Page 58 of The Chase

April held her breath. Colt didn’t laugh. Her and Clarissa were closer now, Miles cleared his throat, changing the subject. “I’ve thought about getting a tattoo myself before. I think they look great, they’re expensive, too, huh? Well, I wasn’t sure what I’d actually get-”

“Then you don’t need a tattoo.” Colt stopped in his tracks and turned to face Miles.

“I… what?”

“If you don’t know what you want to get tattooed, then there is nothing to tattoo.” April and Clarissa had caught up with them now. Colt radiated wild energy, something dangerous and unpredictable, like electricity crackling. “I tattoo my skin because I have to get that darkness out of me. I need it on my skin, otherwise it is under my skin, festering in my heart, poisoning my blood, burnt onto my eyelids so there is no relenting, even in sleep. That’s what my tattoos are for. If there was something you have, something not even safe to keep in a safe, something you couldn’t lose, something you would run back into a burning building for… That is what you get tattooed on your skin.”

Colt said nothing more. They all blinked at him.

Miles leaned closer and whispered conspiratorially. “Hey listen, I know this is meant to be a tee-total retreat but, er... we managed to smuggle in a bottle of Don Julio 1942 tequila, expensive stuff, we put it on ice, come round tonight, we can have a drink on the veranda.”

“No thanks,” Colt replied. “We don’t drink,” he said finally.

April cleared her throat. “But thanks for the invite, maybe just a jasmine tea or something-”

Clarissa trilled. “Well sure, honey-”

“Why don’t you drink?” Miles dug impolitely.

April bit her lip, watching the exchange of terse comments like a tennis match, as the ball was batted from one side of the net to the other. They had practiced this, Colt was going to own up to being an alcoholic, they were here to clean him up, rather than go straight to rehab… Colt gritted his teeth. “Why do you think?”

Miles smirked. April could see what he was doing, what a dickhead. “I think you’re the kind of guy who likes a good time, too much of a good time… hey, we’ve all been there, pretty girls, bringing around trays of booze, champagne flowing-”

She couldn’t take it any more. “I drank,” April butted in. All three heads turned to her. “It was me, I had a problem with alcohol and I...” She fizzled out, breathless.

Colt blinked at her. She’d stepped in and batted for him. April couldn’t bear it. Why were these people being so judgmental? She didn’t need to step in, Colt wasn’t embarrassed. He couldn’t care less what these people thought of him, she knew that. He wasn’t surprised that they had assumed, out of the two of them, it was him that had the alcohol problem. They didn’t drink, and all eyes were pointed at Colt. He had to be the reason, the cause, the culprit. Because he had tattoos and long hair. And a leather jacket. Because he swore and did not form all of his sentences with perfect grammar. Because he looked rougher, different. April hurt for him. She wanted to challenge this, stand up to it. For him. She didn’t need to, but she wanted to. She wanted to rage beside him. In this and everything else.

He loved her for it. He was the happiest man on the planet. He was flying high. She really did care. He tried not to grin. Instead he put his hand on the top of her head, her warm, wet head. She flashed him a little smile that was almost apologetic. He’d dreamed of pulling her into his darkness, but she was showing she’d step into it willingly for him. His cock plumped up, but not as much as his heart. Something in him swelled with joy, filled his soul with pride and, fuck it, love.

He growled under his breath, just for her ears only, but he didn’t care if Miles and Clarissa heard, “home. Now. Bed, Kitten.”

And that was how he found himself hovering over her naked body minutes later. In their cabin, on the bed. She was very wet, lying on her back, eyes half closed, aching with anticipation, her hands reaching out for him. And he fell, drawn into her grasp like a magnet. He couldn’t have fought it if he wanted to. But something had changed. It wasn’t fast and physical, eating his fill, or satiating her. It wasn’t about feasting on what he wanted and buzzing with satisfaction afterwards. There wasn’t a build up, foreplay, then a peak and a release. This time felt different. He held his throbbing cock to her warm, wet pussy, and pushed in, inch by inch. Slowly, agonizingly slow. He pushed deep, excruciatingly deep. Keeping eye contact with her. More than skin touching this time. His balls were nestled against the roundness of her ass cheeks. He curled so he could kiss her hard little nipples. Then he rested his forehead against her chest. Her heartbeat kicked his mind into a new plane of reality. More than wetness flowing between them. She reached a hand up to his chest and laid it on his heartbeat. His heart beat her name. Ap-ril. Ap-ril. Could she hear? Did she know?

He lifted his head up from her chest and really looked at her. She was gazing back up at him. And he saw it. Yes, she knew, she felt it, too. The wild look in her eyes told him she hadn’t been prepared for this, hadn’t expected this, but here it was, raw and real.

