Page 57 of The County Line
The corner of his mouth curves into a faint smirk before his hand shifts lower, finding me wearing nothing underneath.
“You sleeping naked in my bed, Molly?” he grumbles against my lips . His fingers tease the edge of my pussy, swiping gently once, testing the waters. He’s being too gentle, and the softness has me aching while I squirm, trying to get more friction.
“Patience, Molly,” he murmurs as his lips capture mine again.
Then, without warning, his middle finger plunges deep inside of me, the sudden intrusion tearing a gasp from my lips. My head falls back against the pillow as my body arches into him, desperate and needing. His other hand grips my hip, pinning me in place, while his thumb circles that sensitive bundle of nerves—each pass sending sparks through my veins like wildfire.
“Were you thinking about me while you were lying here?” he murmurs, voice rough and low, thick with heat. The sound of it—dark velvet, laced with desire—wraps around me and pulls me under.
I can barely think, let alone answer. His finger works in a slow, torturous rhythm, dragging me closer to the edge before he slips a second finger inside me. I choke on a breath, a broken sound catching in my throat as he leans in, lips brushing my ear.
“Tell me,” he urges, deeper now, darker, his breath hot against my skin. “Were you thinking about me? About my hands on you? My fingers playing with your pussy? Because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about this. Not since the second you came back into my life.”
I nod—shaking, trembling—my voice useless, lost somewhere behind the moans I can’t hold back. My body gives the answerfor me, hips rocking into his hand with silent desperation. He groans low in his chest, the sound vibrating through my skin as his pace picks up, faster now, rougher, driven by the same ache I’ve been drowning in since the moment we first touched.
“Fuck,” he breathes, the word wrecked and reverent as his mouth hovers just above mine. “I can’t get enough of touching this pussy.”
His voice breaks me wide open.
Then his mouth is on mine again, devouring. His kiss is hard, messy, a little desperate—like he’s trying to consume me, brand me, make sure I don’t forget the way he’s taking me apart in his hands. And I let him. I give him everything. Let myself drown in him, lose myself in the ache and the heat and the way he makes me feel like I’m the only thing that matters.
Chapter 26 - Molly
He picks up his pace, fingers stretching me wider as he slides a third inside. I clench hard, rolling my hips into him, catching my orgasm.
“Please Colt, I need more.” More friction, more of him, more of everything that’s been brewing between us.
His palm presses firmly against my clit, rubbing hard, his movements calculated and devastating. That extra pressure is exactly what I need but it isn’t enough. I want his mouth on me, his cock deep inside of me. I want to know what I’ve wondered for years. How it will feel to have Colt completely.
He withdraws his fingers, dragging my arousal across my sensitive skin, trailing it up to my stomach, only to plunge back into me a moment later with a growl.
“I can’t get enough of touching you. You’re so wet, so warm.” His mouth claims mine again, sealing us together, his kiss as intoxicating as his touch.
It isn’t soft or gentle, but it’s still deliberate—respectful, savoring,Colt. It’s how he’s always been with me: protective, grounding, yet somehow unrelentingly intense. His thumb circles my clit again, teasing, driving me to the edge, until suddenly he pulls back. He shifts his weight until he’s between my thighs, kicking off the tangled blankets in one smooth motion.
I reach for the hem of his shirt, desperate to see him fully. “Let me,” I whisper.
He hesitates, his jaw tightening for a moment, then pulls his shirt off himself slowly. The pale moonlight spills across his skin, illuminating every inch of him—the carved lines of his abs, his powerful shoulders, and the thick, veined biceps that make my breathing stall. His body looks sculpted, built for strength, protection and endurance, yet here he is, gentle and completely presentwith me.
But then my eyes catch on something I don’t remember from those youthful trips to the creek—a jagged, four-inch scar that cuts right across the middle of his chest below one of his tattoos. My breath stalls, my hand instinctively reaching out. I trace the raised skin with a finger, committing every ridge and curve to memory.
“What’s this from?” I whisper, my voice unsteady.
“Prison fight,” he replies, his tone even. “I was trying to break it up before two guys killed each other. Ended up taking the worst of it. Got a nice trip to the hospital for a day. We call those field trips.”
A sharp gasp escapes my lips as the image of him there, surrounded by chaos, flashes in my mind. Colt, doing what he’s always done—standing between danger and the people he’s trying to protect. Doing the right fucking thing and paying for it.
“It was close to my heart,” he continues, his voice steady as his eyes study me, “but it didn’t hit anything vital.”
The casual way he says it only tightens the ache in my chest. I blink rapidly, trying to stop the tears from falling because I know he doesn’t want my pity. He endured that and so much more for almost five years and I may never know the full extent of what he’s been through, but I can tell that sharing that part of his past with me is significant.
“Thank you for telling me,” I whisper.
I want to tell him how much I admire him, how deeply I feel for the man he is today—not just for his sacrifices but for all the ways he’s always looked out for me. The words are there, rising to the surface, but I don’t trust my voice.
Instead, I let my hands speak for me. I run my fingers over his buzzed head, trailing down to massage the hard muscles of his neck, wishing I could ease some of the tension he carries there. My grip tightens on his shoulders, strong and steady beneath my palms, as he dips his head lower.
With a deliberate slowness, he pushes the fabric of my T-shirt up around my hips. Then, his gaze locks with mine for a heartbeat before he dives in, his tongue trailing one long, devastating lick across my opening that has me arching into his face, unable to hold back a satisfied moan.
