Crashed

“Hmm?” he murmurs, the vibration of his mouth against my neck rolling through me. He moves again, grinding his hips in a circular motion, cock hitting hidden nerves, before he pulls back out and angles up so he rubs against my clit adding a pleasurable friction that has me forgetting all thoughts about needing my hands to be released. He chuckles, knowing exactly what he’s just done. “That feel good?”

“God yes!” I moan as he does it again, my thighs starting to tense and my skin becoming flushed as the tidal wave of sensation surges in preparation for its final assault on my body.

“I know I’m good, baby, but God might get a little jealous if you start comparing us.”

The playful tone, the lazy lovemaking, because this is making love for us—he may call it racing, but this … murmured words, utter acceptance, complete knowledge of the other’s body, comfort—is most definitely him showing me how he loves me.

I can’t help the carefree laugh that falls from my mouth any more than I can help the arch of my back and the angling of my hips on his next thrust in his slow, skillful rhythm. “Well … be prepared to get jealous in turn,” I taunt, causing him to lift his head from his position on my neck and scrape his whiskers purposefully across my bare nipple causing unfettered need to mainline straight to where he is manipulating so expertly between my thighs. He raises his eyebrows at me in amusement, trying to figure out what exactly I mean as his hips rotate again within me, and I’m lost.

To the moment.

To him.

To the orgasm singlehandedly ripping through my body and drowning me in its overwhelming sensations.

To the, “Oh God, oh God, oh God!” that falls from my lips as wave after wave surges through me.

And I succumb to the haze of my desire but I hear him chuckle when he realizes just why I thought he might be jealous. My body is still pulsing around him, still coming, when he leans down into my ear, his morning rasp adding a soft tickle to the violent sensations reverberating through me. “You may be calling his name now, sweetheart, but in a minute you’re going to be thanking me,” he says as he nips my shoulder with his teeth before my hands are released and the warmth of his body leaves mine.

I’m so lost in riding out my climax that the warmth of his mouth on my already sensitive flesh has me calling out his name, hands fisting in the hair on his head positioned between my legs, tongue sliding along the length of my seam. “Colton!” I cry as his tongue licks into me, drawing out the intensity of my orgasm, prolonging the free fall of ecstasy. “Colton!” I say again, starting to squirm my hips against his mouth as the pleasure becomes almost too much to bear.

He licks his tongue back up again and this time keeps going, drawing a line of open mouth kisses and licks up my belly, chest, and neck to my mouth so when his tongue pushes between my lips, I can taste my own arousal. His mouth on mine absorbs my gasped moan as he enters me once again and begins to chase his own orgasm.

When he pulls back from my mouth and sits back on his knees, holding my legs apart as he starts to move within me, he grants me that lightning flash grin I can never resist. “I told you, it would be my name you were calling in the end.”

I start to say something but he grips my hips and rears back and thrusts into me. The start of a punishing rhythm that has my hands gripping the sheets and his name becomes a pant on my lips as he takes us to the edge together.

“What’d Becks want?” I ask Colton as I walk into his office and lean my backside on the desk to face him. If it weren’t for my positioning, I would have missed the uncertainty flicker through his eyes before he grimaces.

“Is it a bad one?” I ask of the headache I can tell he’s trying to hide.

“Nah, not too bad. They’re getting fewer and farther between,” he says falling silent as he unbends the paperclip in his hand with fierce concentration.

“Becks?” I prompt, sensing that something is wrong.

“He uh, asked if I wanted to reserve some time at the track since they book out far in advance. To make sure I had some time if I wanted it.” He averts his eyes and focuses on the paperclip he’s unfolding with his fingers. “He thinks I should get back in the car.”

Fucking Beckett!

I want to scream at the top of my lungs but settle for chastising him silently. Okay. I’ve gotten my unfounded anger out at him for doing what I agree is right, but it still doesn’t mean I like it … at all. I’d feel a whole hell of a lot better if I had a punching bag too because I’m still terrified by the thought of Colton suited up and behind the wheel, but the question is, is Colton?

“What are your thoughts on it? Are you ready?”

He sighs and leans back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head and looking up to the ceiling. “Nah,” he says finally, drawing the word out, stalling for time for his explanation. “Yesterday I—” he stops mid-thought and shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter … My hand’s still too fucked up to grip the wheel,” he says. And I know it’s a bullshit lie since he had no problem holding me up so he could have his way with me against the front door yesterday, but I know saying it out loud would be akin to kicking a man when he’s down; not only would I know he’s scared, but I’d also be proving he’s lying.

But his aborted explanation that he didn’t complete, mixed with his comment yesterday about it being a rough day, collide together not so subtly in my mind. I move without asking and sit across his lap and nestle into him. He blows out a resigned breath before unlacing his fingers and closing his arms around me.