by Maisey Yates
“You want me?”
“Yes,” she said, no hesitation at all.
“Then you have to tell me.”
“I already have,” she responded, breathless.
“I’m going to need you to ask me to fuck you.”
She was already naked, but his words stripped her bare in a way that nothing else ever had. It should be easy—it was just a word. But for some reason, it felt to her like she was being asked to open up her chest and show him everything she kept hidden away.
She’d never heard him say anything like that before, and it was exhilarating and terrifying. So damned sexy she could hardly stand it. She wanted to say it. Wanted to give it right back to him.
It hovered on her lips, and yet it terrified her. Because if she said it, it would change things. It might even change her. It was only a word, and yet, it was one of the more powerful words in existence.
He had said it the last time they were together, and it had been rough, thrilling. She had relished that look inside of him, beneath the veneer. And because it had meant so much coming from him, she knew it would mean even more coming from her. And what would happen then? The world might fall apart, and she would be revealed. Lydia Carpenter, in all of her shattered, messy glory, wrapped up in a tight little ball and squished down deep inside well-ordered, reinvented Lydia Carpenter, who controlled her life in a way that was a lie, because life couldn’t be controlled.
Who looked so smooth and serene, like she could never be broken when deep inside she already was.
If she asked Colton West to do that to her then he would know. He would know that deep down she wanted those things, that she fantasized about those things. That she was no more the perfectly kept and well-ordered person she presented to the world than he was.
Then he would have her. Have his hand wrapped around her every vulnerable piece. He would know just where they were, and just how to destroy them.
“You have to ask for it, Lydia,” he said, his voice still, firm. “Otherwise, I send you back to bed now, alone.”
It was the stillness, the steadiness of the words that betrayed how important this was to him. How much he needed her to say it. To prove herself. To prove her desire for him. That wasn’t why she hesitated. It was because of all it would expose. To him. To herself.
Like removing limitations she hadn’t realized she had set there in the first place. She was only just becoming aware of them now that she realized how difficult they were to shake off.
She swallowed hard, her throat dry.
“Please,” she said, her voice soft, hoarse. “Fuck me, Colton.”
He growled, and she found herself being propelled back on the bed, her head resting on a pillow, Colton above her, his gaze intense. He reached over, opening the drawer to his nightstand and pulling out a condom. He made quick work of the protection and positioned himself at her entrance.
He pushed inside her slowly, filling her, inch by exquisite inch.
“Yes,” she said, the word a prayer of thanks that he was finally inside of her.
Then she was lost, in the all-consuming rhythm that he set, pushing them both toward release. He was above her, around her, deep inside of her. So deep. And she was undone. Now that she had said the word, she said it again. And again. She made demands of him that she had never made of another man; she said things she had never even said in the dark, private silence of her own room.
It was as if he had begun an exorcism of all of these dark secret things inside of her that not even she had ever known existed.
Never in her life had she wanted so deeply, and had so completely. Never had she felt so completely needy, and so completely satisfied all at the same time. But Colton made her feel that. Colton made her feel entirely too much.
But before she could seriously worry about that she was swept away on a tide of pleasure, lost beneath the surf as her release swept through her. As wave after wave of sensation rolled through her.
He gripped her harder, his thrusts growing erratic as he lost his hold on that control she knew he prized as much as she valued her own. “Yes,” she said, encouraging him. “Take me. Take what you want.”
He turned his head, growling against the curve of her neck as he stiffened, his release racking his big body, making him shudder, making him tremble. She had done that to him. She had made him lose his control again. Again, and again. Just as he had done for her.
He moved away from her, getting off the bed and walking into the bathroom. Leaving her alone.
She stared up at the ceiling, trying to make out if there was a texture, if it was wood. If it was anything other than a witness to her sweetest downfall.
Slowly, her pleasure began to wear off. And then, she just sort of saw everything, and heard it, without the misty veil of arousal around it. She kept hearing her own words, replayed over and over again, but she heard them flat. Far too loud. Far too her.
She had not magically transformed into some sort of temptress, who could get away with saying those things. She was still just Lydia. She was not a temptress of any kind. And she had shown him so much of herself. She didn’t know him all that well, but now she felt like they might be strangers. Or, at least, that she might be a stranger to everybody.
Suddenly, she just wanted to cry.
She most definitely wanted to get off the bed and go hide in her own room. But she was rooted to the spot, unable to move. She was having a mental breakdown, she was certain of it.
He returned a moment later, and it was too soon for Lydia’s taste. She didn’t want him to join her in the bed. But she still didn’t move, so maybe that wasn’t true.
She stayed on top of the covers, and he got underneath them. He didn’t say anything.
