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“Not done yet, sunflower.” He lifted me off the bike. My bra and shirt were shoved down to my waist. He quickly pulled them off.
“Okay?” he asked.
Hell, no. I felt like I’d just barely survived a wild storm. But I managed a nod.
“Good.” Then his hands closed around my waist, he lifted me, and threw me over his shoulder.
“Colt!”
“Be good, sunflower.”
“Maybe I don’t want to be good.”
As he headed toward the stairs, his palm cracked against my bare ass. I cried out.
“Like that, baby?” He stroked between my legs and I bit my lip. “You’re so nice and wet for me.”
Then he jogged up the stairs, carrying me like I weighed nothing. It was hot. So hot. I mean, I knew I wasn’t big, but I wasn’t tiny, either.
A second later, he strode into his bedroom.
It had an airy, industrial look. A large bed with a metal and wood frame rested against a white-washed brick wall. The bed was covered in a pale gray bedspread. Black metal accents crossed the wall, and a modern light hung from the ceiling. Apart from the bed, there was no other furniture.
He dropped me on the bed, and I bounced once.
Then he pressed his hands to the mattress on either side of me and looked down. He was breathing hard, his muscles strained.
“Colt?”
“I want you so fucking much. I’m afraid I’ll hurt you.” His pale blue gaze hit mine. The intensity seared me. “I’m big, rough… You’re small, with soft skin, you’re too sweet.”
My pulse went crazy. “You could never hurt me, Colt. And I’m not too sweet. I want a little rough, a little wild, remember?” I licked my lips and lowered my voice. “I need it.”
He just stared at me, and my skin felt flushed, itchy. I needed this man to touch me. I just had to convince him.
“Give me your hand.”
He hesitated for a second, then sat beside me, the bed dipping. He held out his big hand.
I took it in mine, trying not to focus on the fact that I was naked, and he was still wearing his storm-wet clothes.
I traced his palm. He had such long fingers. It wasn’t the hand of a man who sat at a desk all day. It was strong, weathered, with calluses.
But I’d seen those same hands be gentle, with his daughter, with me.
His scent curled around me—that lime undertone that I suspected was his soap or shower gel. I highly doubted Colt wore cologne. Added to it was the smell of the storm.
I lowered my head and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. I felt his gaze on me—a hot, heavy weight. Then, I lifted his hand and licked the tip of one finger.
He made a low, masculine sound. I sucked his finger into my mouth, the next sound he made was grittier.
I saw desire burning in his eyes. For me. This man wanted me so much. I sucked his finger deep. This time he growled my name, and fed a second finger between my lips.
I sucked harder and he pushed deeper until I gagged a little. When he tried to pull back, I gripped his thick wrist.
“You sure this is what you want, sunflower?”
I nodded.
