. He would caress me and hold me and make me laugh. Make me feel cherished.
My beautiful, idealized Max
. What have I done to him and to our memory by sleeping with someone when I’m technically engaged to another?

His mother’s yells echo in my ears as she tells me it’s all my fault his life is over—that I killed him and every hope and dream that went with him. Guilt and shame and humiliation wash over me. I have to get out of here. These thoughts fill my head as I throw the covers off of me and gather all of my discarded garments from the floor before scurrying to the bathroom.

The pressure in my chest is unbearable from trying to hold back my tears as I fumble clumsily to try and get my bra clasped. I throw my dress over my head, struggling to get my arms in the proper places in the straps. I don’t have any underwear. They’re ripped apart somewhere on the floor and are no longer worth the hassle of finding. I’m missing an earring and at this point, I really don’t care. I quickly tug its matching counterpart out as I glance in the mirror noticing misery mingled with regret heavy in my eyes. I take a tissue and wipe away the smudged eyeliner as I steel myself for my departure. After a few moments of masking my emotions and gathering my thoughts, I’m ready.

I open the door to the bathroom and peak out, relieved and at the same time saddened that Colton is not sitting there waiting for me. Then again, what did I expect after how he just acted? For him to be sitting on the bed, waiting to profess his dying love for me? “Fuck ’em and chuck ’em,” I mutter under my breath as I walk out of the bedroom door to the main room of the suite.

Colton is standing in the suite’s kitchenette, his hands pressed against the counter, his head hanging down. I stand for a moment and watch him, admire the lines of his body, and wish for so much more than he apparently can give. Colton shifts and takes a long draw on the amber liquid in his glass. He sets it down harshly, the ice clinking loudly before he turns. His step falters as he sees me standing dressed and ready to go.

“What are—”

“Look, Colton,” I begin, trying to control the situation before I can be humiliated further. “I’m a smart girl. I get it now,” I shrug, trying to prevent my voice from breaking. He looks at me and I can see the cogs in his head turning as he tries to figure out why I appear to be leaving. “Let’s face it, you’re not a spend the night kind of guy, and I’m not a one-night stand kind of girl.”

“Rylee,” he objects, but says nothing more as he takes one step toward me until I hold my hand up to halt him. He stares at me, subtly shaking his head, trying to wrap his mind around my words.

“C’mon, that’s probably what this is to you—what you’re used to.” I take a couple steps toward him, proud of myself for my false bravado, “So I’ll just save myself the embarrassment of you asking me to leave and do the walk of shame now instead of in the morning.”

Colton stares at me, struggling with some unseen emotion, his jaw clenching tightly. He closes his eyes for a beat before looking back at me. “Rylee, please just listen to me. Don’t go,” he utters. “It’s just that…” he pulls a hand up to grip the back of his neck, confusion and uncertainty etching his remarkable face as he is either unable to find his words or finish his lie.

My heart wants to believe him when he tells me not to go, but my head knows differently. My dignity is all I have left, seeing as my wits have been thoroughly destroyed, scattered, and left on the bed in the room beyond. “Look, Colton,” I exhale, “we both know you don’t mean that. You don’t want me to stay. You got a room here tonight hoping you’d get laid. You just probably thought it would be with Raquel. A nice little suite where there would be no drama and no complications—a place you could leave in the morning without a backward glance at who’s still asleep in the bed. Well, I walked into it willingly,” I admit stepping up to him, his eyes never leaving mine as I place a hand on his bare chest. “It was great, Ace, but this girl,” I say motioning toward me and then the bedroom. “This isn’t me.”

He stares at me, his eyes piercing into mine with such intensity that I avert my mine momentarily. “You’re right, this isn’t you,” he grates out, his countenance guarded, as I flick my eyes back to his. He lifts his glass and empties the rest of the glass’s contents, pools of emerald continuing to watch my eyes from over the rim of the glass. When he finishes, he runs his tongue over his lips, angling his head as he thinks something through in his head. “Let me get my keys and drive you home.”

