Page 24 of Fixing to Be Mine

Colt. Colt. Colt.

His name is a mantra, a prayer, and a curse. He’s only twenty-eight, six years younger than me, but fuck if he doesn’t make me feel like a goddamn teenager again. Three days of knowing him is all it took. Three fucking days, and I’m already imagining his hands on me, his mouth on me, his cock—Jesus Christ, his cock—pounding into me like he owns me.

The thought has my breath catching in my throat.

I imagine what would’ve happened if I’d kissed him or if I hadn’t stopped my hands from slipping under the hem of his shirt. My hips already shift forward, and I brace one hand on the tiles, the other sliding down my stomach, tracing the path I wish his hands would take.

I touch myself, fingers carefully gliding over my clit, the water making it easier to pretend it’s his voice in my ear or his big, strong, callous hand between my thighs.

I bite my bottom lip to keep quiet, but a soft moan still slips out. Thankfully, it’s swallowed by the rush of water. A gasp escapes me as my fingers find my clit, already swollen, already begging for attention. I circle it slowly at first, teasing myself, but, fuck, I can’t help it—I’m too desperate, too needy. Myfingers dive into my pussy, two at once, and I moan so loud that I’m afraid he’ll hear me.

I shove my fist into my mouth to stifle the sound, biting down on my knuckles as I finger-fuck myself harder, faster. My hips buck against my hand, and I imagine it’s him. Colt. His thick, veiny cock stretching me open, filling me up, making me scream. I can almost feel his hands gripping my hips, his breath hot on my neck as he catapults me into oblivion. My fingers curl inside me, hitting that sweet spot that makes my knees weak, and I whimper.

“Colt,” I whisper, his name slipping out like he’s my secret.

My knees wobble, and my back arches as my hand works faster. He’s on my mind and in my head as I imagine that sexy smirk and his eyes I want to drown in. I tilt my head back, my mouth parting as my fingers work over my pussy. My body’s never felt so hot from something as innocent as banter or flirting. His Southern sex appeal nearly has me unraveling.

My clit throbs under my touch, and I rub it quicker, my fingers a blur as I chase the orgasm that’s been building since the moment I met him. My ex—that cheating bastard—couldn’t get me off, but Colt? Colt ruins me with one look.

The rhythm builds faster than I expected, like my body’s been waiting all day for permission, and I give in to the fantasy of him. The thought of him hearing me, of him walking in and seeing me like this—naked, wet, fucking myself raw with his name on my lips—sends me over the edge.

My body convulses as I come, my pussy clenching around my fingers, my thighs trembling. I slide down the shower wall, my legs giving out as the pleasure rips through me like a fucking earthquake. I’m utterly wrecked as I think about how he looks at me like he’s already decided our future.

My chest heaves as the water washes over me, but it’s not enough to cool the fire he’s lit inside me. I’m in too deep, too fast,and I’m fucking scared. I haven’t been single for four years, and I don’t know how to act.

I close my eyes and take it all in—the guilt, the longing, the fear that this thing with him is already too big to handle.

I want him. God, Ineedhim.

Once I grab an ounce of control, I get out and wrap a towel around my body and step into the cooler air outside the shower. Steam swirls around me like it knows what I did. My legs still feel unsteady, like my body hasn’t caught up with what happened. I grip the edge of the counter and take a breath, trying to slow my pulse.

My reflection stares back at me through the fogged-up mirror—flushed cheeks, parted lips, damp hair curling at the ends.

I look like I’ve been fucked. I wrap the towel tighter around my body, like I can hold myself together with it.

God, what am I doing?

I’m a thirty-four-year-old runaway bride with a chip on her shoulder and a suitcase full of regret. And I got myself off in a stranger’s shower because he had smiled at me and had manners.

Pathetic.

I grab my toothbrush as if it might transport me back to reality, but my body still surges with need. Doesn’t help that his deep voice still echoes in my head. I close my eyes and hope he didn’t hear me when I moaned his name with my hand between my thighs like he already belonged there.

I open the door to the bathroom and look down the hallway to see if he’s on the couch. He’s not. I quickly cross to his bedroom, and when I walk inside, I drop the towel. Only then do I realize he’s standing at the dresser, shirtless, in gray sweatpants.

Colt turns, and his mouth falls open, and then he immediately shifts his back toward me.

“Oh my God,” I mutter.

I stop breathing altogether as I freeze in place. Not because I’m embarrassed, but because my whole body goes molten in an instant. Heat floods every inch of me, and it’s not only from the shock of being seen. It’s him.

I pick up the towel and try to quickly wrap it around my body. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know you were in here!”

His back is rigid, one hand braced flat against the dresser. I can see the flex in his arm and how his breath is uneven. He’s tryingsohard not to turn around.

I stand there, dripping, towel snug, my body still wet from the shower and flushed from a release I can’t explain.

His voice comes out strained. “I didn’t see anything.”

---