Heart So Hollow (Dire Wolves Book 1), page 37
I give a quick shake of my head. It’s embarrassing. I could’ve lied, made up some fictional man or woman who was vaguely familiar with female anatomy. The university is huge, he would never know. But I’m a terrible liar, and it’s a lot of effort when I’m preoccupied with other things at the moment.
Even without looking at him, I feel Colson’s expression change. My cheeks flush as I try to avoid his gaze, which is impossible, considering he has his entire hand inside my pants and a couple fingers inside me at any given moment.
“What a travesty,” he turns back to the road and shakes his head with disapproval, “no wonder you’re so saucy.”
Smug much?
“Alright, what about you?” I counter, as if it’s some kind of challenge.
Colson doesn’t answer at first, just takes a deep breath and leans back against the headrest.
A sneaky grin spreads across my face and I can’t resist, “Dacia Ferguson?” I guess.
If I derailed his plans that night as much as he said I did, it seems like a logical assumption.
“No,” he replies.
I’m secretly relieved. Dacia’s preferences are none of my business, but I’d rather not imagine what Colson might’ve been doing to her ass while I was wallowing in my own anger and self-pity.
I flex my back as Colson changes pace and slides two fingers back inside me, “Then who?” It comes out as a broken moan as I dig my nails into the leather seat.
“Dana Masterson and Leah Durham,” he deadpans.
My eyes dart across the console. Colson remains focused on the road ahead, his expression unchanged. I stare at him for a few seconds, his confession competing with the distraction of his torturous game.
I crack a smile, “Both?”
He glances at me out of the corner of his eye, “Who am I to turn down such an offer?”
I bite back a smile, but it claws its way over my lips anyway and I let out a chuckle. I wonder if they were two of the flight attendants in that douchebag picture of him from Halloween…but it doesn’t matter, I am so telling Barrett, Emma, and Katie. They’ll fucking eat this up.
“Are you laughing?” Colson asks.
“Yes,” I gasp between giggles.
“Why?”
“You do sleep with all the Deltas!” I laugh, rolling my head across the headrest.
Colson slides his fingers in deeper, making my breath catch, “I don’t sleep with all the Deltas,” he replies matter-of-factly, “I was presented with an opportunity and I took it.”
“Mm-hmm…” I roll my eyes, a smile still pulling at my cheeks.
“Do you disapprove?”
“No, you’re not my boyfriend.”
“Not yet,” he shoots me a sideways glance, “but I bet you’d let me do a lot of twisted things to you if I was.”
Colson’s voice is enough to bring me right to the edge. I reach up and curl my fingers around his wrist, moving him up and down with the roll of my hips. But he stills his hand, letting the tension fade away. I exhale in frustration, digging my nails into his flesh, which only seems to amuse him.
“What do you like, Brett?” he runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek, “I bet you have more kinks than a garden hose.”
He’s out for blood now. Probably because I laughed instead of getting jealous about him fucking two girls at once. Well, good, I’ll laugh at the details of his sordid sex life all night long if it gets under his skin.
“C’mon, don’t be shy,” Colson starts circling my clit again as I hiss a breath through my teeth, “what do you think about when you touch yourself?”
He’s so vengeful, clearly paying me back for the comment about the Deltas. I could lie about this, too, but…I don’t really want to. What’s the point? And as much as I don’t want to admit it…I want to tell him.
With an exhale, I relent and let my legs fall further apart. Colson’s satisfaction is audible as he relaxes his hand and fills the dripping space between my thighs.
A chill runs up my back, “You,” I murmur as I bite my lip.
I don’t want to look at him. Saying it is enough. I can’t believe I’m admitting this to anyone, especially him, but I can’t resist. And, besides, he’ll probably know if I’m lying.
“What was that?” Colson stills his hand except for his middle finger tickling my clit, catching my breath and making me writhe in my seat.
Son of a bitch, I gasp, trying to maintain some shred of focus, just say it. He already has his hand down your pants.
