The Driven Series Boxed Set - Limited Edition (Driven #1-4)

by K. Bromberg

  I lose myself in his steady tempo, our eyes still locked on each other. The look on Colton’s face takes my breath away as his eyes darken and face pulls tight with pleasure. He reaches a hand forward to my breast and rolls my nipple between his fingers. An incoherent moan slips from my lips, the fire inside me almost too much to bear. With his one hand still gripped on my hip, he moves his other from my breast to my shoulder and pulls us against each other, my back to his front, slowing his relentless pace to grind his hips in a circle inside of me.

  “Look at yourself, Rylee,” he murmurs in my ear between movements. “Look how goddamn sexy you are right now. Why would I want anyone else?”

  I break from his reflective gaze and look at my own reflection. Skin red from his hands. Nipples pert and pink from pleasure. The folds of my sex swollen with desire. My lips are parted. My cheeks are flushed. My eyes are wide and expressive. And alive. My body reacts instinctively to Colton’s movements—driven by such unexpected need, fueled by such a relentless desire, and crashing into unimaginable possibilities. I look at this mysterious woman in the mirror, and a slow, sensuous smile ghosts my lips as I look back to Colton. Our eyes lock again and I acknowledge for once that I see what he sees. That I accept it.

  Colton pushes my back forward so that my hands can brace on the sink as he slowly eases in and out of me several times. One of his hands maps my hip and over the front to tease my clit, and my body squeezes at the sensation, my velvet walls milking his cock.

  “Fuuucckk!” He groans, throwing his head back, forgetting his own rule about eye contact momentarily. He is absolutely stunning at this moment. Magnificent like an Adonis. Head back, lips parted in pleasure, neck strained with impending release, and my name a pant on his lips. He starts moving again, picking up the pace, dragging me to the edge of ecstasy with each relentless drive. He tilts his head back up and locks his eyes on mine.

  The wave pushes me higher and higher, the intensity building, my legs weakening as pleasure tightens everywhere. And just before I crash into oblivion, I can see in his face that he’s past the point of no return as well.

  We crash over the cusp together: eyes clouded, lips parted, souls united, hearts spellbound, and bodies drowning in spirals of sensation.

  My knees buckle beneath me as my muscles reverberate with my climax. Colton’s rough hands hold me in place as he empties himself into me. His hands remain tight on my hips for a moment longer, as if the single action is enough to keep us from both sliding to the floor. Eventually I straighten up and lean back against him, angling my head back onto his shoulder where I finally close my eyes, allowing myself a moment to absorb what I’ve just experienced.

  I am overwhelmed and emotionally shaken. I know I loved Max with everything I had, but it pales in comparison to what Colton and I just shared. Together we are so intense, so volatile, so powerful, so intimate that I don’t think I’ve ever felt closer to another human being as I do with Colton right now. My body trembles with the acceptance of it as he withdraws slowly from me and turns me to face him.

  I try to bury my head in his shoulder, to avoid eye contact with him because I feel completely stripped bare, naked, and vulnerable—more so than any other time in my life. Colton puts a finger to my chin and lifts my face up to his. His eyes search mine in silence, and for a moment I think I see how I feel reflected in his, but I don’t know if that’s possible. How was it a few weeks ago this man before me was a complete stranger and now when I look at him, I see my whole world?

  I know Colton senses something different in me, but he doesn’t ask, just accepts, and for that I’m grateful. He leans down and brushes a tender kiss on my lips that brings tears to my eyes before wrapping his arms around me. I revel in the feeling of his silent strength, and before I can even think properly, my mouth is opening. “Colton?”

  “Hmmm?” he murmurs against the top of my head.

  I love you. It takes everything to stifle the words on my lips. I want to scream it out loud. “I...I…that was wow,” I recover, silently saying the other three words I want to say.

  “Wow is right.” He chuckles against my temple.

  I AWAKE TO COLTON’S WARM body pressed up against the back of mine. His hand cups my bare breast, and his finger draws lazy circles around its shape, over and over until my nipple tightens from his touch. I smile softly to myself and sink back into him, absorbing the moment and the emotions I’m feeling.

