Fueled

by K. Bromberg

  I stroke him a couple more times, enjoying this game I’m playing. Enjoying the fact that I can create such a visceral reaction from this man. I stop all motion and Colton’s eyes that have closed partway in pleasure fly open to meet mine. I smirk slowly at him.

  “Just one more thing...” I can see the confusion on his face, his jaw grinding as he silently begs for the pleasure to return.

  Now that I’ve gotten his attention, I continue again, altering my grip and angle of stroke. Colton hisses out at the difference in sensation, his head falling back against the edge of the tub. I stop again and cup his balls in my hand.

  “Look, I know you were upset, but if you ever treat me like you did this morning again...” I enunciate each word, the teasing humor in my tone gone as I gently squeeze my hand around him “…disrespect me, degrade, or push me away by humiliating me, understand now that I will not be coming back like I did today—regardless of your reasons, how I feel about you, or what’s between us.”

  Colton meets my implacable stare and doesn’t flinch at my threat. His mouth slides into a ghost of a smile. “Well it seems you have me by the balls both literally and figuratively, don’t you now?” he taunts, mischief dancing in his eyes.

  I squeeze him softly, fighting the smirk that wants to play at the corners of my mouth. “Is that understood? Non-negotiable.”

  “Crystal clear, sweetheart,” he says to me, his eyes conveying the sincerity within his response. Satisfied he understands what I am telling him, I shift in the water and release my hold on his balls. Keeping my eyes locked on his, I slide my hands up to his rigid length and repeat the motion that rendered him agreeable moments before. Colton groans a long, drawn out, “Non-negotiable.” And I don’t respond to his answer because I am so turned on watching his reaction. “Christ, woman,” he grates out, grabbing my hips and pulling me toward him. “You like to play hardball, don’t you?”

  I accept his nudging and position myself over the top of his shaft. I lean forward, tunneling my fingers in his hair and place my cheek against his. As I lower myself at an achingly slow pace despite his hands urging me faster, I whisper in his ear, his own words back to him. “Welcome to the big leagues, Ace.”

  “Are you sure you can handle it?”

  “Yes,” he drolly calls out from the kitchen.

  “Because if you can’t, I can whip something up real quick.”

  “The image you just brought to my mind of you with a whip, high heels, and nothing else on is exactly what is going to prevent me from getting breakfast done.” His laugh carries outside onto the deck where I sit.

  “Okay, I’ll just sit here quietly, enjoy the sun, and leave you with those images while I wait for my food.”

  I can hear the carefree note as he laughs again, and it lightens my heart. He seems to have tucked away the earlier nightmare and ensuing incident, but deep down, I know it’s lingering just beneath the surface, always waiting patiently to remind him again of whatever atrocities he endured as a child. Nightmares. Shame. The overriding need for physicality with women. Memories so horrid he vomits with the reappearance of them. I can only hope the causes that flicker through my mind from my past work with other little boys with similar post-traumatic stress symptoms does not hold true for Colton.

  I force myself to sigh away the sadness and soak up the welcome warmth of the early morning sunlight, to enjoy the fact that we’ve turned this morning around from the disaster that it began with. I can only hope that maybe, in time, Colton will trust me enough to open up and feel comfortable talking to me. Then again, who am I to think that I’ll be the special one and make a difference in a man who’s emotionally isolated himself from everyone for so long?

  The speakers on the terrace come to life around me, and Baxter lifts his head momentarily before plopping it back down. Stretched out on the chaise lounge, I watch the early bird exercisers on the beach. I guess it’s not that early now after our diversion in the bathtub. I swear I don’t know what came over me and prompted me to act that way. That is so not me, but it sure was fun making Colton putty in my hands. And when all was said and done, with the bathwater growing cold, he made sure that my whole body ended up just as boneless as his.

  And then there’s the down side to our whole bathtub time. His admission that his average shelf life with a woman is four or five months. Shit. Tawny might be right. He’s going to get bored with me and my lack of bedroom prowess. I shrug away the notion time is running out for me. The thought causes my breath to catch and panic to fill my every nerve. I can’t lose him. I can’t lose how I feel when I’m with him. He means too much to me already, and that’s with me trying to be reserved in my emotions.