“I think about you,” I say between broken breaths, “when I…touch myself…”
Colson’s eyes narrow, but remain on the dark highway, “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
“OK,” I clench my teeth as he stills his hand, “what do you think about?”
Quid pro quo, motherfucker.
“When?” he asks with feigned ignorance.
I press my lips together in frustration as he toys with me.
“Oh, sorry,” Colson grins, “well, you know when you chew on your pen in class? You do this thing with your tongue where you slide it up and down the underside of your pen, and it’s really fucking hot because you don’t even know you’re doing it. I just have to sit there and watch you for an hour and a half straight every Tuesday and Thursday. It’s pure torture.” He speaks slowly, drawing out every word, “So, when I want a really good one, I imagine you on your knees, looking up at me with those big, beautiful, hazel eyes, and swallowing my dick like it’s your last meal.”
My jaw falls open and I let out a whimper when he finally slides a third finger inside me. I can feel the orgasm building like the slow burn of a wick crawling toward a stick of dynamite.
“Fuck, baby, you can’t imagine all the sick things I’m going to do to you,” he’s thinking about it now, the low hum behind his drawl giving him away, “when I get you in my bed, you’ll spread those legs wide for me and beg me to fuck you until I’m dripping from every hole you have.”
Sensing the quake deep in my core, Colson speeds up his cadence. With a desperate cry, my muscles contract and I dig my nails into his forearm. My head snaps back and my other hand slams into the door, my fingertips turning white as they claw the thin leather below the window. I grind against Colson’s hand with garbled curses on my breath as every nerve in my body fires at once.
When it’s over, I cling to his arm, drawing in deep breaths and basking in the euphoria I’ve never experienced from another human being. It feels different—when something is given rather than taken without a second thought.
Colson lingers until my grip loosens and then gently retracts his hand from my lap, “And, that, Honeybee, is how it’s supposed to be done.”
I watch in awe as he reaches up and slides his index finger into his mouth, sucking it clean. He does the same with his middle and ring ringers and the longer I watch him, the harder it is to sit still.
“Pull over,” I say flatly.
It catches Colson off-guard, but he complies without a word. Three minutes later, he veers off at the next exit onto a dim stretch of road lit only by sporadic light poles rusting into the asphalt.
He pulls the Bronco into a deserted gas station with peeling white paint and broken-out windows. The sign has long faded into a blank, sun-bleached canvas and the pavement bursts with grass and weeds. The only light emits from the street lamp near the road, casting the entire lot in an eerie glow. It looks like the setting of a slasher movie, and a campy one at that. I should be repulsed, terrified we’ll be hacked apart by some masked maniac in the overgrown honeysuckles behind the building, but I’m not.
It’s perfect.
“Get out,” I deadpan as soon as he shifts into park.
Colson pauses momentarily and then cuts the engine, “Yes, ma’am,” he pulls the keys from the ignition and tucks them into his jacket pocket.
I slam the door and meet him at the driver’s side, grabbing the front of his t-shirt and pulling him backward to the decaying brick wall. He lets out a groan as I attack his mouth, closing my mouth around his bottom lip and sucking slowly.
He grabs my ass with both hands and presses me against the wall, “Is this what I have to do, little Honeybee,” he starts grinding against me, “buy you books and finger you in my car when I make you angry?”
I grab the back of his neck and move with him, trying to chase that high again, “It’s a start.”
The thin layers of cotton and rayon between us are a joke. He’s so hard that I can feel him moving against me like there’s nothing there, making my nerve endings fire all over again. Then I remember why I told him to stop here. I grab his shirt again and spin him around, pushing his back against the wall as I sink down to my knees.
The outline of his cock strains against his pants, making me salivate, “What kinds of sick things are you going to do to me?” I smile up at him while unlatching his belt buckle.
He takes a wide stance, bracing himself against the wall, “I’ll use that belt to make you my pet,” his eyes are still vast oceans, even in the darkness, “put you on a leash for the night, maybe longer.”