“Don’t bother,” I shake my head, shifting my weight as I figure out how to save face as humiliation seeps through me. “I’ll take a cab—it’ll make this mistake easier on both of us.” It takes everything I have to lean up on my toes and brush a casual, chaste kiss on his cheek. I meet his eyes again and try to feign indifference. “Don’t worry, Colton, you crossed the finish line and took the checkered flag.” I throw over my shoulder as I start to walk toward the door, chin still held high despite the trembling of my bottom lip. “I’m just throwing the caution out there before I can be black flagged.”

I step through the door and into the elevator. When I turn to push the first floor, I notice Colton standing in the doorway of the penthouse. His mouth twists as he watches me with aloof eyes and a hardened expression.

I continue to stare at him as the doors start to close, a single tear falling down my cheek—the only betrayal my body displays of my sadness and humiliation. I am finally alone. I sag against the wall, allowing the emotions to overcome me yet still fighting the tears swimming in my eyes for I still have to find a way home.

***

The cab ride is quick but painful. My quiet sobs in the backseat do nothing to alleviate the brutal reality of what just happened. When we pull up to the house a little after three in the morning, I’m glad to see that Haddie is home but asleep, for I can’t handle her questions right now.

I slip into my room and flip on my IPOD speakers to a barely audible volume, scroll for “Unwell” and push repeat. As Rob Thomas’ voice melts the familiar words into me, I shed my clothes and step into my shower. I smell of Colton and of sex, and I scrub obsessively to try and get his scent off of me. It doesn’t matter though, no matter what I do, I can still smell him. I can still taste him. I can still feel him. I allow the water to wash away my torrent of tears, hiding my hiccupping sobs in its rushing sound.

When I’m waterlogged and the tears have subsided, I pick myself up off the shower floor that I’d slid down onto, and make my way into my bedroom. I throw on a camisole and a pair of panties before collapsing into the comforting warmth of my bed and succumb to sleep.

CHAPTER 13

I can smell fuel and dirt and something pungently metallic. It fills my nostrils, seeping into my head before I feel the pain. In that quiet moment before my other senses are assaulted with the destruction around me, I feel at peace. I feel still and whole. For some reason my consciousness knows I’ll look back on this and wish I had this moment back. Wish I could remember what it was like
before
.

The pain comes first. Even before my head can clear the fog away enough so that I can open my eyes, the pain comes. There are no words to describe the agony of feeling like you have a million knives entering you and ripping you apart, just to withdraw and start all over again. And again. Endlessly.

In that second between unconscious and consciousness, I feel this jagged pain. My eyes fly open, frantic breaths gulp for air. Each breath hurting, burning, laboring. My eyes see the devastation around me, but my brain doesn’t register the shattered glass, smoking engine, and crushed metal. My mind doesn’t understand why my arm, bent at so many odd angles, won’t move to undo my seatbelt. Why it can’t release me.

I feel as if everything is in slow motion. I can see dust particles drift silently through the air. I can feel the trickle of blood run ever so slowly down my neck. I can feel the incremental inching of numbness taking over my legs. I can feel the hopelessness seep into my psyche, take hold of my soul, and dig its malicious fingers into my every fiber.

I can hear him. Can hear Max’s gurgled breathing, and even in my shock-induced haze I’m mad at myself for not looking for him more quickly. I turn my head to my left and there he sits. His beautiful wavy blonde hair is tinged red, the gaping gash in his head looks odd to me. I want to ask him what happened to him but my mouth isn’t working. It can’t form the words. Panic and fear fills his eyes, and pain creases his tanned, flawless face. A small trickle of blood is coming from his ear and I think this is a bad thing but I’m not sure why. He coughs. It sounds funny, and little specks of red appear on the shattered window in front of us. I see his hand travel across the car, fumbling over every item between him and me as if he needs touch to guide him. He fumbles aimlessly until he finds my hand. I can’t feel his fingers grip mine, but my eyes see the connection.