Fueled

by K. Bromberg

  He cries out, restraint obliterated, and holds me still while he pistons his hips into me in a relentless, punishing rhythm. Our bodies, slick with water, slide easily against each other. The friction against my breasts heightens my ache for release. He flicks a tongue over a nipple, sliding it across my chilled skin before capturing the other one in his mouth.

  I moan out in pleasure, accepting every forceful stroke from him. Allowing him to take so that he can find the release he needs to forget whatever haunts him. The volatility in his movements increases as he drives himself higher and higher, giving himself no other option but to forget. His grunts and the sound of our wet skin slapping against each other echoes off the shower walls.

  “Come for me,” I grate out as I slam back down on him. “Let go.”

  He quickens his tempo, his neck and face taut with purpose. “Oh fuck!” he yells out, crushing me against him with his powerful arms and burying his face in my neck as he finds his release. He rocks our joined bodies back and forth gently as he empties himself into me. The desperation in his strangling grip tells me I’ve given him only an iota of what he needs.

  He sighs my name over and over, lacing absent kisses between them, his emotion transparent. His utter reverence coming on the heels of his earlier insults steals my breath and completely immobilizes me.

  We sit like this for a couple of minutes so that he can take a moment to compose himself. It can’t be easy for a stoic and always in control man like him to have a witness to such an emotional episode. He runs his fingers over the chilled skin of my back, the hot water running a few feet behind me sounding like Heaven.

  When he finally speaks, it’s of nothing we’ve just experienced. He keeps his head buried in my neck, refusing to meet my eyes. “You’re cold.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Colton shifts and somehow manages to stand with my legs wrapped around him. “Stay right here,” he tells me, placing me in the stream of warm water before leaving the shower. I look after him confused, wondering if his display of emotion was too much for him and now he needs some distance. I’m not sure.

  He returns quickly, water still running in rivulets off of his skin. He takes me completely by surprise when he swoops me up in his arms, turns off the water with an elbow, and carries me out. I shriek as the cold air from the bathroom hits me. “Hold on,” he murmurs against the top of my head at the same time I realize his intent.

  Within moments he has stepped into the bathtub that is filling with water, and sets me on my feet. He sinks down in the overabundance of bubbles and tugs on my hand for me to follow. I lower myself, the blissful heat surrounding me as I settle between Colton’s legs.

  “Ah, this feels like Heaven.”

  I lean back into him, silence consuming us, and I know he’s thinking about his dream and the aftermath. He traces absent lines up and down my arms, his fingertips trying to tame the goose bumps that still remain.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” I ask, his body tensing against my back with my question.

  “Just a nightmare,” he finally says.

  “Mmm-hmm.” Like I believe it was a run of the mill monster chasing you down a dark alley type of dream.

  I feel him open his mouth and close it against the side of my head before he speaks. “Just chasing my demons away.” I reach my hands up and lace them with his, wrapping our joined hands across my torso. Silence stretches between us for a few moments.

  “Shit.” He exhales in a whoosh. “That hasn’t happened in years.”

  I think he’s going to say more, but he falls silent. I debate what to say next and choose my words very carefully. I know if I say it the wrong way, we might end up right back where we started. “It’s okay to need somebody, Colton.”

  He emits a self-deprecating laugh and falls quiet as my remark weighs heavy between us. I wish I could see his face so I can judge whether or not to say my next words. “It’s okay to need me. Everybody has moments. Nightmares can be brutal. I understand that better than most. No one’s going to fault you for needing a minute to collect yourself. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I mean…I’m not going to run to the first tabloid I see and sell your secrets—secrets I don’t even know.”

  His thumb absently rubs the back of my hand. “You wouldn’t be here if I thought you’d do that.”

  I struggle with what to say next. He’s hurting, I know, but he hurt me too. And I have to get some things off of my chest. “Look, you want to shut me out, that’s fine…tell me you need a minute—that you need…” I falter, searching for something he’ll relate to “...to take a pit stop. You don’t have to hurt me and push me away in order to have some space.”

