Heart So Hollow (Dire Wolves Book 1), page 54
“OK,” I concede, then point to his right arm, “then what do you need the compass for?”
Colson glances down at the inside of his arm where the sharp, black, four-tipped star points north toward his elbow and south toward his wrist.
His lucent eyes shift back to me, “In case it’s cloudy.”
I hesitate for a moment, dumbfounded, then a sudden whoop of laughter bursts from my mouth and echoes through the trees. It’s so loud and vibrant, it doesn’t even sound like my voice, and it doesn’t stop. I keep laughing as I stagger around the path. I don’t remember the last time I laughed like this.
When I finally catch my breath, I turn back to Colson, wiping the tears from under my eyes, “Cloudy…” I giggle.
He walks backward a few steps and then turns over his shoulder with a flash of his aquamarine eyes. I follow him down the path, chuckling to myself, for another quarter of a mile until the pavement reveals a small dirt pull-off in the trees only big enough for a couple of parking spaces. Colson’s blue STI is the only one there, the front bumper facing the tree line.
“Do you ever drive your Bronco anymore?” I ask, coming to a halt at his front tires.
“Sometimes,” he opens the driver’s side door and starts the ignition. When he does, the A/C kicks on as well as the radio, “but this one has better speakers.”
I meander around his open door, wandering along the edge of the car aimlessly while I bob my head back and forth, mouthing song lyrics as I go. When I reach the back bumper and turn on my heel, I realize he’s watching me from the driver’s side door.
“I like this song…” I say while averting my eyes.
With a mischievous smile, Colson reaches for my hand and pulls me close, catching me with his other arm and tossing my hand over his shoulder. His body is warm and his scent familiar, and I feel myself start swaying with him. The more I move with him, mirroring him like a shadow, the more I relax.
I remember every inch of him; the contours of his shoulders, the sweet smell of his skin, the exact place my head falls on his chest, the way his hands feel running down my back—every single movement unlocking a memory I hid away long ago. And now, I can’t help but climb back into the perfectly wrapped box I have for Colson and bask in those memories behind a wall of maples and honeysuckle.
“I think this is the most normal thing you’ve ever done,” I murmur into his shoulder.
“Don’t worry,” his lips brush my forehead, “I won’t make it a habit.”
I tighten my hold around his shoulders, “Maybe you should.”
“See?” Colson slides one hand further down the small of my back, “You want to know how it feels.”
“How what feels?”
He bends down and grabs the backs of my thighs, lifting me up to his waist. I tighten my arms around his shoulders as he strolls to the front of his car, and when he reaches the front bumper, he sits down on the edge of the hood, holding me on his lap.
“You want to know how it feels to be enmeshed in my life as much as I am in yours. When I’m not busy fucking with you—figuratively and literally—you want to know what it’s like to do simple things like brushing your teeth next to me or picking out granite for our countertops I’ll bend you over whenever I want. You want to walk into a room and see me there because I’m supposed to be,” Colson tilts his head with a smirk, “and you want to enjoy it.”
“Don’t you wonder what’s wrong with me like everyone else?”
“Quite the opposite,” Colson runs his hands up over the curve of my ass and lets them rest there, “nothing appears to be wrong with you right now.”
“No, you wouldn’t think that,” I roll my eyes, staring off into the distance as the rhythmic crescendo of cicadas ring in my ears, “I don’t know how it happened, but I feel like a hollowed-out shell that’s flaking away by the second, just like everything else.”
He reaches up and pulls my face back to his with his index and middle fingers, “You’ll never be hollow, Brett, and I’ll keep reminding you of that for the rest of your life. Because as long as you’re walking the earth, I’ll be wherever you are, and you need to square with that. But I promise,” he lowers his voice to a near whisper, “you’re never going to feel whole until you decide to come back home.”
