K. Bromberg - Driven

“Oh God, Colton!” The sudden fullness, the unexpected stroke against my patch of interior nerves, makes me writhe against the granite slab.

Colton eases out of me slowly before plunging back in. He continues this slow withdrawal followed by his greedy drive back in, setting a delirious pace that pushes me to the edge. “Come for me, Rylee!” he growls at me.

His words are my undoing. My breath quickens. My pulse races. My muscles tense. My hips grind into him, deepening the burning ache until I am pushed over the edge. I explode like a firecracker. Detonations of little lights explode behind my closed eyelids and a white-hot heat flits though my body. Sensation shatters around me as the first wave of my orgasm explodes. I yell out, all thoughts incoherent as I pulse around him. He stills, allowing me to absorb the intensity of my climax. I release the breath I’ve been holding, my taut muscles, slowly relaxing before another wave shudders through me.

This wave is more than he can bear. My muscles milk his orgasm out of him. He rears back and pushes into me a few more times, my body gripping his. He yells out my name, his own climax tearing through him, and his hips jerking against me until I can feel his warmth erupt within me.

He collapses on top of me, pressing his face into the curve of my neck. Our chests heave in uneven unison, and I can feel his lips form a smile. My breath shudders as I exhale, the frantic tattoo of my heart beginning to ebb. That was … Wow! I go to remove the blindfold and remember that my hands are still tied.

I wiggle underneath him. He laughs into my neck, the vibration of it seeping into my chest. “I take it you want your hands back?”

“Hmm-hmmm.” I don’t think I can speak. My body is still processing what has just happened.

He lifts up and I can feel his hands tugging at my bindings. When one hand is free, I reach down and pull off my blindfold, my eyes easily adjusting to the dimmed light in the kitchen. Colton’s face is above me, etched in concentration as he works the other knot free. I see the lines ease as my other hand releases from what appears to be a velvet type of braided rope.

I reach up to run my hands over his cheeks as he looks down at me, an errant lock of hair falling over his forehead. A shy smile lights up his face. I lift my head and brush a soft kiss against his lips, the only way I can express how I feel, how much what just happened meant to me without having him run for the hills.

I lay my head back down yet Colton’s eyes remain closed, the corners of his mouth still soft in a smile. He shakes his head subtly before opening his eyes and easing his weight off of me. “C’mon,” he says, pulling me up by my arms, “This can’t be all too comfortable for you.”

I hop off of the counter, suddenly modest in my nudity. I look around for my clothes as Colton pulls his jeans up over his naked hips. I put my arms through my bra straps as I watch him button up the first four buttons, leaving the top one undone. I have to stifle a sigh as I stare at him naked from the waist up in pure appreciation of his toned physique.

I hook my bra together and drag my shirt over my head, fearing the disheveled state of my hair. I start to run my fingers through it but stop when I catch more than just a glimpse of the tattoos that line the side of his torso. I’ve never really been able to see the whole of them, so I take a moment to look. Four symbols align vertically down his side, all are similar in their style but different in their image. The first three images are solid in color, the ink filled in completely while the fourth is just the outline. I angle my head, trying to figure out what exactly they are of when Colton looks up and notes my inquisitive stare.

CHAPTER 17

“What are your tattoos of?”

He looks up at me, turning his body and raising his arm overhead so that I can see the markings. “They’re Celtic knots.”

“What do they mean?”

“Nothing really,” he says gruffly, busying himself by opening the refrigerator, which I notice is almost empty, and grabbing a beer.

“C’mon.” I prod, curious as to why he is suddenly averting the question when he’s been so forthcoming all evening. He holds a beer out to me and I shake my head no to the offer. “You don’t seem like the kind of guy who marks himself permanently without having a reason or the tattoos a specific meaning.”

I lean against the counter with my shirt and panties on as he takes a long tug on the beer, his eyes meeting mine over the bottom of the bottle. He slides them down the length of my bare legs and back up to my eyes. “The knots mean different things.” He lifts his arm again to show me as I move near him. He points to the first one just below his armpit, “This one means to overcome some type of adversity in life,” he moves to the next one. “This is the symbol for acceptance. This one is for healing, and the bottom one’s for vengeance.” He looks up slowly, a darkness in his eyes as they hold mine, waiting for my reaction. Waiting for me to probe with the obvious question asking why does he need acceptance, healing, and vengeance. We stand in silence until he sighs, shaking his head at me, disbelief on his face that he’s said so much.

I step toward him, reach out tentatively, and run my fingers down the four symbols on his body, their meanings resonating in me, telling me somehow, someway they are a marker of his past history and where he is in his present state of dealing with it. His body shivers at my touch. “They suit you,” I whisper, trying to convey to him that I understand this range of emotions. “Did you get them all at once? Why are three colored in and not the fourth?”

He shrugs away from me, taking another drink from his beer. “No.” That’s all he gives me and his tone tells me that there is no more discussion on that question. Does he get them as he accomplishes each in regards to his past? If so, the vengeance one has me a little more curious.

“You’re Irish then?”

“So my Dad tells me.”

Mr. Forthcoming . I guess he is done talking about him for the night. The theoretical switch has been flipped, and I’m back trying to catch up to his mercurial mood swings. What now? Does he drive me home? Do I stay the night? Do I get a cab? Unsettled by the unknown, I pick up my pants and tug them on, struggling to appear coordinated as my ankle gets caught in the cuff. I can feel the heat of his gaze as he watches me although I dare not look up, embarrassment eminent.

“So, Colton …” I look up as I finish buttoning my jeans to see him watching me as I’d thought, an amused smirk on his face and his eyebrows raised. He may be experienced in the protocol of this type of thing, but I sure am not. My cheeks flush. I search for something to talk about, something that will abate my anxiety until he gives me some kind of inkling as to what or where I go from here. “The boys are really looking forward to going to the track when you test the car.” He snorts his head bobbing back and forth before he stifles a laugh. “What?” I ask confused by his reaction to my seemingly non-amusing comment.

“All business now, are we?” I eye him carefully as he walks toward me, wary of the predatory look in his eyes. “How is it that ten minutes ago you were naked and compliant beneath me and now you’re nervous and uncomfortable just being in the same space as me?” Probably because you dominate any space you occupy . He reaches out to tug one of my curls. His emerald eyes darken as he watches me. “Am I that scary of a guy, Rylee?”

Shit. I have to work harder at not wearing my emotions on my sleeve. “I’m not nervous.” My over-emphatic answer a dead give away of the exact opposite.