  He mutters a curse into the back of my hair, his heated breath warming my scalp. “You just wouldn’t go.” He exhales in exasperation. I’m about to respond when he continues, “And I needed you to go. I was terrified you’d see right through me and into me, Rylee, in the way that only you’ve been able to…and if you did, if you saw the things I’ve done…you’d never come back.” His last comment is barely a whisper, so soft I have to strain to hear him. The words unzipping his hardened exterior and exposing the vulnerability beneath. The fear. The shame. The unfounded guilt.

  So you tried to make sure my leaving was on your terms. Not mine. You had to have control. Had to hurt me so I wouldn’t hurt you.

  I know his confession is difficult. The man who needs no one—the man who pushes people away before they get too close—was afraid to lose me. My mind spins with thoughts. My heart squeezes with emotions. My lips struggle to find the right words to say. “Colton—”

  “But you came back.” The utter shock in his voice undoes me. The significance behind his admission hangs in the air. He tested me, tried to drive me away, and I’m still here.

  “Hey, I’ve gone up against a teenager with a knife before…you’re nothing,” I tease, trying to lighten the mood. I expect a laugh but Colton just pulls me back and holds me tighter, as if he needs the reassurance of my bare skin against his.

  He starts to say something and then clears his throat and stops, burying his face back into the curve of my neck. “You’re the first person that’s ever known about those dreams.”

  His bombshell of a confession rocks my mind. In all his therapy dealing with whatever it is that has happened to him, he’s never talked to anyone about this? He’s that hurt, that ashamed, that traumatized, that whatever, that for almost thirty years he has kept this festering inside of himself without any help? My God. My heart twists for the little boy growing up and for the man that sits behind me—so disturbed by whatever happened that he’s kept it bottled up inside.

  “What about your parents? Your therapists?”

  Colton is silent, his body taut and unmoving, and I don’t want to push the issue. I lean my head back on his shoulder and angle my face so it nuzzles into the side of his neck. I kiss the underside of his jaw softly and then rest my head down, closing my eyes, absorbing this quiet vulnerability from him.

  “I thought…” He clears his throat as he tries to find his voice. He swallows harshly and I can feel his throat work beneath my lips. “I thought that if they knew about them—really knew the reasons behind why I had them—they wouldn’t…” He stops for a moment, and I can feel the unease rolling off of him, as if the words are physically hard for him to utter. I press another kiss on his neck in silent reassurance. “They wouldn’t want me anymore.” He exhales slowly and I know the admission has cost him dearly.

  “Oh, Colton.” The words fall from my mouth before I can stop them, knowing full well the last thing he wants is my sympathy.

  “Don’t…” he pleads, “Don’t pity me―”

  “I’m not,” I tell him, although my heart can’t help but feel that way. “I’m just thinking how hard it must have been to be a little boy and feeling all alone without ever being able to talk about it…that’s all.” I fall silent, thinking that I’ve said and pushed hard enough on a topic he obvi
ously doesn’t want to address. But I can’t help the next words that tumble from my lips. “You know you can talk to me.” I murmur against his skin. His hands tense in mine. “I won’t judge you or try to fix you, but sometimes just getting it out, getting rid of the hate or shame or whatever is eating you makes it a tad bit more bearable.” I want to say so much more but forcibly tuck it away for another day, another time when he’s a little less raw, a little less exposed. “I apologize,” I whisper. “I shouldn’t have—”

  “No, I’m sorry,” he says with an agitated sigh, leaning forward and kissing the shoulder he tagged with his elbow. “For so very much. For my words and my actions. For not dealing with my own shit.” The regret in his voice is so resonating. “First I hurt you and then I was rough with you in the shower.”

  I can’t help the smile that forms on my lips. “Not going to say that I minded.”

  He laughs softly and it’s such a good sound to hear after the angst that filled it moments ago. “About your shoulder or about the shower?”

