Page 81 of The No Try Zone
I’m every bit as raw as the air is cold, and I know I shouldn’t want to, but even after spilling my secrets to Elodie, all I want to do is go to Colin.
“You want to see him, don’t you?” she asks, her eyes bright with understanding in the firelight.
I nod, not at all surprised that she caught that. “I shouldn’t. I’m nothing but a dirty secret.”
She reaches her hand toward mine. “You’re no such thing.”
I scoff. “I am. He wants me, but only at his house. Never mine, because my brother might see his car.”
Elodie frowns. “I don’t believe that’s all you are to him, Sam.”
I look away, focusing on the barren trees in the backyard. The darkening sky is covered with gray clouds, the already-weak daylight fading fast. “I’m pretty sure I am.”
She sighs. “Well, Iamaggressively optimistic, according to Allyson.”
A laugh bubbles out of me as I stand. “That you are. I should go. Thank you for…everything.”
Elodie pushes the blanket off and stands, pulling me into another hug and wrapping her arms tight around me.
I melt immediately. “You could charge for these,” I murmur into her shoulder.
She giggles. “My hugs? Pretty sure Ansel would not be a fan of that. Want me to drive you home?”
I shake my head and pull my phone out to hail a rideshare. “Nah. I’ll call a ride.”
And it’s stupid, but instead of putting in my apartment, I type in Colin’s.
Because despite everything, I want him. And when I knock, he’s there in seconds. He opens the door and scoops me into his arms without a word, kicking the door closed and carrying me to the bedroom. As we move through the house, something within me settles. As though my body refuses to accept what my head already knows: Colin isn’t mine. He might be my husband, but it’s not for long, and it’s certainly not forever.
The bedside lamp is on as he lays me down on the mattress, illuminating him in a dim, golden glow. He looks at me as though I’ve hung the moon, tender and loving.
“You came,” he whispers.
Without a word, I kick my shoes off and arch up to pull my shirt over my head. When I meet his eyes again, his expression hasn’t changed. If anything, it’s grown hungry, but the adoration remains front and center.
He stands before me, waiting to be commanded. He always knows what I need without asking; always knows when to dominate, when to let me take the lead. We move together like we’ve done it for years instead of months, so in tune to each other that entire conversations are had in a one-second look. One hitch of a breath, and whole worlds of experience and love move between us. And yet we never say it. Won’t dare broach it. How, then, is this the same man who wants to keep me hidden?
And why am I okay with getting only these small scraps of him?
“Get undressed,” I say softly.
He obeys immediately, pulling his shirt over his head and revealing the chest I see in my dreams. It’s solid and thick, dusted with dark hair that angles down to a trail leading straight into the pants he shucks off as I watch. His muscles tighten and release as he moves, pushing his boxers down and kneeling on the bed beside me.
I take him in shamelessly. His muscular thighs, the thickness of him, the way his hands curl into fists and clench and unclench before one of them moves to his cock and gives it a leisurely pump.
“Like what you see?” His voice is gruff, but tender.
“Always,” I answer.
He puts a knee on the mattress and leans down, his body blocking the light as he angles over me. I wrap my legs around his and push my hips up, relishing the hardness of him pressing and sliding against my aching center.
His mouth meets mine, sweet and searching at first but turning hot and scorching as our tongues meet in a groan. His hand slides along my bare waist, gliding up to my sports bra and pushing a finger beneath the band. Wordlessly, we break apart and he pulls it over my head, the move as practiced as if we’ve done it for years.
He nuzzles my neck, kissing his way down my chest until his lips close over a hyper-sensitive nipple. I gasp and arch into him, threading my hands through his silky strands and holding him against me.
He lavishes attention on the other breast before moving along my stomach, angling up on his knees to pull my leggings off.
“Lace,” he murmurs, meeting my eyes with an appreciative glance.
