Page 57 of Resist

“You can’t ditch him,” Coulton finished for her.

She looked away, closing the lid on that subject. She’d started this entire conversation hoping to learn more abouthim, and as always, Coulton turned it all back around to her.

“Can I see your drawings?”

Ainsley had only shown her artwork to one other person because they were deeply personal to her. But the second he asked, she realized how much she wanted him to see them. “Yeah. You can. Wait here.”

She climbed out of bed and quickly walked to the living room, where she’d left her messenger bag. Grabbing the sketch pad, she returned to the bedroom, climbing back under the covers. Coulton was already sitting up, reclining on a pillow. He’d even set up a spot for her.

For the next hour, she flipped through page after page as Coulton studied her drawings, asking about her inspiration and complimenting her work. He even recognized which pictures she’d had inked on her skin.

“I’d love to have any of these tattooed on me,” he said, as she reached the last page. “You’re so talented, Ainsley.”

She smiled, touched beyond words. “The only other person to see my artwork is the guy who did my tattoos. He said the same thing, said they’d be awesome inked on skin.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, drawing her attention back to him. “For sharing that with me. I know it’s not easy for you. So…how about a reward?” he asked, as he rolled her to her back, climbing over her.

“Reward, huh? Pretty sure of your skills there, aren’t you?” she teased, grateful he was able to read her moods and so good at giving her easy outs.

“You were in this bed last night. You know exactly what my skill level is.” Coulton wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“God, I want to call you a cocky ass, but…” She had to give credit where credit was due. “All those damn orgasms would prove me a liar.”

Coulton gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Since you were too wrung out from my mad skills, I’m going to show you what I dreamed about.”

As he slipped his cock inside her, she reconsidered her stance on certain types of dreaming.

Because wow.

Coulton rocked inside her, his pace and depth increasing with each return until her vision turned white, her nails digging into his shoulders. While she’d read about passion in the silly romance novels her mother had left behind, she’d never experienced it up close and in person until him.

He held nothing back as he kissed her, nipped at her chin, pulled her hair, and whispered dirty, dirty things in her ear. He fucked her with a relentless force that made her tremble in the best possible way.

Coulton continued pounding through her first orgasm, pausing for only a minute during her second, before joining her in her third, the two of them exploding brighter than fireworks on the Fourth of July.

Ainsley tried to still her breathing in the aftermath, her hand flat on Coulton’s chest, the hard thud of his heart matching hers.

Then, he turned to look at her, giving her that affable grin that was almost boyish, and she couldn’t help but return it. When was the last time she’d smiled this much?

When his grin faded too soon, morphing into something that looked like regret, she wondered what she’d done wrong.

“I’m heading out this afternoon,” he said. “Four days on the road. Flying to Vegas, then on to San Jose.”

“Oh.” She understood that traveling was a big part of his job, but that didn’t stop the uneasiness that pressed in on her at the idea of him being gone. She didn’t subscribe to thatabsence makes the heart grow fonderbullshit. She belonged to the church ofout of sight, out of mind.

Surely during his time away, Coulton would come to his senses and see this thing between them wasn’t destined to go the distance. For all she knew, he was just slumming, like Montgomery. She wasn’t a fool; she knew women hovered like flies around shit when it came to professional athletes. Maybe she was just his current Baltimore booty call, and he planned to indulge with other women while jet-setting around the country. She hated to think that way, but him using her for sex made a hell of a lot more sense to her than anything else.

Coulton sat up, giving her a bird’s-eye view of his muscular back and sexy ass as he bent down and picked up his pants from the floor where he’d dropped them last night.

“I’ll call you as soon as I get back,” he said, even though that traitorous part of her that couldn’t trust instantly doubted him. “And I’ll text while I’m gone.”

“Okay. Cool,” she replied, striving for casual.

“How about some breakfast?” he asked. “I make a mean French toast.”

She forced a smile and nodded, hanging out in the kitchen while he made her a restaurant-worthy breakfast.

All the while, she couldn’t help but feel like the bottom was about to drop out from under her.

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