  Jared Leto sings about being closer to the edge. I close my eyes thinking how I already have both feet over and beyond that edge that Colton has explicitly explained he does not want to teeter on. But how can I not plummet off it when he makes me feel so incredibly good. I try to rationalize that it’s just the incredible—and it’s mind-blowingly incredible—sex that’s making me feel these insane feelings after only knowing each other for three weeks. And I know that sex does not equate love.

  I need to remind myself of this. Over and over and over to prevent the fall.

  But his words, his actions, tell me that I’m just more than an arrangement to him. They all flicker through my head—different things over the past three weeks—and I just can’t see him not thinking that there are definite possibilities here. If not, then he has me fooled.

  Matt Nathanson’s voice fills the air around me, and I hum along to Come on Get Higher, my thoughts scattered and disjointed, but oddly content.

  “Voila!”

  I open my eyes to see Colton lower a plate onto the table beside me, and when I see its contents, I laugh loudly. “It’s perfect, sir, and I so appreciate the depths of your fine culinary skills.” I reach over and take a bite of my toasted bagel and cream cheese and moan dramatically in appreciation. “Delicious!”

  He bows theatrically, obviously pleased with himself, and plops down beside me. “Thank you. Thank you.” He laughs, grabbing a half off of the plate and taking a large bite of it. He leans back on an elbow, washboard abs bare and board shorts riding low on his hips. The sight of him is enough of a meal in itself.

  We eat, playfully teasing each other, and I silently wonder what’s next. As much as I don’t want to, I think I need to get home and put some distance between the two of us before the night we’ve spent together and the feelings it solidified accidentally come stumbling out of my mouth.

  “I told you to leave them,” Colton says from behind me as I wash the dish in my hand. “Grace will get them or I’ll clean them up later.”

  “It’s no biggie.”

  “Yes it is,” he whispers into my neck, sending an electric pulse straight to my sex as he slides his arms around my waist and pulls me backwards against him.

  God, how I could get used to this. I’m grateful he can’t see the look on my face that I’m sure is one of complete satisfaction. Adoration. Contentment.

  “Thank you, Rylee.” His voice is so quiet I almost miss the words over the noise of the water.

  “It’s one dish and a knife, Colton. Really.”

  “No, Rylee. Thank. You.” His words are swamped with sentiment—a man drowning in unfamiliar emotions.

  I set the plate down and turn off the water so I can hear him. So I can allow him the moment to express whatever it is he needs to say. I may not be very experienced when it comes to men, but I know enough that in the rare instances that they want to talk about feelings or emotions, it’s time to be quiet and listen.

  “For what?” I ask casually.

  “For this morning. For letting me work through my shit the way I needed to. For letting me use you for lack of a better term.” He moves my ponytail off of the back of my neck and places a soft kiss there. “For letting me have mine and for you not complaining when you didn’t get yours.”

  His words,
the thoughtfulness behind them, has me biting my lip to prevent me from making that verbal pitfall I was worried about earlier. I take a second to think of my next words so I don’t take that stumble. “Well, you more than made up giving me mine in the bathtub.”

  “Oh really?” He nuzzles that sensitive spot just beneath my ear that drives me crazy. “That’s good to know, but I still think I might need to further remedy the unsettled situation from earlier.”

  “Really?”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “You are insatiable, Colton.” I laugh, turning in his arms to have my lips captured in a tantalizing kiss that funnels sparks all the way to the tips of my toes. His hands map themselves down my torso and over my backside, pressing me into him.

  “Now let’s talk about that image I can’t get out of my head of you with a whip and wearing only bright red stilettos.” The wicked smile on his lips has the heat flowing from my toes back up.

  “Ahem!” The clearing of a throat has me jumping back from Colton like I’ve been singed by fire.

