Page 24 of Beg Me
I want to see you again.
Not a question. A statement of intent that makes my pulse quicken.
Tess
I'd like that.
When?
Colt
Tonight. Your place.
I glance around my apartment. It's clean enough, but suddenly I want to make sure everything is perfect. For him.
Tess
I'm looking forward to it.
I hit send, then add another text with my address.
Colt
So am I, pretty thing.
Those three words send a shiver down my spine. I spend the next few hours in a state of nervous anticipation, changing my outfit twice before settling on comfortable leggings and an oversized sweater that slips off one shoulder. Casual but not careless.
When the doorbell rings, my heart leaps into my throat. I take a deep breath before opening the door.
Colt stands there, tall and imposing in dark jeans and a gray henley that stretches across his broad shoulders. His eyes darken as they take me in. He's holding a small gift bag in his hand, tissue paper poking out the top.
"Hi," I manage, suddenly shy despite everything we've done.
"Hello, Tess." He steps inside, bringing his presence with him. My apartment feels smaller with him in it, like he takes up more space than his physical body. He sets the bag down next to the door and moves closer to me.
"Can I get you something to drink?" I ask, falling back on basic hospitality to hide my nervousness.
"Water is fine." He follows me to the kitchen, watching as I fill two glasses. "How are you really feeling? Any drop?"
The question catches me off guard with its directness and care. "No drop. I feel good. Really good, actually."
He nods, satisfied. "Good. I've been thinking about you."
"You have?" I hand him a glass, our fingers brushing.
"Constantly." His gaze is intense, unwavering. "I want to keep seeing you, Tess."
The directness of his statement makes my breath catch. "I want that too."
"This isn't just about scenes for me," he continues, setting his glass down. "I don't do casual."
"Neither do I," I admit. "I want to keep seeing you, too."
We stand there in my kitchen, the air between us charged with possibility. Not just sexual tension, though there's plenty of that, but something deeper, the recognition of finding someone who understands your darkest desires and doesn't flinch.
"Good," he says finally. "Because I brought you something."
He walks back to the door and grabs the gift bag, handing it over to me.