  “Good morning.” His voice rumbles against the back of my neck, and he places a soft kiss there as his hand slowly traces lower down the curve of my body.

  “Hmm,” is all I can muster as the feeling of him hard and ready against me already has me willing and wanting.

  “That good, huh?” He laughs.

  “Mmm-hmm,” I respond again because there is nowhere else I’d rather be right now than waking up in this man’s arms.

  “What time does your shift start today?” he asks as his erection grows harder and presses into the cleft of my backside.

  “Eleven.” I’m on a twenty-four hour shift at The House today. I’d much rather stay in bed with him all day instead. “Why? Did you have something in mind?” I ask coyly as I wiggle my hips back against him.

  “Most definitely,” he whispers as he nudges his knee between my thighs from behind so I’m opened up for his hand that is slowly tickling my tender folds. “What time do you have to be at work...aahh—” I’m distracted as his fingers find their target.

  “Later.” He laughs against my skin. “Much later.”

  “Then we better make the most of the time we have.” I sigh as he shifts us so I sit astride him.

  “Your pleasure is my number one priority, sweetheart,” he says, flashing his megawatt grin.

  He reaches up and cups the back of my neck, pulling me down to him. I moan as his mouth finds mine and I become lost in the haze of lust.

  “You sure you don’t mind me using your razor?” Colton asks me, his eyes meeting my reflection in the mirror.

  “Nope.” I shake my head as I watch him from the doorway to my bedroom. A towel is fastened around his waist sitting just below that sexy V, drops of water still cling to his broad shoulders and muscular back, and his hair is in wet disarray. My mouth isn’t the only thing that moistens when I look at him. The sight of him, so gorgeous and fresh from the shower, makes me want to drag him back to my bed and dirty him up all over again.

  I’m not sure if it’s because he’s in my bathroom making himself at home with my things after a long night and early morning of incredible sex, but I know I’ve never thought him sexier.

  I bite my lip as I walk behind him thinking how normal this feels. How domestic and comforting it is. I put my arms through my bra straps as I move, feeling Colton’s eyes on me as I clasp it and adjust myself. I look up at him in the mirror and notice that he has paused, the pink handle of my razor halfway up to his face, a soft smile on his lips.

  “What?” I ask, suddenly shy under the intensity of those gorgeous green eyes.

  “You own more bras than any woman I’ve ever known,” he says as his eyes home in on the one that I’ve just put on. It’s light pink, edged in black, and does a perfect job creating just the right amount of cleavage.

  His eyes flash up to meet mine, and I purse my lips at him. “I can take that several ways,” I tease him. “I can be quite offended that you’re comparing me to all of the other women you’ve been with, or I can be pleased that you appreciate my vast array of lingerie.”

  “I’d tell you to go with the latter.” He smirks. “Only a dead man would be able to ignore your penchant for sexy underthings.”

  I smile brazenly at him as I hold up a matching thong that is made of lace and very little of it at that. “You mean like this?”

  His tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip. “Yeah, like that,” he murmurs, his eyes tracking my movements as I step into the panties. I make sure to give him a little floor show as I bend over to pull it up over my wiggling
hips. “Sweet Christ, woman, you’re killing me!”

  I laugh out loud at him as I grab my T-shirt and tug it over my head. “Can’t fault a girl for having a soft spot for sexy underthings as you put it.”

  “No ma’am.” He smirks at me as he moves the razor up and clears a clean path of shaving cream under his chin—such a masculine act and so sexy to witness. I lean against the door and watch him with thoughts of tomorrows and the future running through my mind.

  I thought I knew what love felt like, but standing here, breathing him in, I realize I had no clue. Loving Max was sweet, gentle, naive, and what I thought a relationship should be. Like what a child sees when they look at their parents through rose-colored glasses. Comfortable. Innocent. Loving. I loved Max with all my heart—always will in some capacity—but looking back at it in comparison to what I feel for Colton, I know that I would have been selling myself short. Settling.

