He doesn’t ease inside of me, not at all, he must feel the same way that I do. He aligns himself and with one quick thrust, he buries himself deep inside of me. I lift my head, letting out a moan at the delicious sensation of him filling and stretching me.
Colt places one of his palms at the small of my back and slowly glides it up my spine, sending chills throughout my entire body, then grasps the strands of my hair and tugs my head back with a snap of my neck.
He leans over, looking into my eyes and I look into his, forced to look nowhere else and yet, I don’t want to look anywhere else either. I can’t speak, my neck arched too much to let anything but sounds and moans escape my lips.
His other hand wraps around my hip and his fingers dig into my flesh as he begins to move inside of me. He isn’t gentle. I don’t mind. In fact, I love it. He slams into me with each thrust of his hips, over and over, my body climbing higher and higher with each pump.
“You’re mine, Birdie. Created for my body, made for me.”
I want to agree, but I can’t. He was not created for my body, as much as I want him to be, he was meant for someone else.
His body was for her.
I am second to her and I always will be.
He is second to no man I have ever had in my body, not in bed and not in looks. The rest will remain to be seen, but I have a feeling not even in personality could any other man compare to Colton James.
COLT
I can feel her body tighten around me, begging me to stay inside of her as I continue to pump in and out of her wet heat. She is perfection. Pulling her head back even more, I worry that I will pull her hair out of her head, but I can’t control myself when it comes to her.
My hips move without my control or consent. I slam into her harder than I’ve ever been inside of any other. She doesn’t protest. In fact, her body welcomes me, gushing with even more wetness, it drips between her legs, coating my balls as her thighs begin to shake.
Reaching my hand around her hip, I find that perfect little nub that I know will send her over the edge when I begin to play her. I am close, my back tingles and my balls draw up in a signal that I am not long from finding my climax.
Swirling my fingers around her nub, I feel it grow against my touch, begging for me to continue my ministrations. Her hips rear back as much as they can. Her body becomes lost to the sensations that my fingers give her.
Closing my eyes, I let out a sigh as her body begins to tense. Her wetness floods and her center clenches down around me hard. It forces my orgasm to practically rip through my entire body. My eyes open and my lips part as I look down at her in awe.
“Birdie,” I breathe.
She whimpers and I force myself to release my hold on her hair, afraid that I’ll hurt her. My body falls forward, my weight pinning her down against her back. She doesn’t try to push me away and I’m surprised, my weight is heavy against her slight frame.
“Stay,” she whispers.
Touching my lips to the side of her head, brushing her temple, I hum. “For a bit,” I agree.
My guilt begins to crawl up my throat, it threatens to choke me, to end my life, but as I slowly remove myself from her body, rolling over to her side, I wait for the blackness to consume my vision, but it doesn’t.
Birdie’s cool touch slides down my temple, down my cheek and across my jaw before her fingers trace my lips. Shifting my gaze over to meet hers, I watch as she smiles.
“You put me in your mouth,” I point out.
Her cheeks tint pink and she nods. “I did.”
She’s lying on her stomach, her cheek against the mattress, her eyes on me. Her hand leaves my face and I expect her to move it from my body, but she doesn’t. Instead, she wraps her fingers around the side of my neck, her gaze never leaving my own.
Human touch. I haven’t had much of it since Adelaide passed. The soiled doves would touch me more if I allowed it—I don’t. I’ve never had a mistress, I’ve never stayed in a woman’s bed for any amount of time, it always felt like a betrayal and this should too.
Except… it doesn’t.
“Do women not do that here?” she asks, her voice tired and soft.
I’m not ready to touch her the way that she is me, yet, so I only continue to look at her. “They don’t,” I murmur. “It’s just not done. Most of the soiled doves won’t even do it, not even for coin. I’ve only paid for the act a handful of times,” I confess.
“Did you like it?” she asks.
A snort escapes and she laughs softly. “Very much so, darlin’. You know that I did. This is something people do where you’re from?”
Her lips continue to stay in a small smile. “If they want to, yes.”
“You enjoyed it,” I point out.
“Very much,” she breathes.
“You’ll do it again.”
My words are not a question, rather they’re a statement. She takes it as such and dips her chin in a nod before she scoots her body a bit closer to me.
She shifts and I feel her front against my side. Her soft breasts pressed against my own chest. It’s
