Page 6 of Personal Foul
“I want to say thank you again for today.” I pause, reaching my hand out to grab onto his forearm. He turns slightly in his seat, enough to face me. “The officer called earlier to follow up and let me know they arrested him. I guess they found a gun on him. Just hearing that, I know things could’ve gone much worse.”
“Whoa, hey.”
Colson must sense the darkness of my thoughts. He reaches for my hand, tightening around his forearm. He gently slips his hand in mine, stepping down from the barstool, pulling me out of my seat with him. Without hesitation or questioning, he wraps his arm around my shoulder, pulling me into his warm body.
“Don’t think like that, okay? You can’t let yourself think about the shoulda, coulda, woulda. All right? What matters is you’re here and you’re okay. We both are.”
The warmth of his body mixed with his clean scent washes over me, helping ease the tension eating away at my nerves.
Who is this man? There’s something so mysterious about him yet calming at the same time. The way he appeared out of thin air, helping protect me from what happened today. How I feel when I’m near him is both intoxicating yet terrifying at the same time. Now, here I am, in his arms, and there’s not a rational thought in my mind that’s able to convince me this isn’t exactly where I’m supposed to be.
He leans back, gripping my face in both of his hands, turning me toward him.
“I was never going to let anything happen to you.”
My eyes meet his, and we stand in place for God only knows how long. I reach my hand up, grabbing onto his wrist, holding on for dear life.
When his eyes flash to where my hand is now covering his, before looking back to me, I wonder for a second if he feels the pull between us, too. My tongue slips out of my mouth, wetting my lips, capturing his attention.
I keep waiting for the moment when he’ll put us both out of our misery, but as the seconds tick by and the sound of my beating heart vibrates through my ears, I start to question if it’s going to happen at all.
“I have enough wine in me right now, I could make the first move without thinking twice, but this would be the second time tonight I was the one to act first,” I breathe harshly. “Are you going to kiss me or what?”
His smirk is back, nearly taking my breath right out of me before his lips crash into mine. I know this is what I want, I thought I was ready, but heaven help me. Nothing could’ve prepared me for what it’s like to be kissed by Colson.
He tangles his fingers in my hair, tilting my head back as his tongue traces the edge of my mouth, seeking entry. This is more than just a kiss. He has consumed me.
When our tongues connected, a heavy moan, which escaped his mouth, spurred me on. Gripping the front of his shirt, I run my palms down his chest, taking in the feel of his washboard abs. As much as I never want to stop kissing him, I know I can’t wait for the chance to feel his skin on mine.
Clenching the material in my hands, I pull back, taking in the desire glossing over his eyes. My fingers skate over the hem of his shirt, helping to shed the offensive material covering his body.
His jaw flexes, whipping his shirt over his head, tossing it somewhere near the door.
“Praise Mary, Joseph, and Baby Jesus,” I whisper to myself, earning me a chuckle.
“Oh, yeah?”
“Now seemed like a good time to say grace,” I clarify, my eyes dropping to his gym shorts and the not-so-subtle bulge forming before looking back up at him.
He smirks, pulling me back in and kissing me. This time he lets his hands rake down the edge of my hips, grabbing the back of my thighs, lifting me to wrap my legs around his waist.
Circling my arms around his neck, he carries me into the living room.
“Is your knee feeling better?”
“I forgot all about it.” I smile, holding the side of his face, kissing him as he guides us to his couch.
He holds my foot, careful as he takes a seat with me still in his arms. His attentiveness makes my heart swoon.
While I adjust my position to straddle him, his fingers glide up my thighs, clutching my hips in his hands.
Reaching for his battered hand, my fingers caress his swollen skin before pressing a soft kiss against his injury. He hisses, his face wincing as his hand clenches mine.
“Are you okay?”
He releases his hold before a smile spreads across his face. “I’m fine, I promise.”
My eyes narrow, smacking him on the shoulder. “That’s not funny.”
