Falling into You

“I don’t even know what to say. I thought I was dreaming. ” His eyes bore into me, blue and hot like a bunsen burner flame. “You want to know what I was dreaming about?”

  I nod.

  “Answer me. Out loud. ”

  This is a new Colton. Bossy, direct. I’m not sure if I should be pissed at the way he’s barking orders, or turned on by it. I settle for both.

  “Yes, Colton. I want to know what you were dreaming about. ” My tone is soft and submissive, but I know my eyes betray my ire.

  His face is impassive. “You. I was dreaming of you. ” His eyes narrow. “I was dreaming of you doing what you apparently were actually doing. ”

  “Was it a good dream?” I ask, daring. “Did you like that dream?” I trail my fingertip through the stickiness on his belly, eyeing him from beneath lowered lashes.

  He sucks in a sharp breath, watching my finger tracing patterns on his skin, then his gaze flicks to me again. “It was a conflicted dream. I shouldn’t have wanted it to not be dream. I shouldn’t have wanted it to be real. But I did. ”

  I try to ignore the thunder of my pulse in my ears. “Why shouldn’t you?”

  He frowns. “Because…because of everything. ”

  “Say it out loud. All of it. ” I can be bossy too.

  “Because you were in love with Kyle. ”

  “He’s gone. It wouldn’t be cheating. ” I swallow hard, because a part of me says that’s a very very valid reason why not. Because it would be. I would be cheating on him.

  “Your turn to say it all. ”

  “Say what?”

  “What you’re thinking. ”

  I begin tracing the kanji on his chest, the orange-yellow flames, the dragon’s eye. “I’m a liar. It would be cheating. It would be cheating on his memory. But…that’s bullshit. ”

  His head sinks back and he turns aside to stare at the wall. I watch his jaw clench and release, watch the fine black stubble on his tan skin shift.

  “How f**ked up is that?” He says, barely audible.

  He gets out of bed, takes a couple steps across the hall and into the bathroom. I watch him wet a washcloth and clean his stomach off. He comes back and slips back into bed next to me, on his side, facing me.

  “That’s what I was thinking, too, though,” he says. “It’s bullshit, but I can’t shake the feeling. You and me would be…an affront to his memory. But that’s just bullshit, because he’s dead and he’d want both of us to be happy. ”

  “Well that’s stupid too. If he was alive, he’d want me. ”

  “But he’s not. ”

  “Is this an argument or a discussion?” I ask.

  He huffs a laugh. “I don’t even know. ” He turns back to look at me. “What you just did? That changes shit. ”

  “I know. ” My words aren’t even a whisper, they’re less. “Are you mad?”

  He bobbles his head back and forth. “Mad? No. Not mad. Confused. Not gonna lie, it was kinda shady. I couldn’t tell you I wanted it, or that I didn’t. ”

  I choke. “I know. I know. I’m so sorry. I—I feel disgusted with myself. ”

  “Don’t. Just don’t. I’m no better. You were asleep and I took your clothes off—”

  “You were making me comfortable,” I interrupt.

  He talks over me. “I wanted to see you again. I wanted to see your sweet, round ass. I touched your thigh. ”

  “But you didn’t make me—you didn’t do what I did. ”

  He rubs his face with his free hand.

  “Is this a competition? Which one of us is more of an ass**le?” I ask.

  In my head, though, I’m stunned breathless by what he said. He wanted to see my “sweet, round ass. ” I’ve always thought I had too much ass. It’s an insecurity. Common, I know, but unshakeable. I still run like a fiend, because it’s one of the few times I can be free of dreams and memories and nightmares and guilt. Then, when I’m drunk, and when I’m playing music. But no matter how I run, my ass is round and my br**sts heavy.

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  “I’d win that competition, hands down. No question,” Colton says. “You had a moment of weakness, or something. I’m an ass**le all the time. ”

  “You’re wrong. ” I shift up his body and meet his eyes from a couple inches away. Kissing distance. “It wasn’t a moment of weakness. It was a lot of moments of desire. And you’re not an ass**le. ”

  “What do you want, Nell?”

  “I already asked you that question, remember?”

  “So neither of us knows what we want?” His eyes search mine, and his hand inscribes circles on the small of my back.

  “No. Yes. I know what I want, but I’m not sure if it’s right or wrong. I do know that how I went about getting it was wrong, though. So for that, I’m sorry. ”

  “So you’re saying you should’ve done what you did, but while I’m awake?” His palm continues to circle, but moves lower.

