Heart So Hollow (Dire Wolves Book 1), page 48
“A paintball gun,” I deadpan.
Colson’s silence is deafening, and he stares down at me with such intensity that it takes all I have not to look away.
“Were you playing?” his baritone voice has a razor’s edge.
This time, I do look away, then flinch when I feel his index and middle fingers on my jaw, whipping my face around to look at him. I stare up at him for a few moments, my chest rising and falling with each tense breath.
My jaw tightens, “Define playing.”
Now, Colson looks different. This is the first time he’s ever looked…bothered.
And I love it. The mere possibility that I can make him uncomfortable even in the slightest bit fills me with a diseased sense of satisfaction.
His eyes linger on mine before moving down to my hip again, and then to my legs. Just as I predicted, his eyes are immediately drawn to the nicks across my ankles and shins and the long, dotted scratches in various stages of healing. He takes a step back and sinks down into my chair, sweeping up one of my legs behind the knee. I drop my hands to the edge of the desk, holding myself steady as he props the sole of my sandal on his lap and runs his thumb over the scabs, surveying my marred skin.
His intense concentration and the heavy, steady tempo of his breaths tells me he already has some idea of what happened. I all but confirm it just by meeting his eyes after he takes in each scrape and laceration.
Finally, Colson lowers my leg and, after a few moments, looks up, running his tongue along the inside of his mouth, “I’m sorry.”
I just stare at him, my mind gone blank, “What for?” I finally respond in a near whisper.
He rises from the chair and brings his hands to my neck, cupping my face. I remain motionless, and let him lower his forehead to mine. His hair brushes my brow and I squeeze the edge of the desk as soon as I smell its sweet, biting fragrance.
“I’m sorry it took me so long to come back to you.”
I don’t know why he’s suddenly apologetic about anything, but I’m getting intense satisfaction from hearing it. I should shove him away, rebuff his apologies that are probably lies anyway, and disappear for another week out of spite. But I don’t, because I get curious.
With apprehension, I reach up and run my fingers along Colson’s scalp, through his deep auburn hair. He takes a sharp breath and I feel his muscles tense ever so slightly when he feels my touch. I give in to temptation and inhale his scent. As soon as it hits my nose, it shatters against my brain and sets off a barrage of memories while a familiar sensation starts creeping into my bones.
I still want him to notice me, to want me, to fixate on me…now, I want to know every thought he’s ever had about me. I hope he has been thinking about me, consumed by me, waiting all these years to find me. It’s absolutely absurd. What drove me to panic is now driving me wild.
“Are you sorry for all this bullshit you’ve put me through since you got here?” I murmur up at him.
Colson stills for a moment and then leans forward until I have to brace myself to keep from falling onto the desk. One hand snakes around the back of my neck while the other squeezes my throat in the crook of his thumb.
His blue eyes go dark as he holds me enraptured beneath him, “I will never apologize for being close to you,” he growls, “I’ll be a slave for you, I’ll kill for you, I’ll burn the world down around you, but if you want to get rid of me,” the corner of his mouth spasms with malice, “you’ll have to put a bullet between my eyes.”
All the air leaves my lungs and I’m so consumed by his overwhelming presence that I don’t even bother to contemplate what that really means. I should be fleeing in terror, but all I want is for him to come closer. I want to feel his heartbeat and his warmth pressed against me, but his body armor is in the way. I wish he’d take it off. But the rule-follower in me knows better. He can’t take it off, he won’t, and I wouldn’t, either. It keeps me at an infuriating distance, unless I want outlines of mace clips, magazines, and keys embedded in my skin.
“Colson,” I grab his wrist, glaring back at him, “you have to stop this.”
He shifts his jaw back and forth as he studies me, “Remember when I told you about the first night that I spent with you—when I came up to the lake? You should’ve been horrified, but instead, you were weeping for my dick. I make you feel like you’re the only woman in the world—because you are. So, no,” he sneers, “I’m not going to stop.”
