“Oh my god! You’re doing that on purpose now!” Colette struggled against him, tearing her hand free.
But she didn’t climb out of the tub.
Blaze froze, waiting for her to scramble off of him and get clear. He wouldn’t stop her. He would never have forced her to be anywhere near him if she didn’t truly want to be. At least, if she was being honest with him. And with herself. He certainly hadn’t meant for her to literally fall into his lap. He gave her time to get away.
But she didn’t.
She just sat there, frozen.
He cracked a lid and through the painful haze, he made out her face, swimming closer as she leaned forward. He inhaled sharply when her hands wrapped around his neck like he was a magnet. Her hands twisted around his neck like they belonged there, so hot, hotter than the water that burned him in the shower a few minutes earlier. Hotter than the pain racing through his arms and his eyes and his cock and his blue fucking balls, because god, he wanted her.
He forced himself to be still, to let her come to him, if that’s what she wanted.
He couldn’t remember a time when he’d ever let a woman make the first move. Or ever actually let anyone touch him for any other reason other than to fuck him. He rarely ever kissed. He rarely wanted to. He didn’t do cuddling or intimacy or sweet little gestures. He fucked. Hard and fast, sometimes dirty, sometimes not. Whatever they wanted, he made sure they got it. He always left his partner in crime satisfied. Generally, three or four big O’s satisfied. But touching? That was pretty much off limits.
Colette’s face hovered near his for a second. He wished he could see her clearly, but all he could make out was a grainy shadow before her hot breath burst over his lips and her mouth was smashed up against his.
He met her halfway, driving her face back with the force of it, but she hung on, her nails biting into his shoulders as their tongues mashed and tangled. She melted against him, soft and warm, pliable and lush, even with her clothes still on. She kissed him like she wasn’t a damn virgin and it was her last kiss on earth. She kissed him like she wanted to drown him and kill him and ruin him.
Blaze couldn’t help it. He reached up and gripped her face with both his hands, curling his fingertips into her sweet little jawline and whisper soft cheeks. He crushed her mouth beneath his, eating at her lips, the animal in him ten seconds away from being fully unleashed. He’d waited for her. For this. For so fucking long. He’d imagined doing this, doing so much worse, to her for years. He bruised her lips, nipped them between his teeth, drew his tongue over the wounded spots, then went back for more. It shocked the hell out of him that she gave as good as she got.
When she ripped her face away to take a shuddering, raspy, desperate breath, he found that his tongue had a use other than for sticking it down her throat. “Clothes off,” he commanded. “Get those damn clothes off now.”
“But- but I…”
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he chuckled darkly. “I’m not planning on stealing your v-card in a gross hotel room. I doubt that would be up to your romantic standards and even I have a conscience.”
“You don’t know what my standards are,” Colette panted.
He blinked, trying to get his eyes to freakin’ focus and finally more than just a shadowy blur swam into view. Colette was kneeling in the tub, straddling his hips, and her hands were working her clothes. She deftly unzipped the jacket she had on and flung it onto the bathroom floor. The t-shirt she had on underneath followed suit and then so did her bra.
Between squirting soap in his eyes and nearly killing himself slipping in the shower and now, something strange had happened. Something that was nothing short of a damn miracle because Colette was actually undressing for him. Willingly.
Either he’d finally worn her down or after seeing him naked, maybe she’d changed her mind. Or maybe acting like a klutzy clown and being accidentally vulnerable for two seconds actually made him more human to her.
He dismissed that thought. Women didn’t like vulnerabilities. They didn’t want a guy who was going to cry at sappy movies with them. Or even turn that shit on in the first place. That wanted a guy who could give them that screw that they’d remember for the rest of their lives. They didn’t want all the other bullshit. The relationships. The complications. The fighting. The bullshit. Blah, blah, blah. He gave them what he wanted. What he himself wanted. No strings attached pleasure.