Page 106 of Broken Saint
“Well, if you’re into being watched, who am I to refuse you?”
Abandoning my drink on the bar beside his, I throw my arms around his shoulders. No one up here has so much as glanced our way since we arrived. I have no reason to hold back.
“What I’m into, Colton Rogers,” I say, dropping my voice, “is you.”
“Fuck, baby,” he groans as I press our bodies together.
Just like I suspected, he’s hard. The thickness presses against the softness of my belly as heat pools between my thighs.
“I’m so fucking into you, it’s not even funny. Always have been.”
“Colt,” I breathe.
“Drink, Ella,” he demands, his voice deliciously raspy. “Then we’re dancing.”
Excitement flutters in my belly, and I quickly reach for my glass and throw the contents back like I’m still in college.
Taking his hand, I spin around and drag him toward the dance floor.
“I love it when you get all authoritative,” he whispers in my ear once I’m in his arms, our bodies moving in time to the sexy beat of the music.
“You bring it out in me,” I say, spinning around and thrusting my ass back into his crotch.
He grunts and grabs my hips.
“And you’re a tease.”
Reaching behind me, I thread my fingers through his already messy hair.
I thoroughly fucked it up in the bathroom, and he hasn’t attempted to fix it. Something tells me that he’s wearing his post-sex hair like a badge of honor. And I am here for it. He looks mussed up and sexy as hell.
Dropping his lips to my neck, he kisses and nips at my skin as the song playing rolls into another.
Needing those lips on mine, I twist around and reach up to steal them.
“It really is just like old times,” I murmur before taking what I need.
“Nah,” he says breathlessly when we come up for air. His eyes find mine, and I lose all sense of everything as I drown in the depths of them. “I might be planning on taking you back to my bed tonight, but I have no intention of ever letting you go again. You’re mine now, Ella.”
I gasp when my back hits a wall. I had no idea we were even moving.
I guess those glasses of prosecco at the restaurant and the vodka here are beginning to kick in.
Sliding one hand down my hip to my thigh, he hooks my leg up around his waist, allowing him to grind against me.
“Colt,” I hiss. “I don’t have any panties on.”
“Don’t worry, baby. I won’t allow anyone to get a look at what’s mine. Trust me?” he asks again.
My reaction to that exact question in the restaurant comes back to me, and I realize that everything has changed even in the few hours since then.
Holding his stare, I tell him the terrifying truth teetering on the tip of my tongue.
“Yes, Colt. I trust you.”
“Fuck,” he groans before dipping down and kissing me impossibly hard.
Every single one of my senses is stolen by him.