Driven

by K. Bromberg

  Damn him! My chest heaves for air as my body stays wound tight, waiting for the slightest movement to set me off. “Greedy little girl,” he admonishes, his breath whispering over my slick flesh. “I may have to rectify this,” and before he can finish his last word, he withdraws his fingers and slams into me, burying himself to the hilt in my heated depth.

  “Oh God, Colton!” The sudden fullness, the unexpected stroke against my patch of interior nerves, makes me writhe against the granite slab.

  Colton eases out of me slowly before plunging back in. He continues this slow withdrawal followed by his greedy drive back in, setting a delirious pace that pushes me to the edge. “Come for me, Rylee!” he growls at me.

  His words are my undoing. My breath quickens. My pulse races. My muscles tense. My hips grind into him, deepening the burning ache until I am pushed over the edge. I explode like a firecracker. Detonations of little lights explode behind my closed eyelids and a white-hot heat flits though my body. Sensation shatters around me as the first wave of my orgasm explodes. I yell out, all thoughts incoherent as I pulse around him. He stills, allowing me to absorb the intensity of my climax. I release the breath I’ve been holding, my taut muscles, slowly relaxing before another wave shudders through me.

  This wave is more than he can bear. My muscles milk his orgasm out of him. He rears back and pushes into me a few more times, my body gripping his. He yells out my name, his own climax tearing through him, and his hips jerking against me until I can feel his warmth erupt within me.

  He collapses on top of me, pressing his face into the curve of my neck. Our chests heave in uneven unison, and I can feel his lips form a smile. My breath shudders as I exhale, the frantic tattoo of my heart beginning to ebb. That was … Wow! I go to remove the blindfold and remember that my hands are still tied.

  I wiggle underneath him. He laughs into my neck, the vibration of it seeping into my chest. “I take it you want your hands back?”

  “Hmm-hmmm.” I don’t think I can speak. My body is still processing what has just happened.

  He lifts up and I can feel his hands tugging at my bindings. When one hand is free, I reach down and pull off my blindfold, my eyes easily adjusting to the dimmed light in the kitchen. Colton’s face is above me, etched in concentration as he works the other knot free. I see the lines ease as my other hand releases from what appears to be a velvet type of braided rope.

  I reach up to run my hands over his cheeks as he looks down at me, an errant lock of hair falling over his forehead. A shy smile lights up his face. I lift my head and brush a soft kiss against his lips, the only way I can express how I feel, how much what just happened meant to me without having him run for the hills.

  I lay my head back down yet Colton’s eyes remain closed, the corners of his mouth still soft in a smile. He shakes his head subtly before opening his eyes and easing his weight off of me. “C’mon,” he says, pulling me up by my arms, “This can’t be all too comfortable for you.”

  I hop off of the counter, suddenly modest in my nudity. I look around for my clothes as Colton pulls his jeans up over his naked hips. I put my arms through my bra straps as I watch him button up the first four buttons, leaving the top one undone. I have to stifle a sigh as I stare at him naked from the waist up in pure appreciation of his toned physique.

  I hook my bra together and drag my shirt over my head, fearing the disheveled state of my hair. I start to run my fingers through it but stop when I catch more than just a glimpse of the tattoos that line the side of his torso. I’ve never really been able to see the whole of them, so I take a moment to look. Four symbols align vertically down his side, all are similar in their style but different in their image. The first three images are solid in color, the ink filled in completely while the fourth is just the outline. I angle my head, trying to figure out what exactly they are of when Colton looks up and notes my inquisitive stare.

  CHAPTER 17

  “What are your tattoos of?”

  He looks up at me, turning his body and raising his arm overhead so that I can see the markings. “They’re Celtic knots.”

  “What do they mean?”

  “Nothing really,” he says gruffly, busying himself by opening the refrigerator, which I notice is almost empty, and grabbing a beer.