She supposed it didn’t say anything good that she now felt tongue-tied and completely uncomfortable with a man she had just done the most intimate things with. Or maybe that was normal. Maybe it was normal to want to retreat back into yourself when you had laid so much of yourself out there. Either way, she was certain of a couple of things. The first being that while she’d had sex before, she had never actually been intimate with anyone.
Intimacy wasn’t easy. It cost. It definitely wasn’t comfortable.
Her last relationship had been exactly that. Companionable. Easy. She had been able to hide so many pieces of herself away, and he had never even looked for them. And with one rough, crude command, Colton had demanded more of her than a two-year relationship with Nolan ever had.
He had asked for more over the past few encounters than anyone—friend, boyfriend, family member—had asked of her in years. Either because they accepted who she was at face value, or they simply didn’t want to dig too deeply. And she had been happy with that. It was why she was here. It was why she had chosen Copper Ridge, instead of opting to stay in the neighborhood she had grown up in. Because she didn’t want to be known.
Because she didn’t want to pass people on the street every day who knew the details of her grief. Who knew that she was the remaining half of something, rather than a whole person.
That thought gave her pause. It made her wonder if she was actually a whole person anymore, or if she had squished and squeezed herself down until she really was just that half.
“I should go to bed,” she said, rolling off the mattress.
“Wait,” he said, catching hold of her arm.
“If you want another round, I think I might have to disappoint you. I’m exhausted.” Not physically, but emotionally. She felt like she’d been divested of her shell, leaving only a tender, vulnerable thing behind that she had to protect at all costs.
“That isn’t what I want,” he said. “Okay, I would take it. But I just thought you might want to stay.”
“I have my own room. I think I need it.”
“Okay,”
he responded, releasing his hold on her, not pushing the issue. Because he was so decent. Because, at the end of the day, he was Colton.
A few minutes ago, he would have demanded she stay. And a few minutes ago, she would have obeyed. But it wasn’t a few minutes ago. It was now. That was the damned ridiculous thing about time. It always moved, even if you didn’t want it to.
“Good night,” she said.
And when she was safely closed back in her room, she curled into a ball and gave in to her misery. But at least, after all he had seen, Colton West didn’t see her dissolve.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
COLTON KNEW HE had messed up with her somehow. But it had been back to work the following day, so he hadn’t gotten a chance to see her at all from the time she fled her bedroom the night before to the end of shift the next day.
Not that he thought she had contrived it that way, but he was pretty sure she had contrived it that way. Not that he should care. Because it was a physical-only affair, and he was happy enough to be balls deep in that without adding conversations and feelings.
Right. You can’t even think something that crude without feeling apologetic.
Dammit. It was true. He couldn’t.
He had lost his head a bit with Lydia last night. He had never even dreamed of talking to another woman like that. But the whole idea of their relationship was supposed to be to push their personal limits. He had to wonder if he had found hers.
You don’t wonder that. You know that isn’t the problem.
He did. It was just that it was much easier to blame coarse language and potentially crossing a sexual line than it was to try and delve deep into feelings.
He didn’t want to care about her. He didn’t want to understand her. But she wasn’t the cold, obnoxious creature he had first imagined her to be. He could remember thinking of her as a yapping dog, who never let go once she had gotten a hold of something. Usually his ankle.
Now he saw her as being determined. She was a woman who set a goal and went straight for it. He had to admire that. Mostly because it was so different to how he did things. Oh, he was as hardheaded and determined as she was, but he had never set his own goals. His determination came from putting his head down and fulfilling the goals his father had set out for him.
Taking care of his family, when the easier thing to do would always be to take off and do whatever he wanted. Like Gage had done. But he refused to do it. Even when it sucked. Even when it meant turning away from all of the things he actually wanted.
Yeah, hardheaded stubbornness. They had both accused each other of having it more than once. They were both right.
He noticed her car in the driveway as soon as he got home, but when he went inside the house, he didn’t find her.
He wandered around the back, tempted to head toward the woodshed, since that seemed to be where she wandered when she got the bug to explore the property. But then, considering what happened yesterday, and considering how handily she had been avoiding him since, he changed course.
He walked around back behind the house, across the manicured lawn and through a field that was growing too tall. The grass was wet, lashing against his jeans as he walked through it. He came through a little grove of trees, and that was where he found her.
She was sitting on the swing, the swing that he was pretty sure not even Natalie knew about. It was tied to a thick oak branch, the leaves making a canopy overhead. Her dark hair was backlit by the sinking sun, casting her in a golden glow. She was swaying back and forth slightly, her green dress fluttering in the breeze with each motion.
“Fancy meeting you here,” he said.
“Okay, this is a very big property. How did you find me?”
“I decided to go to a place you didn’t know about, because that meant that we had never encountered each other, and it was the most likely place you’d go to hide from me.”
“Wow. That is some Sherlock Holmes stuff, right there.”