“I was horrified,” I snarl back, “because you decided to tell me what you did after you tied me to your bed with your dick inside me—so I couldn’t leave.”
Here I am, fighting with him again, and I’m accomplishing nothing but digging myself deeper.
“Then say it, baby,” he taunts, “say you don’t still want me. Tell me you don’t need my cum running out of you to make you feel alive.” He pulls me so close, his lips brush against mine, “I need you by my side, and you need me inside you.”
Suddenly, a staticky, electronic voice cuts through the silence, giving me a start.
“Colson, it’s Nate, come in.”
I freeze when I hear Nate’s voice crackling over the radio on Colson’s chest.
Colson gives a coy smile and reaches for his radio with one hand, “Yeah?” he replies, still holding me over the desk by my neck.
Jesus Christ, it had to be Nate. I cringe at how ridiculous all of this looks. I hope no one knocks on the door. Or maybe I do, I can’t decide.
“Ray called,” Nate crackles, “he said he found that part from the manufacturer. He can come back if the other one’s no good.”
Colson loosens his grip and leans back. At least now I can sit up straight. Then he puckers his lips into a silent shhh and slides his hand to the side of my neck. One hand remains fixed on his radio while he absently strokes the side of my clenched jaw with the other. His eyes wander as he carries on his conversation with Nate, until, finally, his gaze settles back on my body.
He lets his hand fall from my neck to my shoulder and linger there for a moment before slowly trailing down to my torso. Droning on about hardware and service requests, Colson stares down at the front of my shirt, brushing his palm up and down the side of my ribcage. He’s driving me nuts. And I can’t move because his body is wedged between my legs with the sides of his boots pressed against my sandals.
He drags his thumb over the curve of my breast while he talks to Nate, flicking my nipple until it’s a sharp bead visible through my shirt. I glare up at him with pursed lips, but he only responds with a smirk.
“Give it another check when you head back and I’ll let him know we don’t need it,” Nate crackles.
“Affirm,” Colson replies before releasing the radio.
Suddenly, a different voice cuts through the static, “Hey, Col.”
Colson reaches for the radio again with a roll of his eyes, “Yeah?”
“Ask your girl if she’s done her floor walk-through yet. Hazmat disposal’s coming tomorrow.”
My eyes go wide and dart between Colson and his radio.
Your girl?
“Will do,” Colson grins with satisfaction, “Oh, Noah,” he adds, “do me a favor?”
“Yeah?”
“Ask Nate if he still wants to know what it’s like on the inside.”
“Fuck you, Lutz,” Nate’s voice suddenly breaks back in, this time over a backdrop of laughter.
Colson chuckles to himself and releases the radio once more.
“What the hell does that mean?” I snap as soon as I’m sure he’s radio silent.
Colson just shakes his head and doesn’t answer. It’s just as well, I probably don’t want to know. I can barely look Alex in the eye, as it is.
“Was that a joke?” I peer up at him, “Do you all talk about me?”
“I hate to break it to you, but it sounds like they were already doing that before I got here.” He tips my chin up with his index finger, “But it’s also the reason they stay out of this hallway now.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s my hallway,” he looks down at me intently, “and they all know it.”
Suddenly, it dawns on me why Colson was giving Nate a death stare that one day he walked me back to my office, and why Nate looked like a deer in the headlights of a speeding semi-truck.
“So, that’s why Nate believed me when I told him you’re batshit?”
Colson grins and lets his hand fall to his side, “You would know more than anyone.”
“I do want to know something else.” As long as I can’t move, I think he owes me something.
“Name it.”
I take a deep breath and gather my nerves, “Why do you have new scars?” And I don’t give him a chance to deny it, “I know you do, because I felt them.”
After a moment of consideration, Colson nods to my desk, “Lay back for me and I’ll tell you.”
I clench my jaw in irritation, “I thought you said you didn’t want to get me fired,” I mutter.
