Page 49 of Colt
“Yes. I like to think that it’s been a great act of feminism on my part.”
“Well. I guess so.” He looks like he doesn’t know what to say, and I’m almost amused that I’ve rendered Colt Campbell speechless. He’s not the kind of man to be speechless. I have a feeling that when it comes to women, he always knows what to say. Always knows how to act. Always knows exactly what’shappening next. I’ve managed to disrupt that. To throw him off. Cheers to me.
“It worked. We’ve managed to have a perfectly… Appropriate relationship for a lot of years. And I never jumped you.”
“Until today.”
“Until today. I know it’s a bad idea. Except I feel like it doesn’t have to be. Not if we are on the same page.”
“No one can ever know,” he says.
I laugh. Loud. Way too loud. It echoes in the room. “Yeah, no. No one can ever know. If they found out… I think we can handle this. I do. But I think that everybody else would lose their ever-loving minds. It’s a small town. Can you even imagine?”
He shakes his head. “No. That would be something that follows us both, and I don’t think either of us wants that.”
“But you want me. Right now.”
He nods. Slowly. I could ask him when that changed. I could ask why. I just don’t think it’s going to help me. I don’t think it’s going to benefit anything for me to have the full rundown of everything going on inside of him. I want my fantasy. And part of this has been deciding that I don’t need it to be his.
There. I can feel something inside of me unburdened. Lighten. Float away.
I don’t need this to be his fantasy. It just needs to be mine. This isn’t going to be forever. No one can ever know that we’re doing this. Only us. It’s our secret. Our dirty, messed-up secret.
And whatever he’s getting out of it, that’s his business. Whatever I’m getting out of it, it’s mine. “Disappointing sex?”
He moves closer to me. “Very.”
“My leg is not… I don’t know exactly how…”
“I don’t think it’s good to be disappointing.”
“Oh, I’ve never disappointed anyone. My tongue works just fine.”
I shiver.
“Oh.”
I struggle, though, with understanding how he’s gone from wherever he’s normally at with me to being willing to lick me in intimate places. But then I see the fire banked in his eyes, and I decide I don’t really care. I don’t need the play-by-play. I’m going to keep telling myself that. So that I don’t pull myself out of the moment. I’ve had a lot of disappointing sex, and part of the problem is me. I can never really lose myself in it. I’m an overthinker. I always have been.
Life has given me a lot of reasons to overthink. A mom with a long-term illness, which had me constantly analyzing every sign and symptom that I thought I might see in her when she was in between scans. Then my teenage crush moved into my house. Looking for signs and portents is sort of my thing.
But I don’t want to overthink now. The whole reason that I walked through all of this in my head before I came over was so that I didn’t do that. So that I could just let go.
“You really want to… You want to do that to me?”
“Come here,” he says.
He takes my hand and, on his crutches, goes to sit down on the couch, leading me along with him. He sits, and then, without warning, pulls me on top of him while he lets his crutches fall. I’m straddling him, one thigh on either side of his. I can feel the hard ridge of his cock between my legs. Oh God. I’m dying. I’m dying in the very best way.
“I want you,” he says. “You’re beautiful.”
I search his face, looking for something, something that feels specific to me. To this moment.
He’s so familiar.Colt. I’ve seen his face change over the years.
From a boy who I thought was cute, growing more angular, becoming a man that I thought was beautiful. He’s beenmy brother’s friend, my idol, my crush, my stepbrother. My adversary.
My charge. My patient.
