Page 12 of Branded Mountain Man
"Copy that. Check in tomorrow, yeah?"
"Yeah."
When he clicked off, Sloan was watching him. "He cares about you."
"He's just doing his job."
"No. That wasn't his job voice. That was his friend voice."
Colt said nothing, but something in his expression softened.
4
THE FIRE INSIDE
COLT
Colt had forgotten what it felt like to want something this badly.
Two days of careful distance, two days of watching Sloan move through his space like she belonged there, and it all crumbled the moment her hand touched his scarred skin. She looked at his brand—his shame, his failure—like it was something sacred instead of something hideous.
She kissed him like she was starving, like she'd been waiting for this as long as he had, and the sound she made when his tongue touched hers sent fire straight through his veins.
"Wait," he managed, pulling back just enough to see her face. "You don't know what you're doing."
"I know exactly what I'm doing." Her hands were already working at the button of his jeans, sure and deliberate. "Do you?"
Did he? Colt couldn't think past the feel of her fingers against his skin, the way she looked in his flannel shirt with her hairmessed and her lips swollen from his kiss. She was so fucking beautiful it hurt to look at her.
"This isn't—" He tried to find the words, tried to hold onto some thread of sanity. "I'm not good for you."
"I don't care."
"You should."
"Maybe." She pushed his jeans down his hips, her touch confident and unashamed. "But I don't."
When her hand wrapped around him, Colt's vision went white. He'd been hard since the moment she'd touched his scar, but her skin on his was something else entirely. Electric. Devastating.
"Fuck," he breathed, his hips jerking forward involuntarily.
"That's the idea." Sloan's voice was rough with want, and when he looked down at her, her eyes were dark with the same desperate need clawing at his chest.
He should have been gentle. Should have taken his time, made sure she was ready, treated her like the precious thing she was. Instead, he yanked the flannel shirt over her head and pinned her beneath him on the narrow cot, his mouth finding the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder.
She arched under him, her nails digging into his back hard enough to leave marks. "More."
"You're sure?" Even as he asked, his hands were mapping her curves, learning the shape of her like he was memorizing it for the long winter ahead.
"God, yes." She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "I'm sure."
Colt buried his face against her throat and let himself fall.
There was nothing careful about the way he took her. Nothing controlled or measured or sane. She met him thrust for thrust, her body rising to his like she'd been made for this, made for him, and when she came apart in his arms the firsttime, he had to bite down on his own tongue to keep from saying something stupid.
Something true.
"Again," she whispered against his ear, her hands gripping his shoulders. "I want all of you."