“I might have missed my calling.” He walked closer to her, taking up a position behind the swing. He wrapped his hands around the rope, just above hers.
“Why do you have a swing?” she asked.
“For my kids.”
She planted her feet on the ground, her shoes skidding in the dirt. “You don’t have kids.”
“No,” he said. “I don’t. But I mean, future kids.”
“Oh.”
“I thought this would be the perfect place for them to come out and play on summer days. This is a great field to run barefoot in. That’s just my expert opinion.”
“On running barefoot through fields?”
He gave the swing a little push. “Yes. I’m an expert. At least, I used to be.”
“Not anymore?”
“Things change.”
“Like what?”
He laughed. “Okay, now you’re going to pry when you and I both know you don’t want me asking questions about you?”
“Yes.”
“Things changed when my older brother left. It’s a funny thing, growing up in a family like mine. Who thinks they’re some kind of royalty, when they’re just rich ranchers. But it was very much that whole heir and the spare thing. My brother was supposed to take over the operation. He was supposed to do everything that I’m doing. My father rested everything on his shoulders from day one. But Gage was never interested. He was rebellious. And he got into a lot of trouble, I guess. I don’t know the whole story. Or any of it really. I only know that one day...he left. He left, and he never came back. I was sixteen. And suddenly, my father turned and looked at me. And I mean, he really looked at me. That was when I realized he had never done it before. Not really. Not like that. He was depending on me. I knew I couldn’t let him down.”
It had been that and more. That and the fact that Gage leaving had splintered his mother when she was fragile already. The fact that he was all that his sisters had. Because their dad had never given a damn and their mom just couldn’t.
“You don’t know where Gage is?” she asked.
“No.”
“Have you ever looked?”
“No,” he said, his voice rough. “I hope he stays gone. After everything...he better stay the hell away.”
He’d never said those words to anyone else.
“Why?” she asked. Though, he had a strange feeling she already knew.
“You ever heard the story of the prodigal son?”
“I do believe I’ve seen it acted out with flannel characters before, yes.”
“That’s what would happen,” he said, shocked at the bitterness in his own voice. Shocked that he was saying this out loud at all. “They would kill a fatted calf for him. Because it doesn’t matter which son is there at the helm as long as there is one. And it would be like nothing ever happened. Like he didn’t waste years off in the wilderness with his dick in his hand. Or in a city with his dick in his hand, I don’t know what he’s doing.”
“And everything you went through would be for nothing,” she said.
“Yes.”
“But you’d have your life back. I mean, the one you were supposed to have.”
“It’s not mine anymore,” he said. “I mean, I gave everything up. I moved on. I did other things. I don’t even know what I would do.”
“This,” she said, as though it were the most obvious thing on the planet.
“Peaches, I have better things to do than to push your pretty ass in a swing.”
She made a scoffing sound. “Not the swing, cowboy. The cowboying.”
That struck uncomfortably close to his heart. He looked out over the spread, the tall grass rustling in the breeze, an old barn in the distance he never used, but liked the look of. It was completely different to the West Estate. With its perfectly kept grounds and
Mediterranean-style buildings.
Like his dad thought he was some European duke in the middle of Oregon.
This place was his. Only it could never be something he worked with his whole heart because he had to give so much to the family land. To the family name.
“The cowboying,” he repeated.
“Yes,” she said. “You could do this full-time.”
He had just wanted to hear her say it. She was the only person on earth who knew. The only person who had any clue that he’d be happiest here, working his own land. Never putting a suit on again. That he’d be happiest—in many ways—if he would just let go of the legacy his father had built. Let it wither and die out when the older generation did.
Immediately, a wave of guilt threatened to crush him. It would never be that simple. He had the money for this place from his father. He had the know-how from working the family spread. To act like he’d be here without it was a lie he couldn’t get himself to believe.
“He won’t come back,” he said.
“He could.” She took a deep breath. “My sister won’t ever come back.”
“Your sister?”
She looked away, her eyes downcast, her posture tense and somehow small. Like she was trying to shrink. “Frannie. Francesca. Because my mom didn’t want to do alliterations. That was too trite, you know?”
“Was it?” he asked, a strange tightness stealing through his chest, making it hard for him to breathe. For some reason, a cold sense of dread settled deep inside of him.
He’d heard her talk about family. About them being difficult.
But he’d never heard her mention a sister.
“Yes. She did dress us alike a lot, though. Because we were identical, and you can’t pass that up. I guess.” She cleared her throat.
Colton stopped the swing.
“You were identical,” he repeated.
“Yes. We were. They always talk about twins being like...halves of the same whole, or...closer to each other than normal siblings anyway.” She turned and looked up at him, a strange, flat look in her eyes. “I’m just the half now.”