  “C’mon.” I prod, curious as to why he is suddenly averting the question when he’s been so forthcoming all evening. He holds a beer out to me and I shake my head no to the offer. “You don’t seem like the kind of guy who marks himself permanently without having a reason or the tattoos a specific meaning.”

  I lean against the counter with my shirt and panties on as he takes a long tug on the beer, his eyes meeting mine over the bottom of the bottle. He slides them down the length of my bare legs and back up to my eyes. “The knots mean different things.” He lifts his arm again to show me as I move near him. He points to the first one just below his armpit, “This one means to overcome some type of adversity in life,” he moves to the next one. “This is the symbol for acceptance. This one is for healing, and the bottom one’s for vengeance.” He looks up slowly, a darkness in his eyes as they hold mine, waiting for my reaction. Waiting for me to probe with the obvious question asking why does he need acceptance, healing, and vengeance. We stand in silence until he sighs, shaking his head at me, disbelief on his face that he’s said so much.

  I step toward him, reach out tentatively, and run my fingers down the four symbols on his body, their meanings resonating in me, telling me somehow, someway they are a marker of his past history and where he is in his present state of dealing with it. His body shivers at my touch. “They suit you,” I whisper, trying to convey to him that I understand this range of emotions. “Did you get them all at once? Why are three colored in and not the fourth?”

  He shrugs away from me, taking another drink from his beer. “No.” That’s all he gives me and his tone tells me that there is no more discussion on that question. Does he get them as he accomplishes each in regards to his past? If so, the vengeance one has me a little more curious.

  “You’re Irish then?”

  “So my Dad tells me.”

  Mr. Forthcoming. I guess he is done talking about him for the night. The theoretical switch has been flipped, and I’m back trying to catch up to his mercurial mood swings. What now? Does he drive me home? Do I stay the night? Do I get a cab? Unsettled by the unknown, I pick up my pants and tug them on, struggling to appear coordinated as my ankle gets caught in the cuff. I can feel the heat of his gaze as he watches me although I dare not look up, embarrassment eminent.

  “So, Colton …” I look up as I finish buttoning my jeans to see him watching me as I’d thought, an amused smirk on his face and his eyebrows raised. He may be experienced in the protocol of this type of thing, but I sure am not. My cheeks flush. I search for something to talk about, something that will abate my anxiety until he gives me some kind of inkling as to what or where I go from here. “The boys are really looking forward to going to the track when you test the car.” He snorts his head bobbing back and forth before he stifles a laugh. “What?” I ask confused by his reaction to my seemingly non-amusing comment.

  “All business now, are we?” I eye him carefully as he walks toward me, wary of the predatory look in his eyes. “How is it that ten minutes ago you were naked and compliant beneath me and now you’re nervous and uncomfortable just being in the same space as me?” Probably because you dominate any space you occupy. He reaches out to tug one of my curls. His emerald eyes darken as he watches me. “Am I that scary of a guy, Rylee?”

  Shit. I have to work harder at not wearing my emotions on my sleeve. “I’m not nervous.” My over-emphatic answer a dead give away of the exact opposite.

  “Oh, Rylee, it’s not exactly polite to lie when some of me is still in you.”

  My blush darkens. Well, when he puts it that way … “I’m not lying. I just wanted to—to—uh get the dates so that I can tell the boys.”

 
He raises his eyebrows, a knowing smile on his lips. I’m a horrible liar, and I know he can see right through mine. “What an apropos time to ask,” he smirks. “Well,” he reaches out and cups my neck, laying a tender kiss on my lips, “my day planner’s at home. I’ll have to text you the dates.”

  I open my eyes from his kiss as his words enter my head. What? I feel his body tense once he’s realized what he said. Did I miss something? I snap my eyes up to his and he takes a cautious step back from me. The look on his face is indiscernible.

  “Is this not your house?” I shake my head. “What am I missing here?”

  Colton runs a hand through his hair, exhaling loudly. “It’s my place. I just don’t stay here that often.” His expression is guarded, tension in the lines around his mouth. His uneasiness unnerves me.