I’d be your pet…
Colson raises his arms and clasps his hands over his head, mouth ajar and chest heaving as I tear his button and zipper open. When I grab the sides of his pants and pull them down, his cock springs loose, nearly smacking me in the face. My thighs tense and suddenly his asinine comment in the Bronco turns into an ominous warning. He wasn’t lying...
Wrapping my hand around his base, I tip my head back and drag my tongue up the underside of his shaft, closing my mouth over his tip when I reach the top. Holding my breath, I take him as deep as I can, pumping his cock against the back of my throat before sucking him hard.
“Fuck me...” Colson groans, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back against the crumbling brick.
Spit seeps from the corners of my mouth as I slide him over my tongue, all the while the ache between my thighs builds like a slow burn. My knees grind against the grit and gravel, but I barely feel it as he runs his hand around the back of my neck, tilting my head up.
“If you’re good, I’ll mark you as mine,” Colson murmurs salaciously, “then I’ll bind your hands, so you won’t run when I start telling scary stories.” I let out a moan loud enough for him to hear as he clenches his fist at the base of my skull, “Take a deep breath and show me how good you are.”
I inhale deeply and, as soon as I do, he pumps my head faster, pushing his cock deeper with each thrust. When he hits the back of my throat, I lurch forward. Tears flood my eyes as I gag against the onslaught, which only makes me open wider.
I claw at his thighs, my arms useless except to brace myself against him as he thrusts into my mouth so hard that I think my jaws will split apart. He holds my head firm until a slow moan reverberates from above, getting louder each time he slams into my throat. Seconds later, a deep grunt cuts the silence and I let out a muffled squeak when I feel his thick, warm cum hit the back of my throat mid-suffocation.
Cursing under his breath, he pulls out a couple inches, allowing me to breathe again but keeps my mouth closed around him. I collapse onto my heels, strings of spit and cum leaking from the corners of my mouth as my nostrils flare and my chest heaves.
“Breathe, baby,” Colson exhales, the corners of his mouth curling, “you can swallow now.”
I look up at him through foggy, tear-stained eyes while he watches the muscles in my throat tense and empty my mouth. Then he slowly slides his cock out and tugs his pants back up to his waist.
After clasping his belt, he kneels down in front of me and cups my face, “Look at me,” he speaks softly as he holds me still and swipes his thumbs under my eyelids, gently wiping away the remnant tears mixed with mascara. When he’s finished, he offers me his hands, “Come on.”
Colson hoists me up onto my wobbly legs and then grabs me under my thighs, lifting me up to his waist. I drape my arms around his shoulders, resting my forehead against his temple as he carries me around the front of the Bronco.
He brushes his lips over my ear, sending a wave of butterflies through my stomach, “You are the best girl, you know that?” He ambles to the passenger side and opens the door, “Now, I’m going to take you home with me and see how many times I can get my name to come out of that dirty little mouth.”
I press my lips to Colson’s, drinking him in like I’m dying of thirst. He sets my feet back down to the gravel and slowly lowers me back onto the seat, his mouth still devouring mine. When he finally pulls away, he pauses to brush the stray hairs away from my eyes.
“I have to tell you something, Brett,” his eyes darken and suddenly he’s like a predator sizing up its prey, “I care about you more than you’ll ever know,” then he leans closer, his eyes deep blue and sinister, “but for the rest of the night, I’m going to fuck you like I don’t.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Brett
College
“Oh my god,” I exclaim as I slam my car door, “are you a drug dealer?”
When Colson said he lived on the river, I assumed he meant in one of the many apartment complexes or condos set far behind the road, like me. I was wrong.
My GPS directions take me past all the apartments and tract home subdivisions, into a neighborhood further north where the houses are custom built into the hillside and each backyard has a dock with private access to the river’s edge. This neighborhood is the kind that I drive by and wonder what the residents do for a living because there’s no way I’ll ever make enough money to live here.
