Page 38 of Brim Over Boot
I’d been feeling bad about the hurt I saw on Colton’s face when I won the Shoein’. When he looked as if I’d personally kicked his puppy right in front of him.
But all that lingering concern I was holding on to? Shattered to dust the moment Colton goddamn Darling barged into my sanctuary without warning or invitation.
And now my hand is around his neck, and Colton—this man who’s made no secret of despising my very existence—is getting hard against my thigh.
He’s hard.
Turned on, undeniably.
And he looks scared to death of it.
Colton shoves me, and I quickly let go, taking a step back. My hand burns where it was touching his skin, and I shake it out, only to stutter a step in surprise when Colton comes at me again.
“Don’t,” I say, trying to brush off his advance. “Walk out the door, Colt.”
He doesn’t. He tries to grab me, and I twist his arm, pinning it between us as I tug his back to my chest. He inhales sharply, going still, the scent of leather and citrus washing over me with his proximity. His breathing is labored, and my own starts to match.
“Is this what you want?” I ask at a rumble. “To fight?”
He doesn’t say a word, so I let him go again, only to grunt when the heel of Colton’s boot lands on my foot. I shove him forward against the table, his palms slapping the surface and my own quickly following to keep him down. An involuntary noise leaves his mouth, and my body flashes hot in an instant.
We both freeze, our breaths the only sound in the barn.
I shift my hips, an unconscious action that has me rubbing against Colton’s ass, and hemoans, his head dropping forward.
“Isthiswhat you want?” I ask in disbelief. We’re so close his hair is tickling my face, the waves spilling forward to hide his features. “You want me to keep you pinned?”
“No,” he says halfheartedly, the word barely audible.
I look down over Colton’s shoulder. “Your dick says otherwise.”
He bucks back against me, but I grip him harder. Colton makes another sound, wounded almost, like surrender. His back heaves beneath my chest, the man shaking. “And yours doesn’t?” he grinds out.
Oh, my dick likes this a hell of a lot, apparently. Colton Darling, at my mercy, trembling beneath me like a lamb waiting for slaughter.
“Do you want me to touch you?” I whisper against his ear.
He grunts, not a no, and I pull one of his hands off the table, pressing it over his crotch with my own. Colton’s breath shudders out of him.
“Beg me for it, little Colt.”
“Fuck you.”
I let out a contemplative hum. “Not this time.”
Colton stills, but it only lasts until I press his palm harder against his dick. He moans, his body sagging.
“I want to hear you beg,” I tell him, running my nose through the hair near his ear. “Tell me to touch you.”
“Hate you,” he mutters.
“So you say,” I soothe, rubbing his hand up and down over the denim of his jeans. Up and down. “But I’m still not going to touch you unless you beg for it.”
“God,” he spits, some of that fire returning. “You’re insufferable. I don’t…”
He cuts off, and I still the motion of our hands, waiting for more words that don’t come.
“Do you want me to stop?” I ask, entirely serious.