  Loving Colton is so different. It’s just so much more. When I look at him, my chest physically constricts from the emotions that pour through me. They’re intense and raw. Overwhelming and instinctual. The chemistry between us is combustive and passionate and volatile. He consumes my every thought. He is a part of everything I feel. His every action is my reaction.

  Colton is my air in each breath. My endless tomorrow. My happily ever after.

  I watch the line form between his eyebrows as he concentrates, angling his face this way and that. He’s just about finished, little smudges of shaving cream left on his face here and there when he notices me.

  As he wipes his face on a towel, I walk up slowly behind him and to the left, his eyes on mine the whole time. I reach out and run a hand softly up and down the line of his spine, stopping at the nape of his neck so I can run my fingers through his damp hair. He leans his head back at the sensation and closes his eyes momentarily. I want so badly to nuzzle up against his broad back and powerful shoulders and feel my body pressed against his. I hate that the horror from his past robs me—and him—of the chance to snuggle up against him in bed or being able to walk up to him and wrap my arms around him, nuzzling into him from behind—another simple way to connect with him.

  I lean up on my toes and press a soft kiss to his bare shoulder while my fingernails trail up and down the line of his spine. I can feel his muscles bunch and move as my touch tickles his skin, and my lips form a smile against the firmness of his shoulder.

  “You’re tickling me,” he says with a laugh as he squirms beneath my touch.

  “Mmm-hmm,” I murmur, my cheek now pressed against his shoulder so I can meet his eyes in the mirror, and watch his face tense as I tease my fingernails up the side of his torso. I can’t help the smile that forms on my lips as his face scrunches up to try and prepare for the graze of my fingers over his ribcage—a little boy’s expression on the face of a grown man. I find my purchase and make sure to be extra thorough in my tickling.

  “Stop it, you evil wench.” He struggles trying to remain stoic, but when my fingers continue their relentless torture, he wriggles his body away from me.

  “I’m not letting you get away.” I laugh with him as I wrap my arms around him and try to prevent him from escaping.

  He’s laughing, the razor thrown and forgotten into the sink, his towel dangerously close to falling from his hips, and my arms wrapped around him from behind. Unintentionally, I’ve maneuvered him into the one position I‘d just been thinking about. I know he realizes it the moment that I do because I feel his body tense momentarily and his laughter fades off before he tries to cover it up. Colton’s eyes glance up to the reflection of the mirror to meet mine. The look I’ve seen in any one of my boys’ flickers through them, and it breaks me apart inside, but as quick as it flashes there, it’s gone.

  Regardless of the length of time, I know how much that small concession is a huge step between the two of us.

  Before I know it, Colton’s twisted out of my grip and is assaulting my rib cage with the tips of his fingers.

  “No!” I cry, trying to escape him but unable to. The only way I can think to get him to stop is to wrap my arms around his torso and press my chest to his as hard as I can. I’m breathless and know that I’m no match for his strength.

  “Are you trying to distract me?” he teases as his fingers ease up and slide up the back of my shirt to the bare flesh beneath. The protest on my lips fades as I sigh into him and welcome the warmth of his touch and the arms that he tightens around me. I find comfort here, a peace I never thought I’d know again.

  We stand here like this for some time—the length I don’t know. It’s long enough, though, that his heartbeat beneath my ear has slowed significantly. At some point I press my lips into his neck and simply absorb everything about him.

  I’m so overwhelmed with everything. I know that he’s just shared something monumental with me—bestowed a depth of trust to me—and maybe subconsciously I want to give him a piece of me in return. I speak before my head can filter what my heart says. And by the time I do, it’s too late to take it back.

  “I love you, Colton.” My voice is even and unfaltering when the words come out. There is no mistaking what I’ve said. Colton’s body stiffens as the words suffocate and die in the air around us. We stand there in silence, still physically entwined for several more moments before Colton unlaces his fingers from mine and deliberately removes my hands off of him. I stand still as he steps to the edge of the counter to grab his shirt and shove it over his head, an exhaled “Fuck!” coming from between his lips.