  I snap my head up, warmth burning through my cheeks when I hear Colton shout out, “Hey, old man!” and then embrace whoever it is in a huge bear hug. They have turned, hugging so fiercely that I can only see Colton’s face, his pleasure evident.

  I catch murmured words in gruff tones as they hold on to each other, hands slapping each other’s backs, and when I think I know who it is, my blush deepens at the knowledge that he overheard what Colton had said to me. My hunch is confirmed when the two break apart and the visitor places a hand on the side of Colton’s face and stares at him intently, concern etched on his face over something he sees in his son’s eyes.

  “You okay, son?”

  Colton holds his father’s stare for a moment, the muscle in his jaw pulsing as he reins in the emotions playing over his face. After a beat he nods his head subtly, a soft smile turning up the corners of his mouth. “Yeah…I’m okay, Dad,” he acquiesces before glancing over to me and then back to his dad.

  They draw each other into another quick man-hug of loud back slapping before they part, and the clear, gray eyes of Andy Westin dart over to me and then back to Colton, love and I think surprise bordering on shock reflected in them.

  “Dad, I want you to meet Rylee.” Colton clears his throat. “Rylee Thomas.”

  The woman you will forever think of in correlation with red stilettos and a whip. Lovely. Can I die now?

  Andy mirrors my step forward and reaches out a hand to me. I try to act calm, to pretend like I’m not in front of a Hollywood legend who has just caught me in a compromising situation, and when I see the warmth mixed with disbelief in his eyes, I relax some. “Pleased to meet you, Rylee.”

  I smile softly, meeting his eyes as I shake his hand. “Likewise, Mr. Westin.”

  He’s not big in stature like I expected, but something about him makes him seem larger than life. It’s his smile that captivates me. A smile that could make the hardest of people soften.

  “Pshaw, don’t be silly,” he scolds, releasing my hand and brushing his salt and pepper hair off his forehead, “call me Andy.” I smile at him in acceptance as he shifts his gaze back to Colton, a bemused look in his eyes and a pleased smile on his face. “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything—”

  “You didn’t,” I blurt out. Colton turns to me, an eyebrow arched at my staunch denial, and I’m grateful when he lets it go without correcting me.

  “Nonsense, Rylee. My apologies.” Andy glances over at Colton again and gives him an indiscernible look. “I’ve been on location for work in Indonesia for the past two months. I got back late last night and wanted to see my boy here.” He pats Colton on the back heartily, and his obvious love for his son makes me like him that much more. And even sweeter than Andy’s adoration of his son is Colton’s reciprocation. Colton’s face lights up with complete reverence as he watches his father. “Anyway, I’m sorry I barged in. Colton never has...” he clears his throat “...Colton is usually out on the deck alone, recovering from whatever the chaos the night before has brought upon him.” He laughs.

  “You two obviously haven’t seen each other in a while, so don’t let me get in your way. I’m going to go grab my purse and I’ll be on my way.” I smile politely and then frown when I realize that I don’t have my car to drive.

  Colton smirks at me, realizing my oversight. “Dad, I’ve got to drive Rylee home. Do you want to hang here or I can stop by the house later?”

  “Take your time. I’ve got some stuff to do. Stop by later if you get the chance, son.” Andy turns toward me, an inviting smile warm on his lips. “It was very nice meeting you, Rylee. I hope to see you again.”

  The drive home from Malibu is beautiful as is expected, but the cloud cover starts to move in and smother the coastline the closer we get to Santa Monica. We talk about this and that, nothing serious, but at the same time I sense that Colton is distancing himself a bit from me. It’s nothing he says per se, but it’s more what’s not said.

  He’s not rude, just quiet, but it’s noticeable. Those little touches are absent. The knowing looks and soft smiles gone. The playful banter silenced.

  I assume that he’s taking the drive to think about his dream, so I leave him to his thoughts and stare out the window watching the coastline fly by. The radio’s on low and the song, Just Give Me a Reason by Pink plays softly in the background as we exit the highway and head toward my house. I sing softly, the words making me think about this morning, and as I hit the chorus, I notice Colton glance over at me in my periphery. I know when he hears the lyrics because he shakes his head and the slightest of smiles graces his lips; his silent acknowledgement of my knack for finding the perfect song to express my feelings.