  “Um, shower,” I say, noting his attempt to digress from my comment and thinking that a change in topic is just what is needed to add a little levity to our extremely somber and intense morning.

  “You surprise me at every turn.”

  “How so?”

  “Did Max ever treat you this way?”

  What? Where is he going with this? His comment takes me by surprise. When, I turn and face him, he just tightens his arms around my torso and pulls me closer. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Did he?” he insists, the master of deflection.

  “No,” I admit contemplatively. Sensing I’ve relaxed some, he unlaces his fingers from mine and moves them back up to draw aimless lines on my arms. I look down at my hand and watch as I poke absently at the bubbles. “You were right.”

  “‘Bout what?”

  “The first time we met. You told me that my boyfriend must treat me like glass,” I whisper, feeling like I’m betraying Max’s memory. “You were right. He was a gentleman in every way. Even during sex.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with that,” Colton concedes, bringing his hands up to massage the base of my neck. I don’t speak, shocked at myself for feeling how I do. “What is it? Your shoulders just tensed up.”

  I exhale a shuddered sigh, embarrassed at my train of thought. “I thought that was how it was supposed to be…that was what I wanted sex to be. He was my only experience. And now…”

  “Now what?” he prompts with a hint of amusement in his voice.

  “Nothing.” Heat rushes into my cheeks.

  “Rylee, talk to me for Christ’s sake. I just fucked you in my shower like an animal. Used you basically for my own reprieve, and yet you can’t tell me what you’re thinking?”

  “That’s exactly it.” I aimlessly draw circles down his thighs that cradle my sides, the admission tackling all of my modesty and throwing it to the ground. “I liked it. I never realized it could be different. That it could be so raw and…” Oh my God I’m drowning here. I don’t think I even spoke to Max about sex like this, and we were together for over six years. I’ve known Colton less than a month, and we’re discussing how I think it’s a turn on to be manhandled. Sweet fucking Jesus as Colton would say.

  “Carnal,” he finishes for me, and I can hear a tinge of pride in his tone. He kisses the side of my head, and I shrug, embarrassed at my lack of experience and unfiltered admission. Sensing my discomfort, Colton squeezes me tighter. “There’s no need to be embarrassed. Lots of people like it lots of different ways, sweetheart. There’s a lot more out there to experience than just the missionary position with whispered sweet nothings.” He breathes into my ear, and I wonder how even he can turn me on with that statement.

  My mind flickers back to Colton demanding that I tell him that I want to be fucked our first time together. Of him pushing me to the brink by taking me hard and fast. Of him whispering the explicit things he wants to do to me when we have sex—lifting me up, pressing me against a wall, and grinding us toward release. Of how the knowledge of any and all of these things can cause me to ache with a need so intense that it unnerves me.

  My cheeks flush at the thoughts, and I am grateful he can’t see my face because he’d know exactly where my mind has wandered. I exhale a shaky sigh, trying to stifle my mortification at the direction of conversation and my own self-revelations.

  “That’s one of the things I like about you. You’re so uninhibited.”

  What? I feel like looking around the room to see whom else he is talking to. “Me?” I croak.

  “Mmm-hmm,” he murmurs. “You’re amazing.” His voice feathers over my cheek, the movement of his lips grazing my ear.

  His words leave me motionless. He’s echoed my thoughts of him despite the chaos and hurt from earlier. Maybe this combustible chemistry between us is because I possibly mean more than some of his others? He’s sending me all of the signals to validate this claim, and yet hearing it would mean so much more.

  He lathers his hands up with a bar of soap and then proceeds to run them over my arms and down the front of my chest. I suck in a breath as his fingertips slide lazily over the peaks of my breasts and his mouth licks its way up the curve of my shoulder. “I don’t think I could ever get my fill of you.” Proving my point exactly. Words that say it but don’t really say it. “You’re always so reserved, but when I’m in you…” he shakes his head, a low hum deep in his throat “...you lose all sense of everything, become mine, submit completely to me.”