Colson no sooner finishes the last word and I sink into him, pressing my lips to his. I feel his chest cave as the air leaves his lungs and, a second later, his arms cross over my back to pull me tighter against him. He tastes so good, like bad decisions laced with notes of pine, heat, and maddening suspense. I can’t turn away; I have to know what happens next. And the longer I hold him, the more I want to meld to him and see if I can feel a shred of what it’s like to be him.
Colson says he can never be as whole as I am, but I don’t think I can ever be as bold and unflappable as he is. The next best thing is to drink him in like I’ve been parched for days and breathe his air like I’m suffocating. And the more I do, the more his touch makes me feel like I’m coming back to life.
“Can I go home with you?” I murmur into his mouth.
Maybe I am losing it like people think. Maybe I’m getting more unhinged by the day. Every aspect of my life is twisted to the point where I’m jealous of Colson Lutz and kissing him feels like solace. Even though so much of it is his fault…
Colson nods, “I’ll take you home with me,” then he grabs my thighs and rocks forward to stand, “but if I do, you’re not leaving.” He spins and lowers me down, rolling my back flat against the hood, “It’ll be where you live, now.”
The metal feels warm against my back as he hovers over me, running his hand up my torso and pushing my shirt up past my navel.
“Or do you just want me to fuck you on the hood of my car?” his eyes remain locked on mine, “Maybe you’re finally ready to have some real fun with me again.”
Yes, I do…
“It’d be nice,” he continues, cocking his head, “the blue paint makes your hair pop and you’re at the perfect angle for me to make your tits bounce like hell. You have phenomenal skin, too…want me to pull out and come all over it or you want me dripping out of you instead?”
I fidget beneath him, my muscles trembling, “Would you fuck me the way you did last time?”
“That’s the only way I will,” he leans over me and plants one hand on the warm metal next to my chest, “or if you’re still having a crisis of conscience, you’re welcome to watch me have all the fun…”
Holding my gaze, he pulls up his shirt and slides his hand into his pants, reaching deeper until he draws in a breath and starts to slowly stroke his cock. His eyes start to move over me, staring ravenously while he pumps it faster.
“Fuck, Colson…” I murmur, rolling my head in frustration.
“I already told you once, Honeybee,” his words become low and airy, “the next time I’m deep inside you, you’re going to tell me I’m your only,” he lets out a deep moan as he grinds against his fist with a crooked smile, “and I will be your only.”
I press my mouth together with a long blink, trying to still my hips and not focus on the fact that I can feel the liquid heat pooling between my legs.
“Until then,” he groans, “you can keep fantasizing that it’s my dick fucking you raw.” He casts me a pensive glance, “How many mornings of waking up without me until it drives you insane?”
I reach up with both hands, stroking the sides of his neck, “Let me make you come, Colson,” I plead, staring into his pale blue eyes so that he might change his mind.
“You are,” he smirks.
“No,” I throw my head to the side with irritation, “I mean inside me.”
“Fuck, baby…” he slows his strokes and leans down until his face is just inches from mine, “don’t move a muscle and I’ll give you what you want.”
I take a breath and lower my arms, pressing my fingertips against the hood. I want to move against him, but he’s too tall and too far away for me to get even close. Instead, I have to do what he says and just lay there beneath him while he does exactly what he did when he followed me home years ago. Except, this time, I willingly watch him do it.
“You want to know what I was doing for the last three years?” he starts pumping harder, his mouth falling open, “I tried to forget you, like you wanted, but it didn’t work. I just thought about all the things I’d do to you when I found you again. And when I did, I decided to make you hate me for a different reason.”
Colson sinks down on top of me, brushing his nose up the side of my face as his labored breaths tickle my cheek. My mouth falls open when I feel his fist grinding against my pelvis, but his touch isn’t for me, it’s only a cruel byproduct while my own agonizing arousal goes utterly ignored.
On reflex, I lift my hand and he senses it without even seeing it, “Don’t…move,” he growls, giving me a start.