  “Oh. Okay. Where else do you …?” And it hits me. The wrong key in the door. The fumbling with the alarm code. The inability to find something in the kitchen cupboards. The empty refrigerator. Colton saying that he shouldn’t have brought me here. How could I be so naïve? I raise my eyes to meet Colton’s and he knows that I know. The look on his face says it all. I try to swallow the lump in my throat. “So, this is your place, but not exactly where you live.” I slowly annunciate every word. “Its where you bring all your dates, escorts, whatever you call them, to fuck.” I choke on the last word. “Right?”

  “That’s not what this is.” His voice is reticent. Rueful.

  I snort at his response. “Then what the fuck is this, Colton? I think I need a little clarity here seeing as I still have some of you in me, as you so kindly pointed out. Are you referring to the house or as a definition of you and me?”

  He just stares at me. Green eyes glistening like a hurt puppy dog. “You and me,” he breathes.

  I walk out of the kitchen, rolling my shoulders, needing some space from him. From that look in his eyes. Why the fuck am I feeling guilty about the look in his eyes when I’ve done nothing wrong? Ugh! This is bullshit. I walk out into the family room, not wanting him to see the tears of hurt that flood my eyes. I quickly wipe them away with the back of my hand as I focus on the painting, a wash of colors, over his fireplace. “That’s not what this is? Then tell me what I’m supposed to think. You tell me you don’t do girlfriends, you only make arrangements. Is this where your arrangements meet you for a good time?”

  “Rylee.” My name is a one-word plea on his lips. And he is right behind me. I hadn’t heard him follow me, my thoughts too loud in my own head. “I keep screwing this up with you,” he mumbles to himself.

  “You’re damn right you do.” I turn around to face him. “What? You like me enough to fuck me but not enough to stick around or bring me to your real house? Unbelievable!” I huff at him, my ego at all time low. Does he really think that I’d be okay with this? Just when I think that I can possibly take that step over the line in the sand, move on from Max, he makes me jump back as if a rattlesnake has just bitten me. Bastard! “Maybe you should explain to me a little bit more about your set-up here. Make me understand the shit that’s in your head.” Why am I even asking? It’s not like I really want to know the details about his sordid affairs. To know about what else goes on here on the kitchen counter. “I mean if that’s all I am to you, then I at least deserve to know what’s expected of me. My protocol.” My words drip with anger laced sarcasm. I cross my arms over my chest, a useless form of protection from him.

  “Ry? I—uh …” I can see the regret in his eyes, in the slouch of his posture. He regards me silently for several moments, an internal struggle warring behind his façade. “Rylee, this is not what I’d planned for me. For us.” He pauses, his eyes floating with emotion. “You. What you are? What we are? It scares the shit out of me.”

  Whoa! What? Haddie’s words come back to me in a rush. I want to melt at his words, at the knowledge that I affect him that much, but a part of me feels like I’m being played here. An easy out for him as an excuse for his actions. Tell me what I want to hear to get me back in his bed, crisis averted, and then drop me at the first chance he gets. He hates drama and I’ve just caused some. I’m not going to let myself be played by the master player.

  “I scare you? Shit, Colton, I just let you tie me up, blindfold me, and have your way with me on the kitchen counter. A man I’ve only known for two weeks when I’ve only been with one other person before! And. I. Scare. You?” His eyes widen, startled at my admission. I raise my hands up exasperated, wanting to move on before I have to address the little fact about myself that I’d let slip. “You told me at the beach that night that you set guidelines, mitigate promises for the future or some bullshit like that … tell me, Colton, do you do that before or after you bring them to this—to here?” I’m on a roll here, anger and humiliation fueling my fire. He just stares at me, eyes wide, arms hanging limply at his sides. “C’mon. Since you didn’t have the courtesy beforehand to let me know what I was getting in to, I think you should at least tell me now.”