“I don’t. Why do you think I didn’t fix the cameras?” He leans into my ear, “I’ll tell you anything you want to know. You just have to lay back and be quiet for me.”
His voice sends a shiver down my spine and I realize I’ve walked right into his trap. Maybe he is more similar to a house spider after all, weaving webs five steps ahead of everyone else and lying in wait for his prey. Except, instead of trying to escape, I’m just trying to ignore the fact that my thighs are becoming more soaked by the minute.
But curiosity is quickly overshadowing any sense of logic. I need to know. I need him to tell me I’m not imagining things, even if he is a fucking psycho. I peer at him skeptically and then glance over my shoulder. Minimalist is an understatement. My desk is sparse, devoid of clutter and much of anything else, which is why it’s nothing for Colson to clasp my wrist and gently lower me onto the desktop. He reaches back with both hands and rolls the chair up to sit down, out of my view. When I tilt my head to look, he’s sitting between my knees, surveying my scratched-up legs dangling from the edge of the desk.
“OK, tell me,” I say flatly.
Colson swivels from side to side a few times before his hands disappear beneath my skirt, sending a jolt down my entire body. I inhale sharply as he hooks his fingers over the waistband of my beige thong and tugs it past my ass, working it down my legs. I raise up on my elbows in time to see him pull it free of my feet and lean back in my chair, turning it over in his hands to examine it. And it is drenched.
He glances up at me with a shake of his head, “You still like keeping secrets from me, don’t you?” he smirks as he balls up my underwear and shoves them in his pocket.
Shit.
He rolls forward, spreading my legs again, and I watch with both excitement and horror as he pushes my skirt up to my navel to fully expose me. He pauses, gazing at me hungrily. Then, without a word, he tosses one leg over his shoulder and buries his face between my thighs. I collapse back onto the desk with a gasp, grasping at his hair as I tremble from head to toe. Then he grabs my other knee and wrenches it to the side, opening me wide before he starts tongue-fucking me.
“Baby…” he moans, pausing to leave slow, lingering kisses around my edges, “you taste even better than I remember.”
Soon, he moves higher, circling and sucking my clit until my hips start to move with the rhythm of his tongue. I stifle any sound that dares to escape, gritting my teeth as he devours me.
“Col…” a moan creaks out as the tension builds.
But as soon as he feels my body go rigid, he raises his head and lets the pleasure fade away. I jerk my head up in frustration, drawing a wicked smile from him. He rises from the chair and kicks it back against the cabinet, taking a wide stance between my knees.
“Sorry, you were going to ask me something,” he runs his hands up and down my thighs, dipping his thumbs into the creases of my hips.
I stare up at him, my chest heaving and my pussy aching, and swallow hard. With a long blink, I take a deep breath to compose myself. I’m still determined to make him answer me.
“Why do you have new scars?”
Colson hesitates for a few moments and then reaches behind his back and gives a sharp tug, drawing something from the back of his belt. When he brings his arm back around, there’s a large knife clutched in his fist. It’s a black handled fixed blade with black metal serrated on the bottom with a straight top. My breath catches when the cold blade touches my skin and he brushes the tip up my thigh, leaving white tracks in its path.
“My scars are a record of all the terrible things I can’t change,” he pauses at my hip and lifts the knife over my skirt, “reminders of moments of weakness not to be repeated.” He sweeps his other hand beneath the hem of my shirt and gently pushes it up to expose my stomach, continuing to trace white threads over my skin, “I failed to stop a lot of things that didn’t have to happen. But there was one night that I did.” He slides his hand further up the front of my torso, and with it, my shirt, “I haven’t made any new scars since then.”
When Colson arrives at my chest, he tucks his fingers beneath the underwire of my bra and pushes it up to expose my breasts. His eyes blaze as he tracks the knife’s razor tip up the curve of my skin and then pauses, letting it rise and fall with my breaths, “And I don’t think I’ll have to make any new ones ever again.”