I go still and lay my hand back down on the hood, muscles trembling with agitation while I listen to his groans under his breath and feel each movement that brings him closer to release.
“Do you still like the pain I give you, Brett?” Colson murmurs, “because this kind is so much worse than my knife slicing through you.” He presses his forehead against mine, “But you need it like a bee needs honey. You’re so desperate for one thing that you’ll abandon the comfort of your safe life and forsake all others just to feel me inside you. Do you like when I deny you that?”
I close my eyes, pressing my mouth together as I squirm uncontrollably beneath him.
“Let me edge the fuck out of you until you can’t take it. And then leave you like that,” he growls through clenched teeth, pumping faster, “let me see you suffer, Honeybee.”
Suddenly, his muscles go rigid and his jaw trembles as he lets out a sharp breath that slowly crescendos into a deep groan. Once it’s over, he straightens up, taking in my flustered body before he tilts his head from side to side, stretching and cracking his neck.
Colson pushes off the hood and straightens up, glancing down at his pants, “Oh, sorry,” he snickers, “I made you a promise.”
He pulls his fist out of his pants and reaches forward with his other hand, grabbing the waistband of my shorts and jerking them away from my stomach. Before I can say a word, he plunges his fist down the front of my shorts and my jaw drops as his hand splays out, landing with a wet smack between my thighs. I grab his wrist, gasping as his fingers curl around my groin and he vigorously rubs his cum over my skin, finally sliding two fingers in and out of me for good measure.
I stare up at him in shock as he retracts his hand from my shorts, letting his arm fall to his side. He stares right back, his jeweled eyes blazing with both satisfaction and contempt.
“How did it feel?”
I look away, trying to refocus, but too distracted by the fresh, sticky coat of his release he just smeared between my legs.
Finally, I turn back to him with an exasperated sigh, “Why can’t you ever just have a normal interaction with someone?”
Colson extends one hand to me and, inexplicably, I take it and let him pull me upright, “Like I said, this is our normal. And you shouldn’t derive any pleasure from leaving me, so, until you decide not to leave, it’s only going to get worse.”
I glare up at him, “So, if I am going insane and you finish the job, I’ll think you’re normal, after all?”
“Well,” he shoots me an endearing smile, “if you didn’t want to be here, you wouldn’t have spread your legs for me, would you?” then he tosses his head to the side, “Now get the fuck off of my car—until you decide to behave.”
I still can’t get used to how similar Colson and Bowen can be—like I walked into some portal between two alternate universes. Are they each some metaphysical manifestation of good and evil? Except, depending on the day, I can’t tell which is which.
Colson rounds the bumper to the driver’s side door and throws it open. I watch him collapse into his seat and, with a weary breath and a not-so-subtle roll of my eyes, I turn and start trudging toward the entrance to the trail.
“Hey,” he calls after me, “where do you think you’re going?”
I nod down the path with a scowl, “Back to the beginning of the trail—where my car is.”
“You think I’d let my girl walk all the way back by herself?” he nods to his passenger seat, “Get in.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Brett
One Year Ago
All I hear is the jingle of Waylon’s collar when I walk through the front door into an empty house. It’s not dark yet, but the sun has already dipped behind the trees, casting the house into darkness. I head straight back to the bedroom to shower and change into pajamas, eager to wash off the thin film of sweat and…other things on my skin.
I drop my purse next to the bedroom door and switch on the lamp next to the bed before heading to the closet. After grabbing a pair of grey jersey shorts and a black tank from the bottom drawer, I stand up and jerk open the top one to grab a new pair of underwear.
And when I do, I freeze.
I’m suddenly transported back to October, when I was searching for missing earrings that mysteriously fell into a portal, as though there’s a glitch in the matrix. Except, this time, it’s not my jewelry that’s missing.
It’s my entire drawer of underwear.