  We remain in a contemplative silence for a bit longer until Colton finally speaks. “So um, I’ve got a crazy busy schedule the next two weeks.” He glances over at me momentarily, and I nod at him before he looks back at the stoplight in front of us. “I’ve got a commercial to shoot for the Merit endorsement, an interview with Playboy, um…Late Night with Kimmel, and a whole lot of other shit,” he says as the light turns green. “And that doesn’t include all of the dog-and-pony shows coming up for the sponsorship with you guys.”

  I take no offense to the comment because I’m not too thrilled with the dog-and pony- show junket either. “Well that’s good, right? Publicity is always good.”

  “Yeah.” I can tell he’s irritated at the thought as he slips his sunglasses on. “Tawn’s doing a great job garnering press this year. It’s good and all...and I’m grateful that there’s the attention, but the more shit there is, the less time I have on the track. And that’s where I need to concentrate my time with the season right around the fucking corner.”

  “Understandably,” I tell him, unsure what else to say as we pull onto my street, unable to help the smug smile that tugs at the corners of my mouth. It’s been a profound twenty-four hours with Colton. He’s let me into his personal world some, and that counts for something. Our sexual chemistry remains off the charts, and I think it actually intensified after our night together. I told him about Max, and he listened with compassion and without passing judgment.

  Then we had this morning. An hour filled with poisonous words and overwhelming emotions.

  And not once did he mention his idiotic arrangement to me. How he’ll only accept less when I’ll only accept more; we find ourselves at a proverbial impasse despite his actions expressing the exact opposite.

  Maybe my smile reflects my optimism over the possibilities between us. That Colton’s unspoken words speak just as much to me as his spoken ones do.

  I sigh as we pull into the driveway, and Colton opens the door for me. He offers me a tight smile before placing his hand on the small of my back and directing us up my front walkway. I struggle to figure out what his silence is saying, to not read into it too much.

  “Thank you for a great night,” I tell him as I turn to face him on the front porch, a shy smile
on my lips, “and…” I let the word drift off as I figure out how to address today.

  “A fucked up morning?” he finishes for me, regret heavy in his voice and shame swimming in his eyes.

  “Yes, that too,” I admit softly as Colton turns his attention to the absent fiddling with the ring of keys in his hand. “But we got through it…”

  His gaze fixates on his keys, his eyes never lifting to meet mine when he speaks. “Look, I’m sorry.” He sighs, shoving a hand through his hair. “I just don’t know how to—”

  “Colton, it’s okay,” I tell him, lifting my hand to squeeze his bicep—some form of touch to let him know I’ve said my piece about this morning and my lack of tolerance of it happening again.

  “No, it’s not okay.” He finally lifts his head up, and I can see the conflicting emotions in his eyes, can feel the indecision of his thoughts. “You don’t deserve to have to deal with this…with all my shit,” he murmurs quietly, almost as if he’s trying to convince himself of his own words. And I realize that his internal struggle has to do with so much more than just this morning.

  His eyes swim with regret, and he reaches out to tuck a loose lock of hair behind my ear as I search his face to try and understand his unspoken words. “Colton, what are you—”

  “Look at what I did to you this morning. The things I said. How I hurt you and pushed you away? That’s me. That’s what I do. I don’t know how to—shit!” he grits out before turning and looking out toward the street where a teenager is making his way down the sidewalk. I focus on the thunk-thunk of his wheels as they hit the lines in the sidewalk panels while I process what Colton is saying. He turns back around and the lines etched in his striking features cause me to close my eyes momentarily and take a deep breath to prepare for what’s coming next. For what I see written on his resigned expression.

  “I care for you, Ry. I care about you.” He shakes his head, the muscle in his jaw pulsing as he clenches his jaw, trying to find the right words. “I just don’t know how to be...” He stumbles through words trying to get out what he wants to say. “You at least deserve someone that’s going to try to be that for you.”