Her hands on him, skimming over his chest tenderly. His arms with appreciation. His shoulders with love. She lightly tapped his nipple bar, giving him a beautiful burst of stardust pleasure, then skimmed her nails smoothly down the center of his stomach, over his hip, to his butt cheek. It wasn’t hard and rough, it was gentle. It was her hands telling him she loved him. He knew it. He could speak that language, too. The language of touch. He touched her with his forehead, his lips. He wanted to keep both hands on the mattress, to control the pace. He could keep this up for hours. It wasn’t about coming anymore. He might come, and he would just carry on, forever. He wasn’t worried about blowing too early. Or being too rough. Or being unworthy. Or not deserving her.

He loved her, that was all there was to it. And he fucking deserved to love and be loved, because he was a man, not a monster. Each deep stroke inside her said it. Each ragged breath from his lips onto her hot, damp skin, spoke it. They would roll on, coming together, all night, all the nights. It wasn’t climbing to the top of the cliff and jumping off, it was rolling and tumbling together forever.

He licked his lips, moving slowly, deeply. “April,” he began.

“Colt I-”

“Wait, let me say it first, April, I want to say-”

“Colt.”

“I love you. April, I fucking love you,” he whispered. And now he had spilled the truth, it tumbled off his lips like it had always meant to. Like the words had belonged there all along. Had been there all along. And they would always be there. They felt right at home there. He trusted her, with every fiber of his being. He respected her, everything he did was for her. Every breath in his lungs, every beat of his heart, hers. He loved her, and he would always love her. He got it now, they went to bat for each other. Her fights were his fights. Her victories were his, and his were hers. And together they would take on the world.

“Colt, I love you, too, I don’t know how to say… how much I…”

He sighed. He roared. His heart flipped and soared. She loved him. April. Ap-ril, Ap-ril, Ap-ril.

Her hips continued to rock against his. They moved against each other, he felt they were perfectly wet, perfectly in sync. He got it now, this felt right. This was the truest thing in the universe. She was completely enough for him, and together they formed something that was all encompassing. He was a man, in love with his woman. And he didn’t need to chase anything else. He had it all, right here. And he had the courage to dream it would be like that forever. For the first time, he wanted something to endure, to stay like this, raw and new and pure. He wanted to keep it safe and treasure it. He wanted to treasure her now and forever. He didn’t want to even consider the possibility that something could threaten it. They were safe, in love, hiding from the chase in their bubble in the Pines. And he was happy thinking of nothing else.

April felt the safety of their little bubble, too, and loved it. But she knew, deep down, it couldn’t last forever. They had fallen into a cozy night time routine. They would lock the door and light the log burning stove. Sometimes they just lay there. April sometimes read a book, curled up on the sofa. Colt often stared into the fire, either lost in thought or existing in the moment, she couldn’t quite tell. They’d talk very little, just content in each other’s company. Sometimes they made love; slowly, sweetly, lying together spooning on the sheepskin rug in front of the fire. Other times it was fast and hot, with her straddling him on the sofa as he sat there, legs splayed wide apart, hands on her ass, pumping her up and down, slamming into her. Eyes locked onto each other, always.

A few nights ago she had warned him she was on her period. She hadn’t been sure how the conversation would go, how he would take it. She knew he would respect her, if she said no, he’d do as he was told. Except she didn’t want him to say no. Colt had come up behind her when she was changing, he’d put a hand between her legs, his thumb skimming close to her anus, his fingers massaging her folds over her panties. He’d growled in her ear that he wanted in. She said she’d pleasure him instead. He countered, saying he loved getting blown by her hot little needy mouth, but that he wanted to be deep inside her. Inside her body, her core, her soul. She was a sucker, she’d agreed as long as they did it in the shower. Colt smirked and joked that he could pretend he was popping her cherry like he should have done years ago. She’d rolled her eyes and shoved him playfully into the shower cubicle. It had been a very light period, she’d stopped bleeding just the next day. She scratched her head over it and Colt had drawled that maybe he’d fucked it all out of her. She told him not to be a sick bastard. He’d smiled lazily and said that with her, nothing was off limits. They’d done anal, too. Her first time. He’d nonchalantly called Ash and barked down the phone that he needed lube. April had scoffed at the ridiculous request. But Ash, the ever helpful concierge had delivered a paper bag with a bottle of lube in it, minutes later. April had bared her all to Colt, and he wanted more. And she gave more, with Colt, she had no limit to how much she would give him. And he always lapped it up. She wasn’t talking about sex anymore, it was love, irrefutably.

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