  I follow him in the mirror and the panic in his eyes, on his face, reflected in his movements are hard to watch, but I’m silently pleading with him to look into my eyes. To see that nothing has changed. But he doesn’t. Instead, he briskly walks past me into my bedroom without looking at me.

  I watch him drag on yesterday’s jeans before sitting on the bed and shoving his feet in his boots. “I’ve got to get to work,” he says as if I hadn’t spoken.

  The tears that threaten fill my eyes and blur my vision as he rises from the bed. I can’t let him go without saying something. My heart is hammering in my ears, the sting of his rejection twisting my insides as he grabs his keys off the dresser and shoves them into his pocket.

  “Colton,” I whisper as he starts to walk past me to the doorway. He stops at the sound of my voice. His eyes remain focused on his watch as he fastens it on his wrist, his damp hair falling onto his forehead. We stand there in silence—me looking at him, him looking at his watch—the chasm between us growing wider by the second. The silence so loud it’s deafening. “Please say something,” I plead softly.

  “Look, I—” He stops, sighing heavily and dropping his hands down but not meeting my eyes. “I told you, Rylee, that’s just not a possibility.” His rasp is barely audible. “I’m not capable of, not deserving...” he clears his throat “...I’ve got nothing but black inside of me. The ability to love—to accept love—is nothing but poison.”

  And with that Colton walks out of my bedroom and what I fear most possibly out of my life.

  I CAN’T BREATHE. FUCK. MY chest hurts. My eyes blur. My body shakes. The panic attack hits me full force as I grip the steering wheel, knuckles turning white and heart pounding like a motherfucking freight train in my ears. I try to close my eyes—try to calm myself—but all I see is her face inside the house in front of me. All I hear are those poisonous words falling from her mouth.

  My chest constricts again as I force myself to pull out of her driveway and make myself concentrate on the road. To not think. To not let the darkness inside take over or allow the memories to seep through.

  I do the only thing that I can do—I drive—but it’s not fast enough. Only on the track is it ever fast enough to push myself into that blur around me—get lost in it—so that none of this can catch me.

  I pull into the dive bar: blacked out windows, no sign above the door with it’s name, and a myriad of overflowing ashtrays on the window ledges. I don’t even kn
ow where the fuck I am. I park my ride next to some piece of shit clunker and don’t even think twice about it. All I can think about is how to numb myself, how to erase what Rylee just said.

  The bar is dark inside when I open the door. Nobody turns to look at me. They all keep their heads down, crying into their own fucking beers. Good. I don’t want to talk. Don’t want to listen. Don’t want to hear Passenger on the speakers above singing about letting her go. I just want to drown everything out. The bartender looks up, his sallow eyes sizing up my expensive clothes and registering the desperation on my face.

  “What’ll you have?”

  “Patron. Six shots. Keep ‘em coming.” I don’t even recognize my voice. Don’t even feel my feet move toward the bathroom in the far corner. I walk in and up to the grungy sink and splash some water on my face. Nothing. I feel absolutely nothing. I look up at the cracked mirror and don’t even recognize the man in front of me. All I see is darkness and a little boy I no longer want to remember anymore, don’t want to be anymore.

  Humpty fuckin’ Dumpty.

  Before I can stop myself, the mirror is shattering. A hundred tiny fucking pieces splinter and fall. I don’t register the pain. I don’t feel the blood trickling out and dripping from my hand. All I hear is the tinkling as it hits the tiles all around me. Little sounds of music that momentarily drown out the emptying of my soul. Beautiful on the surface but so very broken as a whole. Irreparable.

  All the king’s horses and all the king’s men, couldn’t put Humpty back together again.

  The bartender eyes my wrapped hand as I walk up to the bar. I see my shots lined up by some fellow patrons, and I walk to the other vacant end of the bar and sit down. My stomach churns at the thought of sitting between the two men there. The barkeep picks up and delivers my shots to me and just stares as I place two one hundred dollar bills on the bar top. “One hundred for the mirror,” I say, lifting my chin toward the bathroom, “and one hundred to keep them coming, no questions asked.” I raise my eyebrows at him, and he just nods in agreement.