Page 110 of Brim Over Boot
“You can. Tell me.”
He lets out a breath, the hand on my arm flexing. “I need you to kiss me.”
The words fall between us, heavy, like stones. They’re not what I’m expecting. They’re so,somuch more.
I crash my mouth into Colton’s, and the two of us go stumbling, trying to maintain our balance. We don’t manage it. One or both of us trips, and then we’re on the ground, my elbow hitting hard enough I know it’ll bruise but not caring one bit. Colton scrambles over top of me, pinning my wrists to the dirt as he bites my lip.
I’m about to pull my hands free, regain the upper hand, when Colton grinds down on my lap. His breath puffs against me, the groan that follows causing me to still. He does it again, grinding, his mouth urgent against my own in a way I’ve never felt from him before. Not like this. Not with him taking what he wants from me.
I tug my hands free, and Colton makes a tortured sound, but it turns into pure, aching relief as I hastily shove his pants down his hips. The doors are wide open, but I don’t think either of us cares. The only one around is Walt, and I pray he stays inside the house for the next however many minutes.
Colton’s kisses are bruising as I work my own pants low enough to take our cocks into my hand. His breath stutters and restarts, his hips moving against me as the both of us grunt.
“Admit it,” I rasp out, one hand in his hair to keep him close. “Admit you like me.”
“You,” he pants.
It takes me a second to understand, but then I give the words freely. “I like you a whole fucking lot, Colt. Tell me you’re mine.”
“God fucking damn it,” he mutters, his head dropped forward, hair concealing his face. I tug it back out of the way, but his eyes won’t meet mine. “I want to hate you.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want to hate you at all.”
My heart kicks. My cock, too. “I know, baby.”
“Fuck,” he hisses, leaning down to catch my lips again. He rolls against me, the pressure and dry rub of our cocks bordering on uncomfortable. It doesn’t matter. I’m so close to the edge, the hint of discomfort only spurs me on.
I stroke us together, Colton raining kisses veering on attack down on me. I accept them all, the air around us scented with fresh earth and citrus, the man on top of me everything I had no idea I wanted.
When he leans back enough to hastily push my shirt up to my chin but not take it off, I falter for all of a second. But then Colton is crying out, his hand planting on my shoulder as his cock kicks against mine, his release coating my stomach and chest.
I follow him like it’s my sole purpose in life.
My orgasm is brutal and sharp, and I adjust my grip, my hand squeezing my dick as if I could somehow call back the wreckage. It’s no use. I feel like I’m splintering apart, pieces of me coming undone without my permission.
But then there are warm hands bracketing my neck. A face pressed to the side of my own. A familiar scent.
“I didn’t want to like you,” Colton whispers.
I heave a breath. Another. “I know.”
“But I do.”
I close my eyes, my hands on Colton’s hips holding tight. “So what does that mean for us?”
“I don’t know,” he says around a sigh, sitting slowly upright. He looks around before popping up and grabbing a mostly clean rag from a table nearby, hiking up his pants as he goes. “I was kinda hoping you could tell me.”
“Well,” I say, accepting the rag he hands me and wiping my stomach and chest. Much to my surprise, Colton kneels back over me, tucking my cock into my pants. Having him touch me like that, so easily and without a hint of reservation, has my chest turning unbearably warm. “Here’s what I think.”
Colton sits on the tops of my thighs and motions me on.
I toss the rag to the side before easing up onto my elbows. “We’re dating.”
“We are?”
“Yes,” I answer. “Exclusively.”
