“Here comes the best part,” I say, realizing that I’ve spoken aloud the words I always tease Haddie for when she announces them at the bridge of the song. The lyrics come and I sing along as the words wash over me, moving me as they always do, bringing goose bumps to my flesh. “There you are, sitting in the garden, clutching my coffee, calling me sugar. You called me sugar.”

“I don’t get it,” Colton says, “Why is that the best part?”

“Because it’s the moment she realizes that he loves her,” I muse, a soft smile on my face.

“Why, Rylee, you’re a hopeless romantic, aren’t you?” he teases.

“Oh, shut up,” I shift to swat at him, embarrassed at my candor. Colton grabs my wrist, preventing my hand from connecting, and pulls me into him. His lips slant over mine and makes languid sweeping pass over them before licking into mine. He tastes of chocolate and beer and everything that is uniquely Colton. He cradles my head with one hand while the other runs aimlessly over my bare thighs. Fingertips graze softly without urgency or specific attention to any one spot. I could sit in this moment forever, the unexpected veneration in his actions unraveling me inside out.

Colton brushes a kiss on the tip of my nose before resting his forehead to mine, his hand still cupping the back of my head, fingers still knotted in my hair, his breath fluttering over my lips. “Rylee?”

“Hmm-hmm, Ace.”

He flexes the hand in my hair. “Stay the night with me,” he exhales quietly.

I still, holding my breath. Oh. My. I can feel the emotion behind his request and can sense the difference from the last time he said it to me. He’s not saying it out of obligation but rather because this is what he wants. Does this mean that maybe he feels an inkling of what is coursing through me? My silence belies the truth of how I feel and he mistakes it for hesitancy at his request.

“I’ve never said that before and truly meant it, Rylee.” His voice is a hushed plea that tugs at my heart and confirms my assumptions. He wraps his arms around me, cradling me in his lap, and pulls me with him as he leans back in the chaise, fingers playing in my hair. I remain silent, trying to clear the emotion from my voice before I speak.

“Hmmm, I don’t think I could move even if I tried,” I murmur.

“You’ll stay?” The eagerness in his voice surprises me.

“Yes.”

“In that case,” he muses, “I might have to take advantage of you again.”

“Again?” I laugh. His response is to grab my hips, lift me up and drag me astride him and his unmistakable readiness. He situates me on him so that our bodies fit together perfectly, each movement from him traveling through my thin panties and hitting me in just the right spot.

He sits up and kisses me forcefully, his tongue plunging between my parted lips, his hands pressing my body to him possessively. I grow dizzy wanting more of everything from him.

“I. Want. You. So. Much. Rylee.” He pants between kisses down my neck. I bring my hands to his face, fingers touching coarse whiskers, and draw his head up to meet my eyes. “You’re addictive.”

“I know,” I whisper, telling him with my eyes I understand the depth of that desire. That I feel it too. The muscle in his jaw tenses momentarily before he crushes his mouth to mine, the connection between us a necessity like air.

“Ride me,” he pants. Such a simple command really but it’s the way he says it—as if the sun won’t rise in the morning if I don’t—that has me pulling back. I stare into his eyes, so hypnotizing, so intense, and so full of desire I wouldn’t deny him even if I could.

So I begin to move, surrendering myself to him. Again.


CHAPTER 25


The cool air that wisps over my skin is a stark contrast to the radiating heat pressing against me. My sleep-induced haze slowly clears from my mind as my eyes flutter open, startled and squinting at the natural light filtering in through the open windows. Awareness seeps into me of where I am—whom I’m with—when I hear the crash of surf below mixed with the cry of seagulls.

I start to shift in the sinfully comfortable bed, wanting to stretch my muscles that oddly I find sore, until I realize why. Sex, sex, and more sex. A smug smile crosses my lips at the thought of actually being sore from having too much sex. And it’s not a complaint.

The other obstacle preventing my movement is the source of heat keeping me warm despite the chilly morning breeze flowing in from outside. I am lying on my back and Colton is wrapped around me like a vine. He is on his side, one leg bent and slung over mine, and his hand splays possessively over my bare chest with his palm cupping my breast. I turn to find his head half on my pillow, half on his.

I study his face: the angles, the fan of thick, dark lashes against his golden skin, the curve adding character to the ridge of his nose. I reach over and brush an errant lock of hair off his forehead, careful not to disturb him. In sleep, Colton’s dark and dangerous aura is softened by his disheveled hair, the absence of the intensity he carries around like a badge of protection, and the lack of tension in his jaw. I enjoy seeing this rare glimpse of him vulnerable and relaxed, his kissable lips parted in tranquil sleep.

Staring at him, my mind drifts back to last night. I recall his complete and unyielding attentiveness to me and my every need. I think of the new experiences he introduced me to and the pleasure he’s induced in me. My thoughts stray to leather restraints, vibrating eggs, and ice cubes inserted to melt as we became one, evoking that walk down the fine line of pleasure edged by pain. I think of how he showed me slow and soft before pushing me to the brink of oblivion by hard and fast. How by the light of the moon, in this expanse of a bed, he hovered over me, eyes intense, voice beseeching, and asked me to submit to him. Asked that I trust him to know what my body can handle and which threshold to push it to. And in that moment I was so captivated with him, I handed myself over to him without question or second thought. I agreed, knowing he already dominated my mind, heart, and body.

Afterwards, as I drifted off to sleep, his warm body pressed against my back and his mouth pressing softly in my hair, I questioned my judgment. My last thoughts before drifting off to sleep wondering what the hell I was getting myself in to by accepting his seemingly innocent request, for what is simple under a blanket of moonlight never seems to be when the next morning dawns.