  His words are a seduction on their own, never mind his thickening cock pressed up against the cleft of my backside. “How does that make me uninhibited?” I ask, angling my head back so I can rub against the coarse stubble on his jaw.

  Colton’s laugh is a low rumble that reverberates through my back. “Let’s see…we’ll put it in baseball analogies for you since you seem to be so keen on them. Almost third base in a public hallway. Twice.” He chuckles. “Second base on a blanket at a beach.” With each word I can feel my cheeks redden. “Homerun, pressed against the window of my bedroom,” he pauses “...that overlooks a public beach.”

  “What?” I gasp. Oh. Fucking. Hell. What is it about him that makes me lose my head? My ass was pressed against a glass wall while we had sex, and anyone could have enjoyed the show. I think dying from humiliation is a viable option right now. I have no other choice but to shift the blame. “It’s all your fault,” I tell him as I push away and splash water at him.

  A cocky grin lights up his face. It’s a welcome sight from the haunted look from earlier. The dark and brooding bad boy has returned and is sitting across from me, knees and torso peeking out from above an overabundance of bubbles with a playful look on his face. Is it no wonder I’ve fallen for this man who’s such a juxtaposition of characteristics and actions?

  And fallen damned hard without a safety line to hold on to. Fuck, I’m so seriously screwed.

  “How’s that?” He splashes water back at me and catches my wrist in a quick grab when I try to retaliate. He pulls me toward him playfully, and I resist in turn. He gives up and I flop back, sloshing water out of the tub at all angles. We both erupt in a fit of laughter, bubbles floating through the air at my sudden movements. “I’ve been with plenty of women, sweetheart, and most aren’t as sexually candid as you’ve been, so you can’t blame me.”

  I’m glad that we’re laughing when Colton makes his off the cuff remark because I can see him tense even though a smile remains on his face. I make a quick decision to remain playful despite the pang his remarks cause. I really don’t want to think about the plenty of women he’s been with, but I guess I can’t ignore them either. Maybe I can use this slip of his to my advantage, get more information on my fate as well as make a little point of my own.

  “Oh really?” I arch a brow and scoot closer, a smile playing on my lips. “Plenty of women, huh? Glad I can surprise such an experienced man such as yourself.” I toy with
him as I run my finger along the line of his throat and down between his pecs. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows at my touch. “Tell me,” I whisper suggestively as my hand dips beneath the water and rakes toward his already erect cock. “These plenty? How long do you usually keep them around for?”

  He sucks in his breath as my fingers graze over the tip of his shaft. “This isn’t the right time to—aarrgh!” He whimpers as my hand cups his balls and massages them gently.

  “It’s never the right time, but a girl’s gotta know these things.” I lower my mouth to suck on one of his flat nipples, tugging it gently with my teeth. He groans deeply, his mouth parting when I look up at him from beneath my lashes. “How long, Ace?”

  “Rylee…” he pleads before I take his other nipple between my teeth at the same time I press the pleasure point just beneath his balls. “Four or five months,” he pants out in response. I laugh seductively, hiding the jolt that tickles up my spine at knowing the clock is ticking on my time with him. I lick my tongue up the line of his neck and tug on his earlobe. “Ah...” He sighs when I trace it around the rim.

  “Good to know…”

  He remains silent, his shallow breath the only sound. “You play dirty.”

  “Someone once told me that sometimes you have to play dirty to get what you want.” I breathe into his ear, repeating his words back to him. My nipples, chilled from the air, skim over the taut skin on his chest.

  He chuckles low and deep, and his eyes alight with humor because he knows he’s not the only one affected. I slide my other hand down his chest beneath the water, and I watch him watch my hand disappear. He looks back up at me and raises his eyebrows, curious as to where I’m going with this. When he just continues to stare at me, I grip the base of his shaft with one of my hands and twist it up and back on his length while the pad of my thumb on my other hand pays special attention to the crest. “Oh God that feels good, baby,” he moans. The look he sends me smolders so intensely with need and lust it’s enough to ignite my insides.