Driven

His admission is like a match to my gasoline. His incendiary words stroke that small part of me deep down that hopes there might be more here. I look into his eyes, recalling random comments from our time together, and dare to think of possibilities. He has softened me, worn me down, and built me up all in a single space of time.

“Colton?” My voice waivers, riddled with emotion. “I … Colton—”

I never finish my thought because he yanks me into him and crushes his mouth to mine. All the idle flirtation from the night explodes between us in a torrent of seeking lips and groping hands. The urgency is palpable. Our need to feel our skin on each other’s is paramount. Colton releases his grip on my hips and grabs the hem of my sweater, pulling it over my head, and only breaking our kiss when it passes over my head. He tosses it on the floor as his mouth crashes back to mine.

Hunger. That is what his kiss tastes like. What his hands feel like on my body. What I feel inside. I want every inch of him and then some. I want to lose myself in him, get lost in the sensation, and become overwhelmed by his touch alone.

“Christ, Rylee …” he pulls back from me, our chests heaving against each other’s, our hearts both beating a frantic rhythm. He cups my face in his hands, the look in his darkened eyes tells me that he understands. He feels the hunger too. “You’ve stripped me, Rylee. You’ve teased me all night. I. Just. Don’t. Have. Any. Control. Left.” He squeezes his eyes shut as I feel his cock pulse against my belly. “I don’t think I can be gentle, Rylee—”

“Then don’t be.” I whisper at him, my own words surprising me. I don’t want to be treated like glass anymore. Like Max did. I want to feel that violent passion of his wash over me as he takes me with reckless abandon. I want him to dominate me so that I surge up and crash down without a thought otherwise.

His eyes widen at my words, a guttural sigh coming from his throat, and then he is against me, sinking us into a devouring kiss. Desperation pulses between us. He pushes me backward, our legs shuffling into each other, our hands grabbing at every inch of exposed skin that we can find. My backside bumps up against the hard edge of the granite on the kitchen island as Colton’s hands fumble with my jeans. He shoves them down over my hips and then easily lifts me onto the countertop.

The chill of the granite slab bites into the bare skin of my heated core, adding a new dimension to the heightened sensation in my sex. Colton tugs my jeans and panties down off of my feet, and then spreads my knees apart. He steps into me, pressing between my legs as he brings his mouth back to mine. His hands run down my chest, cupping my breasts through the thin lace of my bra before continuing their descent to the apex of my thighs. He runs a finger over my cleft before slipping a finger between its seam to find me wet and wanting.

“Oh, Rylee …” he hisses as he slides a finger up and back, coating me with my own dampness and pleasuring me at the same time. His other hand is fumbling with the button fly of his jeans. He looks down to watch his teasing torment of my sex and then brings his lips to mine. “I want to feel you on me, Rylee. Nothing between us,” his mouth murmurs against mine. His words deepening the ache I’m drowning in. “Can you trust me when I tell you that I’ve been tested? That I always use protection. Have never had sex without it. That I’m clean.” He kisses me again, his tongue slips between my lips, licking, tasting, tempting. “God, I just want to feel you.”

“Yes. Me too. Please—” I gasp out as he slips a finger into me, my mind unable to form a coherent sentence. “On the pill…yes…I trust you,” I pant as his finger circles inside of me.

“Lay back,” he commands as he frees himself from his jeans and grabs my legs just under my bent knees, raising them up.

The cold stone on my back has me arching up the same minute he parts and thrusts into me. I cry out at the overwhelming sensation of his invasion and the sudden fullness of him. He stills, buried completely within me, allowing the pleasure/pain I feel to subside as my body stretches and adjusts to him.

“Oh fuck, Rylee,” he rasps as I can see his control slipping. His eyes blaze over my body and up to my eyes. I can see the muscles of his torso strain, his jaw clench, and his eyes glaze over wild with need as he tries to rein it back in. “You feel so damn good wrapped around me. Like velvet gripping me.”

I gasp as he pulses inside of me, his control depleted. “Yes, Colton, yes,” I cry out as he pulls out and slams back into me. Sensation ripples through me as he grabs my hips and pulls me toward him so that my bottom rests off of the edge of the counter. He sets a punishing pace as he thrusts back into me, over and over. Not breaking rhythm, he leans his torso over me and links his hands with mine, pulling them up over my head. He holds them there with one hand while his other hand slides back down to squeeze my breast. His fingers roll my nipple between them, and he swallows the moan he coaxes from me when he captures my mouth again.

The house is filled with nothing but the sounds of our slick flesh hitting each other, our gasping breaths, impassioned pleas between each other, and cries of ecstasy. I can feel the surge building inside of me, my channel tightening around him as he pistons in and out, each iron-hard inch of him hitting every one of my nerves. But I can also see a man on the verge of losing control and finding release as Colton lets go of my hands and braces himself on his elbows, hovering over me. He thrusts one last time before he yells out my name and then suddenly he pulls out of me.

My body clenches at the unexpected emptiness I feel as Colton buries his head against my chest as his body convulses with his climax. In his hand? I’m confused. He groans from the violent pleasure that is shooting through his body. I can feel the tension ease out of his body and the warm caress of his lips on my bare flesh. His touch makes my body squirm as my nerves tingle with the loss of my anticipated orgasm.