Page 34 of The County Line
I stare back into his eyes, desperate to read his thoughts. What’s going through his mind? I know exactly what’s racing through mine. His hand remains firm at my throat, his gaze locked on mine, intense and unrelenting. It feels like he’s searching to find something in them.
I hope he finds it.
Then his thumb brushes over my lips again, lingering this time. When I part them slightly, he slides the thick pad of one digitinto my mouth. Without thinking, I close my lips around it and suck gently, hollowing my cheeks and flicking the tip with my tongue the same way I imagine I’d take him.
He watches me like that for a long moment, blinking slowly as if trying to snap himself out of whatever spell we’re under. Then a low, guttural growl rumbles from deep in his chest, raw and primal. Abruptly, he pulls his thumb free, letting it slide out of my mouth with a sloppy trail of spit following. His hand drops from my throat, his grip on my hip vanishes, and he takes a massive step back.
The loss of his touch sends me reeling. I can feel myself slipping, my knees buckling against the wall. I’m moments away from collapsing into an embarrassing heap when his hands shoot out, catching me easily for the second time tonight.
Without a word, he scoops me up and tosses me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing, striding purposefully toward the bar’s side exit. The cool night air hits my skin, but I barely register it as he carries me to his truck.
I vaguely remember him setting me into the passenger seat and buckling me in. His voice is calm but firm as he murmurs, “Relax. I’ve got you, Molly.”But what I don’t miss is the mortifying moment minutes later when the alcohol catches up to me, and I throw up all over his pristine leather seat while he drives me home in silence.
And when I wake up the next morning, tucked in my bed back at my duplex with no sign of Colt. I sprint out to the living room with a pounding headache only to find Regan fast asleep on the couch.
He must have called her to come stay with me since he knew I was drunk.
I look down at what I’m wearing, not what I had on last night. A pair of camo cargo shorts I know Regan would never dress me in for sleep and my white tank top. Colt must have not been able to find pajamas last night.
My heart races as I think back on the night, and the heat behind his eyes when he held me.
What just happened?
Chapter 15 – Colt
It’s just a quick stop.??
Yep, that’s what I told myself. I was supposed to be heading to the doctor for my annual check-up—a responsible, grown-up thing to do. Something I never used to bother with, but I’m twenty-nine now, and I haven’t seen a proper doctor since getting out of prison.
Not that I’d call the ones in there “proper.” They were there to dole out meds, patch us up between fights, and keep us alive—barely.
Cheap labor only works if you’re breathing, after all.
So, yeah, I decided it was time to get a real check-up, make sure all the parts are still working as they should. Plus, it’s one of the few allowed travel reasons I can use without restrictions. And while I’ve been making solid progress on my place at Whitewood Creek, I needed a reason to get off the farmstead, out of the distillery and back into the wild while I try to feel normal again. See some of the world beyond the rolling fields of cornstalks and oak barrels aging in the sun.
The truth? I’m still desperate to feeling something,anything.
It’s been three days since I reluctantly agreed to hit up Krissy’s Bar with Molly after my required volunteering hours.
Three days since I’d told myself I was only going because I didn’t want her going there alone, looking that damn good, surrounded by the reckless and rowdy group of volunteers that her and Lydia had dragged along.
Three days since she got way drunker than I thought was possible for someone her size. Since we ended up in that dimly lit hallway, my hands wrapped around her delicate throat. Since her scent—sweet and warm—wrapped around me, seeping into my skin.
She felt so damn good against me, soft and pliant, like she belonged there. And her eyes—wide, a little glassy—locked on mine like I was the only thing keeping her upright. Like I was the one keeping her steady.
And maybe, for that moment, I was but she was the thing steadying me too.
And for the first time in four years, I’d feltsomething.
Not just the usual numbness. Not just anger. Something I think wasreal.
And fuck me, I liked it.
If I had to guess, it probably fell somewhere on my therapist Liv’s little list of emotions. Desire. Passion.Curiosity. Because, yeah, I’m damn curious now. Curious about what a girl like Molly would look like naked. Curious about how she’d sound right before a man brings her to the edge of an orgasm.
Curious how that’d feel if that man were me.
And the craziest part? It all happened at Krissy’s Bar—back in the place where everything went to hell. The scene of the crime that changed my life.