Colton shifts beside me, rolling over so that his back is now toward me, and pulls the covers with him and off me. I shiver at the chill now that my human heater is gone, but happy that I can now stretch out my overused muscles. I wince as I flex my feet and extend my legs. I definitely wasn’t treated like glass last night, and if the unconscious oblivion called sleep I collapsed into afterward is any indication, I think my body quite liked it too.

I’m starting to get cold. I look over at the artfully sculpted lines of Colton’s back and I turn into him, tucking my body around him so that I can enjoy the feeling of my bare skin against his. My chin rests on his shoulder and my breasts pillow against his back as I curl my arms around him, comforted by his masculinity. I absently run my fingers across his chest as I slowly sink back into sleep.

I’m in that suspended state of the first stages of slumber when all of the sudden several things happen simultaneously and what seems to be in slow motion. Colton emits the most gut-wrenching, feral cry I’ve ever heard. I would’ve remained frozen in shock but he bucks his body violently back against me, connecting his elbow against my shoulder. “No!” falls from his mouth in a strangled shout. He jumps from the bed and turns around, legs spread, knees bowed, arms bent, and hands fisted in front of his face. His face is the picture of terror: eyes wild and haunted, flickering constantly, teeth clenched, and tendons straining in his neck. His chest heaves shallow breaths, body tense and vibrating with acute awareness as sweat beads on his forehead.

I instinctively grab my shoulder where it is smarting with pain. The shock of what just happened sinking in, my adrenaline pumping now so that my body shakes from its effects. If I hadn’t seen this kind of reaction from a nightmare before from some of my kids, I think I would be more startled and unsure than I am right now. If Colton didn’t have such a look of complete fear in his eyes and reflected on his face, I would have laughed at him standing nude, looking like he’s ready to throw down. But I know this isn’t a joke. I understand that Colton has had a dream dredging up the past that silently chases him and continues to traumatize him on a daily basis.

I roll my shoulder, the ache still present. “Colton,” I say evenly, not wanting to startle to him.

At my words I can see his eyes slowly come into focus at the room before him and the tension in his stance slowly abates. He turns his head and looks at me, a plethora of emotions in his eyes: embarrassment, shame, relief, fear, and apprehension. “Oh, fuck!” He shudders a breath, bringing his hands up to rub the fear from his face. The only sounds in the room are his heaving breaths, hand chafing over his stubble, and the ocean outside.

“Fuuuccckkk!” he repeats again, his eyes narrowing on my hand rubbing my shoulder. I can see him clench and unclench his fists as he realizes he’s hurt me somehow. I remain still as his eyes lower and his shoulders slouch. “Rylee—I—” he turns abruptly and grabs the back of his neck with his hand, pulling down. “Give me a fucking minute,” he mutters as he quickly strides into the bathroom.

I gather the sheets up to my chest and watch him leave, wanting to reach out to him and tell him things he doesn’t believe or want to hear about what just happened. I sit there in indecision of what to do next when I hear the unmistakable sound of Colton vomiting. A knife twists deep down in my gut, and I squeeze my eyes shut, wanting desperately to comfort him.

The toilet flushes followed by a muttered curse and then I hear the faucet turn on and the brushing of teeth. I rise from the bed, sliding Colton’s shirt on when I hear him sigh again with his favored curse of the morning. I enter the bathroom, needing to make sure he is okay. I know he notes my presence for he stops the hand towel in mid-motion to his face when he senses me. We stand there frozen momentarily as he focuses on the water running from the faucet. His angst is palpable and smothers the air between us. Colton scrubs the towel over his face and turns toward me.

When he drops the towel from his face, the eyes that stare back at me are not his. The ones I’ve come to love. They are dead. Cold. Devoid of emotion. The muscle in his jaw pulses and the cords in his neck strain as he works his throat.

“Colton…” His glazed green eyes glare intently on mine causing any more words I’d planned to say falter on my lips.

“Don’t, Rylee,” he warns. “You need to leave.” His command is flat. As lifeless as his eyes.

My heart lurches into my chest. What happened to him? What memory has reduced this vibrant, passionate man to nothing. “Colton,” I plead.

“Go, Rylee. I don’t want you here.”

My bottom lip trembles at his words for he can’t possibly mean them after the evening we’ve just shared. I saw the emotion in his eyes last night. Felt from his actions how he feels about me. But now … all I can do is stare at him, the man before me unrecognizable.

The pain and fear before when he awoke from his dream was so obvious that all I wanted to do was to comfort him. Now I’m not quite sure what to do. I take a step forward and I hear his teeth grind in reaction. I’ve worked with traumatized children but I am way out of my element here. I look down at my clasped hands and whisper brokenly, “I just want to help.”

“Get out!” he roars causing my head to snap up in time to see his dead eyes spark to life with unfiltered anger. “Get the fuck out, Rylee! I don’t want you here! Don’t need you here!”

I stand there frozen, his unprovoked anger immobilizing me. “You don’t mean that,” I stutter.

“Like hell I don’t!” he yells, the sound echoing off of the stone tiles and reverberating. Our eyes hold in silence as I process the hurt he’s spewing. In the back of my mind I know there’s a reason for this—for his actions—but my mind is so jumbled with the hurt and shock from his venom that I can’t rationally process anything. Colton takes a threatening step toward me and I just stare at him shaking my head. He throws the towel with a curse, the clatter of bottles it knocks over ricocheting around the pin-drop quiet bathroom. His eyes angle back toward mine as he clenches and unclenches his jaw. When he speaks, his voice is chillingly cruel. “I’ve fucked you, Rylee, and now I’m done with you! I told you that’s all I was good for, sweetheart…”