  I arch my back subtly, but enough. He notices, and his eyes widen, his nostrils flare, his lips thin, his breathing goes deep.

  “Yes,” I say.

  I have to just own what I did, what I want. He was all too right when he said what I did changes things. I can’t go back now. I know how he feels in my hand. I know how his body feels beneath me, and I want more of it. I know how his hand feels on my ass. And I know he wants this as much as I do, and we’re both conflicted about it.

  I meet his eyes and hold his gaze as he explores downward. I bite my lip when he begins up the swell of my ass. When I got in bed, I’d stripped off my jeans, so all I was wearing was a tiny yellow thong. A triangle of silk over my core, strings over my hips, a string down my crack. I took off my bra, too, so I only had on a tiny t-shirt, a fitted thing, blue cotton with a pocket over the right breast, a glittery purple heart on the pocket.

  He follows the line of the waistband of my thong around my hip, his eyes locked on mine, and he slowly and deliberately cups my left cheek. I search his eyes, and see my emotions reflected back at me: conflicted desire.

  “I forgive you,” he says, an ever-so-subtle smirking tilt to the side of his mouth. “After all, it was a really awesome dream. ”

  He explores the line of the string between my cheeks. I’m holding my breath, and I can’t seem to catch it. He slides his palm up the other side, then back down, caressing my thigh, then the other. God. Oh god. Now up my spine, up my bare back, under the shirt. His fingers, his palm on my skin, tracing fire.

  His fingers go between my arm and my rib, seeking access frontward. I shift my arm, slide my palm up his chest, hesitate at his shoulder, then do as I’ve wanted to do for so long, it seems, and scratch over the stubble on his jaw. This action gives him access, and he moves his hand around my ribs to brush the outside curve of my breast smashed against his chest.

  “What are we doing here, Nell?” he asks, his voice his voice a raspy whisper.

  I shake my head and lift one shoulder. “I have no idea. But I like it. ”

  “Me too. ” He pulls me closer, higher. I go with him, shifting so I’m entirely on my side, head propped up on one hand, leg slung over his thighs, free hand on his breastbone.

  Now I’m exposed. My shirt is hiked up so the undersides of my br**sts peek beneath the hem. I silently dare him, encourage him with my stillness, my steady gaze on his too-blue eyes.

  Ohmigod. God. He takes the dare. Palm on my belly at first, I think he might go south, and I think he considers it, then moves up, north to the hem of my shirt. I was already holding my breath, but my throat gets tighter, my lungs burn, my heart either stops beating or pounds wildly, I can’t decide which.

  Then his rough and gentle and huge hand cradles my breast beneath the shirt. I haven’t taken a breath in at least thirty seconds. Oh god, oh god, ohmigod. His hand feels so amazing. Scratchy, hard. My br**sts are fairly big, C-cups, almost a D, but he can palm one easily. His palm scrapes m
y nipple, and now my breath blasts in, rushing through me and making me dizzy.

  “Colton…” I duck my head and bury my forehead on his shoulder.

  “Look at me, Nell,” he commands, softly but firmly. I do. His eyes are hooded and serious. “Turning point, right here. You don’t want this, you have to tell me now. Get up and go. This’ll all be forgotten. I’ll be your friend. But say so now. ‘Cause any further, we’re in it all the way. ”

  I gulp. I nod. I bite my lip and look away.

  “God, f**k me. Don’t do that,” he says, his voice ragged.

  I’m puzzled. “Do what?”

  “Bite your lip. It drives me wild. Bite your lip and it’s over. Your mouth is mine. ” His voice is so rough, now, so raw and raspy it vibrates against me and sizzles deep in my core.

  “Good to know,” I whisper.

  He moves his hand away. “Decide now, Nell. All in, you’re mine, or we pretend this never happened. ”

  “I’m yours?” My voice is soft and tremulous.

  “You asking? Or telling?”

  “I—Colton, I couldn’t forget…but we—” I cut myself off, knowing I’m an incoherent mess.

  Unconsciously, I bite my lip again, and Colton growls.

  “I f**king told you. Don’t…do…that. I can’t take it. My control is in shreds here, and you’re biting your lip again. ”

  “Why does it make you so crazy?” I ask, playing for time.

  Time for what, I don’t know. I know what I want. But now…with Colton becoming the direct and commanding person again, I’m shy, unsure, insecure, afraid. I’m all over the damn place. Molesting him in his sleep, then unable to jump in when he makes it clear he wants me like I do him. I’m a lunatic, clearly.