Every single pair I own—thongs, bikinis, boy shorts, lace, cotton, satin—are gone and the drawer spotless. That is, except for one wadded up black piece of fabric in the middle.
I reach in and shake it out, holding it up in front of me. My mouth falls open as I stare in horror at the shredded black lace thong hanging from my fingers. Even after all this time, I recognize it immediately.
Specifically chosen for an ill-fated library date all those years ago…
Even though it’s nothing but a tattered rag, ripped apart at the back, I would know it anywhere. And, more importantly, I know who’s had it all this time and who brought it back to me.
In a split-second moment of panic, I wad it back up, stuff it in my shorts pocket, and close my drawer again. Standing motionless, I steady my breathing and try to focus. I was just with Colson. When did he come here? And how did he get in?
The same way he came in and left you a smoothie in the fridge, obviously.
Was I gone long enough for him to come here, clean out my drawer, and find me at the park? How would he even know I was at the park if he was here instead?
Slowly, I turn to leave the closet with the rest of my clothes and let out a defeated grunt. I glance down at my shorts and then at the hamper in the corner of the room. If I want to shower and change into underwear that’s not soaked in Colson’s cum, I’ll have to dig out another pair from the dirty clothes. It could be worse.
Really? Could it?
I immediately regret the thought as I start digging through the clothes, only to realize that there’s not one pair of my underwear left in the hamper. I dump it out on the floor, sifting through the t-shirts, jeans, socks, and blouses, but to no avail.
He took it all. He went through the dirty clothes to make sure he took every single pair. I inhale a shaky breath and let it out slowly before I start throwing the clothes back in the hamper. I’ll figure out what to do in the shower. Maybe this time I’ll have some bright ideas instead of sitting on the tile crying in despair.
He’s gone too far, now. Leaving bottles in my refrigerator and belts on my mirror is one thing, but stealing all my underwear is a different story. There’s no way he can deny it, now. I shake my head, throwing open the medicine cabinet to retrieve my packet of birth control pills from the middle shelf.
I pause for a moment and furrow my brow when I realize there’s not one.
I’m out, but why didn’t my calendar reminder go off?
Cursing under my breath, I leave the bathroom to retrieve my phone from my purse. Tapping the calendar icon, I prepare for further annoyance that the app isn’t working like it should and I’ll have to rush to get it filled tomorrow and take two in one day.
But the reminder is still set…for three days from now.
I blink, feeling my pulse skyrocket the longer I stare at my phone. I slowly turn and walk back into the bathroom and bend down to grab the empty pack I threw away last night. It’s still laying at the top of the trash.
“Oh, shit,” I murmur, staring at the spent pack in horror.
This can’t be right. How do I skip an entire week of birth control pills? And where did they go? My eyes dart back and forth between my phone and the pills, my mind gridlocked and unable to process what I’m seeing. For almost 10 years, there’s been a reminder every 25 days to call in a refill. It never changes. But that still doesn’t explain where an entire week of pills went. An entire week of active pills.
My stomach drops, and I look down at my shorts.
No, no, no, no…this isn’t happening. This isn’t fucking happening.
But I don’t have time to dwell on it. My eyes fly open when I hear the front door close and I realize that Bowen’s home. Not a minute later, I hear his voice echo through the house like thunder.
“Brett!” he shouts from the living room, giving me a start.
I freeze in the bathroom doorway, his frantic call followed by heavy footsteps rushing down the hallway. He bursts through the door, coming to a halt in the middle of the bedroom, his eyes darting around until he sees me in the bathroom.
“What?” I ask, eyes wide.
He glances back at the hallway and then at me, his eyes wild, “You didn’t see what’s out there?” he asks, motioning to the hallway, now half-lit by the lamps in the living room.
“I just got home,” I shake my head and set the empty packet down on the edge of the sink, “I just didn’t turn on the lights yet.”
“Jesus Christ,” Bowen rakes his fingers through his hair with exasperation, then motions for me to follow him.