He brushes the tip of the blade against the rosy skin around my nipple, drawing a sharp breath from me. Then he stops, letting the blade rest there. I shift my focus from the knife at my breast to his face above me.
“What did you do?” I murmur, barely breathing as I try not to move beneath the razor tip dangerously close to my nipple, “What did you stop?”
Colson lifts the knife, rests his fist on the desktop, and leans over me, “I made sure you were safe,” he whispers before sinking down and slipping his tongue between my lips, coaxing them open.
“When?” I breathe into his mouth.
He smiles against my lips, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
But I think I already do.
As soon as his tongue dips back into my mouth, I tip my chin and press his lips to mine. For a brief moment, I forget everything around me and shut myself in a box with him, and only him, nicely compartmentalized and wrapped in opaque memories that blot out reality.
“Were you there?” I ask between breaths, “at the Rickhouse?”
“Of course I was,” he murmurs, sending a wave of butterflies through my stomach.
I knew it. I knew it was him. I knew he was there.
He braces one arm on the desktop, his other locked at the elbow to keep his blade at a safe distance. Then he hovers over my breasts, flicking each nipple with the tip of his tongue before raking them between his teeth until my breath catches.
“How did you get in my house?” I murmur between gasps.
He does it twice more, relishing each time I wince in pain, “Through the door,” he closes his mouth and sucks harder until I clench his hair with a gasp.
Arrogant son of a bitch.
He raises up and leers over me, “You know, I’ve missed those sounds you make for me while I mark you up,” I hear each click as he taps the pommel against the wood, “and the louder ones when I make you come.”
I shift my eyes to the side, only catching a slight shadow of his knife in my periphery, “Are you going to cut me again?” my voice shakes, as much as I try to make it stop.
Colson stares down at my torso, focusing on the six-inch scar below my breast, before finally shaking his head.
“No,” he murmurs, “that was the first and last scar I ever give you. And besides,” he examines the edge of the blade, “there are other ways my knife can defile you without desecrating your flawless body.”
Colson slowly rotates the knife in his palm until the blade is pointing down and drops it to my leg. He presses the handle against the inside of my knee and starts to slowly spread it wider. Full-body chills ripple through me and when I tremble with apprehension, it only brings a smile to his face.
“What are you doing?” I ask, my eyes darting to the deadly implement just out of view.
“Seeing what you look like with my knife inside you.” The corner of his mouth curls as he slides the pommel up the inside of my thigh, “Weren’t you listening? Nate wants to hear all about it.”
My heart pounds as Colson drags the handle through my hip crease, pulling the slack of my skirt back up to expose me. Then he hooks his elbow behind my knee and hitches my leg up so my legs are splayed open before him. He leans back slightly, biting his lip as his eyes fall to my slick thighs, and wraps his thumb and forefinger tightly around the hilt, leaving the rest of his hand loosely covering the base of the blade.
Then he lowers the knife between my legs, “Since you can’t make any noise, maybe you’ll make some nice faces for me.”
I long blink, breathless when I feel the handle just below my navel. My fingertips go white, pressing against the smooth veneer as he trails the pommel down, straight over my clit. When he pauses to circle it, my jaw falls open with a long, labored breath. A minute later, he slides it further down until I feel him tracing the edges of my entrance.
“You’re so pretty, baby,” Colson hums as he marvels at me. I let out an airy moan as he gently moves the handle over my slick skin, “The most gorgeous pussy I’ve ever seen, and she’s just crying for me.”
He dips the handle past my edges, teasing in the most brutal way. Drunk on dopamine, I roll my free leg to the side, spreading my legs even wider for him. My chest heaves as I try to keep still from the waist down, but the more he moves his knife, the more my core throbs.
I just want him to fill me—with something—before I go completely insane.
Maybe I already am.
“Colson?” my voice cracks.
“Yes, Honeybee?” he raises his eyes, his head still bowed, looking positively sinful, “Tell your stalker what you want him to do to you.”