  “I don’t know,” he says. “It’s just a thing. You bite your lip, and I want to take that lip into my mouth and suck on it like a popsicle. I want to lick your lips and bite them and kiss you until you’re f**king lost and gasping and puddled on the floor. ”

  Well…shit. I want that.

  Nerves? Gone.

  I feel my heart doing this weird thing, swelling, hammering, stuttering, aching, and I know I’ve decided.

  I bite my lip, and it’s over.

  “Fuck. You’re crazy, baby. ” His voice is a feral snarl, spoken through clenched teeth.

  I don’t even see him move. One second he’s over there, the next he’s slamming into me, lips crushing mine, and true to his word, he takes my lower lip into his mouth and sucks on it, tongues it. I’m jarred and shocked by the sudden violence of his kiss, and then I melt as he sucks on my lip. And then I’m pure liquid beneath him, because he’s abruptly gentle, taking my face in his hands, gazing at me with our lips barely touching, and then he kisses me slowly and so thoroughly, so deeply, I’m just…lost. His mouth moves on mine, claims me, steals my heart with his lips, takes my body with his mouth.

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  We’d kissed before, and it was—every time—the best kiss I’d ever had. My heart clenches when I realize this includes, by a landslide, every kiss Kyle ever gave me. There’s just no comparison. That hurts, that does. It hurts so sweet, so deep, so strange, I just don’t know what to do with it.

  This kiss…I’m gone. Gone. I know, in that moment, that I belong to him. It’s what he said: I’m his. How it happened, I don’t know. I really wish I did.

  “Last chance, Nelly-baby. ” His voice is in my ear, not even a whisper, just breathed subvocalization that I feel on my ear. “Tell me you don’t want this. ”

  I push him up and I see the hurt in his eyes before I can correct him. He starts to get off, but I catch his bicep and still him in place. I curl my fingers under the hem of my shirt and peel it off. Colton’s eyes go wide and he licks his lips.

  “I want this. ” I say it as loud as I can, which is a breathless gasp, at most. “I need this. ”

  His eyes change, then. They go feral.

  Oh boy, here we go.

  “Take off your thong and spread your legs. ”

  “Say please. ” I find strength in the game. My terror, my vulnerability abates, and I’m thankful.

  He just stares at me. I don’t move to comply. He shakes his head and half-blinks in disbelief. And then he tugs on my thong and it comes apart. He didn’t jerk it, he didn’t expend any effort. He just put two fingers around the string at my hip, two fingers of the other hand inside the triangle over my core, and tugged. Rip. Gone. I’m naked. That easy.

  “I liked that thong,” I protested.

  “Should’ve listened then. ” He slides his fingers down my belly, which clenches, and across my pudendum and down my tight-clamped thighs. “Now, spread your legs and feel free to scream. No one can hear. ”

  “Wha—oh. ” I don’t even have time to process my confusion before his tongue is doing something wicked to my clit.

  I spread my legs. Wide. I tuck my heels against my bu**ocks and let my knees fall apart. I’m shameless.

  “Yeah, Nelly. Just like that,” he breathes onto my folds. “God…damn. Sweet as sugar. ”

  I blush at his words, and then I’ve got no headspace for anything but the screams ripping from my throat. Because god…I’ve never felt anything like this. Not ever. I writhe on the bed, arch up, buck in time to his tongue’s lapping. And then…oh yeah, it gets better. He slides a finger inside me and curls it, and I just…lose it. I combust. I scream so loud it hurts my own ears, upon which I clamp my teeth together and past gritting jaws.

  “Trust me?” His voice is a surprise, and I’m so lost in sensation I don’t even understand his words.

  “Wha—what?”

  “Do. You. Trust me. ” His fingers haven’t stopped their curling and swirling and exploring.

  “Your fingers are inside me, so yes. ”

  “You might want to bite a pillow. ”

  “Why…?” I start the question, but I never finish it. “Oh…shit!”

  He laughs, but it’s a pleased laugh. He’s got two fingers in my folds now, and a third is…oh hell. I don’t even believe it, can’t even fathom or understand it, but it’s down there. Dirty and dark.

  I bite a pillow. My entire existence is a vortex of raging ecstasy. I simply cannot contain it. I’m coming apart at the seams, and I’m not even coming yet. Or maybe I am. Maybe this is what lies beyond the edge, and this is the first time I’ve ever really been here. I don’t know. I can’t keep it in. I scream into the pillow, and I sob, and I arch, and I buck. I find my fingers tangled in his hair and crushing him wontonly against me, even as I’m begging him.

