Page 35 of The Upside of Falling
In and out, in and out, the tension melts away into a puddle at my feet, waiting to be discarded.
This is what I need, what I want in my life, someone to be by my side, someone to hold me when I need to be held, someone to share this crazy journey I’m going through.I want him. I want Colby Brooks as my one.
The sun begins its descent to the west, leaving us with only an hour or so before total darkness. For now, it casts an orange glow around us, the red rocks adding to the ambiance, to the radiance.
Eventually, when Colby pulls away, he lifts my chin with his index finger, my reflection bouncing back at me through his sunglasses. Reaching up, I remove the protective shields, wanting to see his eyes, the dark chocolate of his irises. I want to be able to read him.
Gaze focused, studying, he finally says, “I’m sorry.”
I push his sunglasses to the top of his head, standing on my toes to reach, and then glide my hand over his cheek, enjoying the light stubble as it catches the pads of my fingers. “Why are you sorry?”
“Because, I should have done this a long time ago.” He doesn’t skip a beat.
Bending forward, he hooks his finger under my chin again and guides me to his mouth where he pauses, our noses touching, our breaths mixing. “Tell me to stop if you don’t want this, if you don’t want me,” he whispers.
Tell him to stop? If I don’t want him?Why on earth would I possibly stop Colby Brooks, the eloquent, profound, and insightful man from kissing me? There isn’t a bone in my body that would protest having his mouth over mine.
“I could never tell you to stop,” I answer honestly, right before he closes the space between us.
When I envisioned a first kiss with Colby, I saw it as something passionate, so out of control that we were at a loss for finesse, hands and mouths begging and pleading for more.
But that’s not what this is.
Slowly, Colby brings his mouth to mine, his lips a whisper of a touch, barely connecting. A sharp intake of breath, a low, pleading hum, a burning need blossoming between us.
Pressing forward, he grazes my mouth, tentatively feeling me out, creating a road map for my lips until he pulls me closer, closing my mouth inside his, parting my lips with a gentle swipe of his tongue.
His hands find my loose hair, his fingers caressing as they press into my scalp. I hold on to his sweatshirt, feeling the strength behind his grasp as he holds me still.Close.
Opening my mouth to him, I let him explore, his tongue tangling with mine, swiping, thrusting, but it’s never too much, never too forceful. He makes slow, calculated movements, as if he’s trying to figure out each and every way he can make me melt faster and faster in his grasp.
And when he pulls away, his eyes partly open, eyelashes fluttering, he smiles. A full cheek-to-cheek, heart-stopping smile. Dimples flash dangerously at me, his eyes heady but also lit up, as if I just breathed life into him for the very first time.
Pressing his forehead against mine, he grips my cheeks and places another kiss on my lips, this one short and fast, but just as important as the first, because it’s unscripted, spur of the moment, like he needed one more taste.
“Want to go for a walk?” he whispers when he pulls away.
“I would love that.”
Linking his fingers with mine, our palms touching, our souls connecting, he walks me through the garden, looking forward but keeping me close, never letting me drift too far away.
I’ve been to the Garden of the Gods too many times to count, once using it as my training paradise for a mountain trail half-marathon, running through the uneven trails, skipping over rocks and sidestepping horse droppings. But this is the first time I’ve been here with a man, allowing him to guide me up the dirt-covered and rail-tied steps. I know exactly where he’s taking me, because it’s a place I’ve been many times to experience the views. It’s one of my favorite places in the park.
We round the corner, working our way farther and farther up until we hit the side of the rock that is level enough you can climb up the face and sit at the top. During summer, this rock is crowded, and it’s almost impossible to find peace when there are tourists swarming the overlook.
Not today.
Today, we have the rock to ourselves.
Colby gets to the top first and holds out his hands to help me up the last couple steps before taking a seat, facing west. The snow-covered mountain caps of Pikes Peak are as bright as ever, the sun barely hiding behind it.
Scooting closer, Colby takes my hand in his, our fingers tangling together. He brings our connection to his mouth, placing a gentle kiss on the back of my knuckles, the gesture sweet and innocent, like the letters we’ve shared for the past few weeks.
“I love it up here,” he says, breaking the silence between us. “Whenever I’ve felt stressed or out of sorts, I’ve come to this spot to soak in the wind, the smells, the dust of the red rock, the peaceful mountain. It’s . . . reliable. It’s my place of solace.”
I shake my head, chuckling. “I wonder if we’ve ever been up here at the same time together, because this is my rock, my outlook, my place to think. I have spent so many hours sitting right here, wondering what life is going to throw at me next.”
“I don’t think we were ever up here together,” he says with confidence.