I turn my Impreza into a hidden drive between a line of thick hedges and follow Colson’s Bronco down a steep driveway into a wide turnaround in front of a stunning riverfront home. The stone exterior shines bright in the floodlights lining the walkway to a massive oak and wrought iron door. Gazing around at the landscape, the strategically placed boulders and trees make it seem like the house just sprouted up in the middle of a forest.
I should be impressed, but suspicion gets the better of me. I don’t belong in this neighborhood, at a house like this, so how does Colson?
He strolls across the driveway and smiles when he sees me standing at the door of my car, gawking at the house with my mouth hanging half open.
“No, I’m not a drug dealer.”
I shoot him a side-eye, “Is your roommate?”
“Kind of,” he shrugs, “he’s a VP at some pharma company.”
“And why do you live with him?” I scrunch up my face in confusion, “You do live here, right?”
Colson pulls his hand out of his jacket pocket and jingles his keys, “I’m not a drug dealer, I don’t do drugs of any kind, I drink too much, I live with my cousin, he’s not a drug dealer—that I know of—but he and his family have money.”
I shift my gaze back and forth between him and the house that seems too fancy for either of us to be standing in front of, let alone go inside, “OK, fine,” I finally say with a shrug.
He motions to the door with a nod and I follow him up the walkway lined with boulders and foliage. As soon as I walk through the door, my jaw hits the floor. The walls are India ink blue framed with crown molding and square paneling. The hardwood floors are laid out in a herringbone design stained in light brown tones that pop against the walls. Through the foyer, to the left, is the dining room. The windows and walls stretch two stories high with an ornate chandelier that hangs above the 10-seat mahogany dining table.
So, this is what these houses look like on the inside...
I’m so distracted, I have to keep glancing ahead of me to make sure I haven’t lost Colson. I set my tote bag next to the coat rack near the front door and follow him down the hall into the kitchen, where I’m rendered speechless again. The walls are the same stone as the exterior out front, but it has a vaulted ceiling with black exposed wooden beams. Behind the island is an enormous gothic cathedral window that’s filled with nothing but trees. It’s nearly pitch-black right now, but I imagine it’s gorgeous in the daylight.
When Colson hangs his keys on the far wall, I notice he’s not wearing his jacket anymore. I was probably so gob smacked, I didn’t notice him hang it up at the front door. I start unzipping my fleece, still unsure whether I’m dreaming or not.
I glance over my shoulder as I head back toward the front hall, “You live here and you still party at Cade and Anderson’s hellhole?”
“I live here, it doesn’t mean I can party here,” Colson replies. “Can you imagine what those heathens would do if I let them loose in here? I’d end up homeless by morning, and probably murdered and dumped in the river.”
“Valid,” I concede, my voice echoing as it bounces off the high ceilings. “Where’s your cousin?”
“Dubai—I think. Or Munich. I don’t remember, he travels a lot.”
I come to an abrupt halt when I pass the living room. On my left, the house opens up to another wall of two-story windows that face more trees and the riverbank. The walls are painted the same India ink blue with the same crown molding and paneling. Black leather furniture and a white contrasting rug sit in front of a massive stone fireplace on the left side of the room with a TV mounted above it. There are also a lot of green fern-like plants in giant Victorian vases all over the house.
“When’s he coming back?” I fold up my fleece and tuck it inside my bag on the floor, then slip off my sneakers before returning to Colson.
This place is so immaculate, I’ll die of embarrassment if I track so much as a blade of grass across the floor.
“Next week,” he pauses, looking me up and down, “you can stay here as long as you want. He wouldn’t care.”
His offer catches me off-guard and I’m not sure whether to thank him or call him crazy.
“Want anything to drink?” Colson asks before I can respond. He strolls toward me, stopping when his chest is almost touching mine, “Water? Another one of your sandpaper smoothies?”
“No, thank you,” I grin up at him and then take another look around the giant living room that looks like it belongs in Bruce Wayne’s house rather than somewhere in greater Columbus.
