“A closet experience?” he asks, and it takes me a moment to get that he’s offering up another lame attempt for the meaning behind Ace.
“Nope,” I laugh at him, “Where’d that one—”
“God, it couldn’t be any more fucking perfect if I’d planned it.”
And I see it the minute the words are out of his mouth. He’s walked us down toward the isolated end of the janitor’s alcove, and ironically we are standing in front of a door marked Storage.
I start to laugh but before it can even escape, he has me turned around and pinned against the wall, his body pressing into me, his steel into my softness. Colton props his hands on either side of my head and leans his face into mine, stopping a whisper from my lips. Our chests press together as our desperation to taste one another consumes our air, hijacks our ability to breathe, and steals the process of reason.
Despite our close proximity, our eyes remain open, the connection between us unwavering. Electric. Combustible. “Do you have any idea how desperate I am to fuck you right now?” he murmurs, the movement of his lips brushing ever so slightly against mine.
I drown in the liquid heat his words evoke, begging him to pull me under and take me there, but all I can do is exhale an unsteady breath. He leans in and tastes me. My hands itch to fist in his jacket and rip open his shirt, buttons be damned.
Colton pulls back when he hears the click of heels but pulls open the closet door and presses me inside. The minute the door shuts to the darkened closet, Colton has my arms pinned above my head. The only illumination in the closet is the light seeping through the crack of the doorjamb. My mind never once registers my internal demons—the claustrophobia from the accident that usually smothers me at the first inkling of being confined. My only thought is Colton. Fear ceases to exist. I shudder, anticipating the moment his body will crash into mine, push me against the door, and take from me what we’ve both been so desperately needing.
Release. Connection. Intensity.
But it doesn’t happen. The only connection between us is his hands holding my wrists hostage above my head. The closet is too dark to decipher the outline of his body, but I can feel his breath feathering over my face. We stand here like this for a moment, so close that the hairs on my arms stand up, every nerve in my body itching to feel the touch he’s yet to give, suspended in this hazy state of need.
“Anticipation can enhance,” he whispers, and right now, it is most definitely the definition of Ace. No doubt. But I don’t have any time to comprehend let alone respond because his lips finally meet mine. And this time, they do more than just taste. They devour. Take without asking. Brand the claim being staked.
The world on the other side of the door ceases to exist. The doubts rioting in my head fall silent. Everything is lost to the sensation of his mouth worshiping mine.
Our tongues dance. Our reverent sighs meld. Our bodies succumb, but never touch. Besides Colton’s hands on my wrist and lips on my mouth, he doesn’t allow any other part of our bodies to connect.
And I so desperately need to touch him, feel the tightened buds of my nipples rubbing against his chest, feel his fingers trailing up my thighs and touching my most intimate of places.
But he refuses me that silent request, completely in control of the satiation of my detonating desire.
He pulls back on a groan from both of us. “Christ woman,” he swears. “You’re making it incredibly difficult to pull away from you.”
“Then don’t.” I pant as lust coils so intensely, having him so close yet so far from me in more ways than one.
He growls in a frustrated response and just as quick as we entered the ironic storage closet, we are out of it. I momentarily close my eyes at the sudden wash of light. When I open my eyes again, Colton stands a few feet in front of me, the tension set in his shoulders a result of what I assume is the slippery hold he has on his restraint.
He looks back over his shoulder at me, his jaw set and his eyes warring with something within. “Colton?” I ask, trying to figure out his state of mind.
He just shakes his head at me. “I’m gonna hit the head. Meet you out there?”
I just look at him, a stuttered, “Okay,” falling from my lips.
He starts to walk away but stops and turns back and steps toward me. Without preamble, he grabs the back of my neck and pulls me into him for a chaste kiss on the lips before walking away. I hear him call over his shoulder. “I need a minute.”
And I need a lifetime.
I’m immersed in a conversation about the merits of my organization and what the new facilities will have to offer when I’m interrupted.
“Rylee!” a voice booms behind me, and when I turn around, I find myself swallowed up in a big bear hug by the arms of Andy Westin. I return the hug, his affection contagious, and then he leans back and holds my arms out to take me in. He whistles. “Wow! You’re looking absolutely stunning this evening,” he compliments, and I can see exactly who Colton learned how to charm from.
“Mr. Westin, so glad to see you again,” I tell him, and I am surprised that I really am. In a room full of pretension, he brings vibrancy and sincerity.
He waves a hand in the air. “I told you, please call me Andy.”
“Alright, Andy then. Does Colton know you’re here? Can I get you a drink?”
“Nonsense. I’ll get myself a drink in a moment,” he says, patting my arm while searching the crowd. “We haven’t seen him yet. We’ve been busy seeing old friends and hearing about this great cause.”