  Begging him to what, I don’t know.

  “Colton…Colton…please…oh god, ohgod, ohmigod…”

  See? Am I asking him to stop? To never ever stop, not even to breathe? I don’t know.

  It’s just a tiny intrusion, really, the very tip of his finger wiggling inside me in my forbidden place. But it’s earth-shattering.

  “What…what are you doing to me?” I ask.

  “Making you come. Fingering your tight, virgin ass**le. ” He returns his mouth to my folds and sucks my turgid nub into his mouth, and I scream, arch into him. “I’m getting you ready. ”

  “Ready for what?” I want to know. God, do I want to know. There’s more?

  “Come, and I’ll show you. ”

  “I thought I was coming?”

  He chuckles. “Oh no. ” He reaches up with his free hand, and suddenly he’s everywhere. Pinching my nipple and rolling it, and fingering me, curling and thrusting, licking, sucking… “Come. Now. ”

  It’s a command, and I have no choice but to obey. I explode into pieces, liquid and fire and screams and sobs. Actual sobs. Like, with tears.

  And then…then he crawls up my body like the predator he is. The stubble around his mouth is wet. From me. I blush, hard.

  Holy god, ohmigod, oh shit. He’s so huge. All muscle and bro
ad lines and hard edges, so big above me. His presence blocks out the world. All I see is tattoos and skin and sapphire eyes and sable hair. And then I glance down, and see his…his him. His cock.

  I like that word. I never use it. I started swearing openly after Kyle died. I just didn’t care anymore. But sex? Gone. No part of my life, after that. I swore, I cursed, I drank, but I couldn’t fathom sex. I buried myself in classes at a community college and worked for Daddy in his office and saw no one, did nothing, was no one. I worked. I studied. I played music. I was the living dead, a guilt-ravaged shell.

  Now…I’m alive. So alive. And I like dirty words.

  I’m shameless. And I like it. Partially because the guilt of what we’re doing is a new kind of pain, and pain centers me.

  Back to his cock. It’s…glorious. I just…oh god. I felt it, before. But seeing it all, every thick inch coming for me…I forget to breathe and bite my lip.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be careful. ” His voice is so, so tender.

  He thought I was afraid, I think. And suddenly, with that realization, I am. I’m terrified. Scared shitless. Another realization washes over me, and it brings wave after wave of pain, guilt, shame, and tears.

  “Nell? What is it? Why are you crying?” He falls to the side of me and nuzzles my face with his nose. “Shit. Shit. I did this. Too much. God…damn it. ” He presses his palm to his forehead.

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  “No…” I choke the word out past gut-racking sobs. “No. Not you…”

  “Then what?”

  “Well, yeah. ” I breathe deep and claw my nails down my forearm. The pain does its job and calms me. “It’s you, but not…not what you’re thinking. ”

  “Make sense, damn it,” he growls.

  “Sorry. Sorry. ” I gulp air and tug at my hair, pulling until it hurts. “You’re just so much. So much. So much more than…anyone. So much more than—than Kyle. ” And with that last word I’m sobbing again.

  “Fuck. ” He’s over me, on an elbow and gazing down at me, but I can barely see him through the blurry burn of salt in my eyes. “Nell, I’m just me. I know I said last chance, but…it’s done. Okay? Don’t…don’t be afraid. Don’t…god. I’m such a f**king dick. Look, this is about you, okay? I’m sorry I pushed you into this. ”

  I laugh past sobs. “You’re such an idiot,” I manage.

  At which he tenses, frozen stiff.

  “What? What did you call me?” His voice is deadly cold.

  I twist to look at him, and I see that he’s livid, jaw hard and tensed, neck muscles corded. “Colton, I—I just meant that I wasn’t afraid, not of you. And I said you’re an idiot because you’re acting like you pushed me into this. You didn’t. I pushed you into this. ” He’s shaking, he’s so mad, and I’m confused and terrified. “I’m sorry—I’m—I didn’t mean it…please…I—”

  “Shut up for a second and let me calm down, ‘kay?” I nod and hold absolutely still. After a few minutes, he speaks in a much calmer voice. “I have an issue with that word. With being called an idiot, or stupid. Or anything like that. Retard, dumbass, shit like that…it’s a button for me. Don’t say it. Not ever, not even in joke. Got it?”

  I nod. “Yeah. I got it. I’m sorry. You’re not an idiot. You’re amazing. You’re…so much. That’s my point. It’s—”