  “Rylee, that’s not what this—”

  “I’m waiting, Colton.” I lower myself to the edge of the camel-colored leather couch, crossing my arms across my chest. I think I’m going to need to be seated for this one. “How do you set up your arrangements?”

  He sighs loudly, running his hand over his jaw, scrubbing it back and forth before looking back at me. He finally speaks, his usually resonating voice, soft and hesitant as if he’s scared to tell me. “Usually, I hit it off with someone. We figure out we like each other.” He shrugs apologetically, “And then I tell her that I enjoy her company but I can only give her a good time. That I would love to spend more time with her but all I can give her is a few nights a week … to meet me here,” he gestures at the room we’re in, “and have some fun.”

  I’m not sure if I want to hear his answer now that I’ve asked. “Go on …”

  He cocks his head to the side and regards me intently, the timid person I’d seen moments before slowly morphing back into the confident man I expect him to be. “The first time we meet here,” he eyes me cautiously, knowing that I’m thinking this is my first time here. Was this the imminent plan he had laid out for me after screwing me on the counter? I purse my lips, trying hard to keep my face enigmatic. I nod at him to continue, anger unfurling in my belly. “Well, I sit her down and explain that I want to spend time with her, but that there is no happy ever after. Never will be. And if she can accept my terms, my requirements, then I would love to spend time with her here, have her accompany me to functions if need be, and allow her the notoriety and perks of being with me, until our arrangement has run its course.”

  Wow. It takes me a minute to process his words. Talk about taking emotion out of the picture. It sounds more like a business transaction. He stares at me, unashamed now that he has more stable footing talking about something he’s in control of.

  I look at him wide eyed. “This really works for you?” I sputter, taken aback. “Why not just hire an escort? I mean that’s what you’re really doing.” My head is reeling with this information and yet the masochistic part of me wants to know all the gory details. Wants to hear the words so that I heed the warning and walk away unscathed. “Someone to look pretty on your arm and for you to use when it suits you.”

  “I beg to differ,” Colton says vehemently, steel in his eyes. “It’s not like that. I never exchange money for sex, Rylee. Never. I’ve already told you that once. I won’t tell you that again.”

  Like he has any room to be pissy. He just told me he expects me to be his compliant little woman, happy with any scraps he throws me way. Too many thoughts are running through my head to form a coherent, intelligent response. “What—” I finally ask, stumbling for the right words. “You say your arrangement has rules. Do you mind if I ask what exactly those are?”

  I’m curious. I’m horrified. I’m floored that this is the path he has chosen when he could obviously have anyone he wants.

  I can sense that he’s uncomfortable,
embarrassed even to respond and this fact gives me a tiny bit of hope. Hope for what though, I’m not exactly sure.

  “I know it sounds cold, but I’ve found that if I lay it all out on the table beforehand, it minimizes complications and lessens expectations further down the line. That way they walk into this willingly after they know the stipulations.”

  “Not me!” I shout at him. “You didn’t have the courtesy to tell me!” He starts to speak, and I raise my hand to shut him up. I need a moment to think. I need a minute to wrap my head around his screwy ideals. I lower my head, swallowing loudly. Is this what I am to him? A complication to be mitigated? God, too much information is sometimes a bad thing. I chew the inside of my lip in thought. “Why not just say friends with benefits or fuck buddies?”

  Irritation flashes through his eyes, and he shifts restlessly, running his fingers through his hair, blatantly ignoring my comment. “You really want to know this, Rylee? The stipulations?” he asks me of my original question.

  I nod, biting down on my bottom lip, worrying it back and forth. “I’m curious,” I state, in the back of my head thinking that a psychiatrist would have a field day with this conversation. “I guess I’m just trying to understand this. Trying to understand you. Trying to understand what exactly you would have expected from me.” His eyebrows shoot up at my comment and I know that he’s heard me. My statement in past tense. That now he knows in no way will I be accepting his self-serving arrangement.