Page 108 of Finding Denver
“Where are we going?” I ask.
His grin sends a thrill through me. “Upstairs. I’m going to clean up that beautiful mess.”
This should feel strange. I should be second guessing this in my post-come clarity, but I’m not. If anything, I’m aching for more, desperate to feel his tongue between my legs after his fingers worked so much magic.
Once we’re in my room, he closes the door and walks me to the bed. He sits me down on it and I grip the hem of the jersey, but he catches my hand. “That stays on.”
I smirk as I pull myself back on the bed, knees closed. “Am I fulfilling a fantasy?”
“Oh, big time.” His eyes are on fire, and I bite my lip as he kneels on the bed at my feet.
“You need to take your clothes off,” I breathe.
“If this is one night, I’m focusing on you,” he says, gripping my ankles and pulling me down the bed. He opens my legs, and I gasp as the cool air rushes across my wet pussy.
“Ruining me for every other man?” I ask.
He grins as if it’s a competition he’s already won. “Exactly.” He takes hold of my thighs and pulls me close, pushing up the jersey. There’s no buildup, no soft kissing. He runs his tongue across my wetness and my eyes roll back. “Fucking Christ, Del.” He sucks on me, licking up every drop of me. “Remind me to burn your fucking passport.”
I somehow laugh through the pleasure, but it soon fades as his tongue circles my entrance. He devours me. Feasts on me. Fucks me with his tongue. Spreads me open and sweeps his tongue up, across and down me until I’m whimpering into my hand. When he slides his fingers into me again, I’m close to combusting, and then his tongue flicks across my clit in perfect rhythm.
“Just … just like that. That’s perfect—” I whisper. He doesn’t speed up, or slow down, or change pace. He stays exactly as he is, and I inch toward another orgasm, my mind foggy with desire. My toes clench. My back arches. My mouth drops open on a silent scream. My eyes widen.
And I come.
I come hard, and fast, and the pleasure is thick, mind-blowing, never-ending crashes of heat through my core.
I’ve barely recovered when he licks me again.
He makes me come over and over. And each one robs me of energy, of breath, of everything I need to keep going. He praises me through each one, tells me I’m beautiful, I’m his for the night, whispering such kindness and possessiveness that I’d give him everything if he only asked.
He kisses my stomach, and I take in shallow, scattered breaths as he gently pulls back the covers and tucks me in. I shake my head, moaning softly. “I want you.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he says. My eyes are closed, but I can hear him undressing, and his body is warm as heslides into the bed beside me. He pulls my back to his chest, his strong arms around me. He’s hard and thick against me, but he simply kisses my neck. “Sleep, Del.”
“No,” I whimper. “I want to make you feel good.”
He sighs softly into my hair. “You make me feel good every day. I don’t need you to touch me.” His words bring tears to my eyes, and I close my eyes and let him hold me. Sleep teases me, lures me in, and he kisses my ear. “I may only have you tonight, Del, but you have me forever.”
I waketo the sound of the shower running. I stretch out my legs and bury my smiling face into the pillow beside me—it smells like Colt, like expensive cologne and fresh pine shampoo. He held me all night, his strong arms around me, his feet tangled in mine. Occasionally, I’d feel him press a kiss to my shoulder or the back of my neck, and every time, it made me smile.
Last night was probably a mistake. Another reason on the pile to stay. But we said just one night, so that’s all it will be. All it can be.
The shower water stops and I climb out of bed, knocking on the en suite door. He calls out for me to come in, and I do.
Oh, holy back tattoos.
He’s in a towel, standing at the sink, and his back is covered in the most beautiful art I’ve seen on a human body. Across his shoulders are arched wings, some feathers breaking free and fluttering away in a nonexistent breeze. Curled between those wings are clouds, angels, and streams of light from a sun we can’t see. The angel’s hair floats as if submerged in water, and the winged womenand men brandish bows, arrows pulled back by delicately drawn fingers, aimed toward Colt’s lower back—to Hell. To demons with dripping fangs and claws that seem to dip into his skin and tear at the sensitive flesh. Fire curls around the creatures, inky eyes wide with rage and terror at the angels who fight them. Heaven and Hell, divided by a fracture, a dark line like a crack in the earth that runs diagonally from his right shoulder, as if the drawing has been torn in half, the painter angered by the depiction he created.
It’s stunning. Breathtaking. And I can’t tear my eyes away from the intricacies, or how Colt’s muscles shift as he looks at me over his shoulder, steam from the shower billowing around him.
“Can I look?” I ask.
He pauses his movements, then nods.
He smells clean. Fresh. Water droplets cling to the powerful lines of his back as I gaze across the tattoo. The angels’ lips are parted, as if inhaling before firing their arrows, and I can’t help but run the tip of my finger across the wings that engulf his shoulder blades. I can’t feel the feathers, of course I can’t, but his skin is soft, and I imagine I’m touching an angel, fallen from a holy place and given to me.
“How long did it take?” I ask quietly.
