She would’ve snorted had she not been so far gone. But there was nothing that was going to derail her now. The slap of her skin against his filled her ears, and their mingled scents—sex and sweat and soap—were invading her senses like a drug. “Colby . . .”
“Come for me, gorgeous. Let it go and let me feel you come around my cock.”
That was all it took. Sexy, beastly man plus dirty words equaled an impossible mix to resist. Her hands went to his head, gripping his hair in her fists, and she came with a sharp, shaking cry. He followed right with her, apparently a master of control in all aspects, and held her tight as he pumped deep through his release.
The gruff, grunting noises he made were quite possibly the sexiest damn things she’d ever heard in her life. Goddamn.
This was so much better on this side of the glass.
And it was probably going to be a mistake. She already knew that. He and his proclivities were probably going to be more than she could handle once they really slipped into the dominant and submissive roles. But there was no way she was turning back now.
She’d seen his version of wonderland and now she wanted a season pass.
TWELVE
Keats was chewing his thumbnail to a ragged edge at the kitchen table. His enchiladas sat cold and uneaten in front of him.
They’d fucked in the goddamned living room, knowing he could hear. Were they trying to kill him? Or maybe they didn’t care that he’d basically been forced to listen. Maybe he was so insignificant that it didn’t even matter that he was right here. He should’ve been pissed. Instead, his body had only gotten hotter. When he’d heard Georgia’s breathy cries and Colby’s hot-as-fuck groans, he’d gotten so hard, he’d almost taken his dick in his hand right there in the kitchen. Fucking torture, that was what it was.
To distract himself from what he was hearing and his body’s unrelenting reaction to it, he’d grabbed his phone from his bag to check messages. He didn’t leave it on most of the time since it was one of those prepaid deals, and he didn’t want to waste minutes on bullshit. But when he’d powered it up, he had multiple messages from Aaron, the manager of the Texas Star, saying that if he didn’t bring money over by midnight, he was throwing Keats’s shit out and giving the room to someone else.
Keats didn’t have a lot, but what he did have was important to him. He couldn’t afford to have it tossed in the Dumpster. Plus, he’d left his beat-up but well-loved motorcycle in one of the parking spots, and he had no doubt Aaron would have that towed when he realized it belonged to Keats.
Goddammit. He needed to get over there—and out of here. He checked the time on the microwave clock. Things got quiet out in the living room for a while and then he heard a door shut. Colby strolled in, looking tousled and a little smug. The back of Keats’s neck burned hot, but he tried his best to look nonchalant.
“She’s gone?” Keats asked, his knee bouncing beneath the table.
Colby turned his back to him to open the oven and grab the casserole dish Keats had left on warm. “Yeah, I walked her back to her place.”
“She can still walk?” he asked, trying to play off how damn affected he was.
Colby’s smile was wry. “Can you?”
Keats frowned and adjusted his jeans, unsure how to handle this version of Colby. He was used to the stoic, always-in-control version. The teacher. Mr. Responsible. But besides his accidental spying last night, he’d never been privy to this private side of Colby—the sexual side. The man.
Getting a peek behind the curtain felt like a secret privilege. He’d wanted Colby to stop treating him like some innocent kid, and Colby had definitely listened. But the shift was damn disconcerting. Because though Keats’s brain didn’t know how to process all the new information, his body certainly had ideas on how to respond.
Keats cleared his throat. “That was a dick move, man.”
Colby sniffed. “Kind of like eavesdropping on me and a woman in my own house?”
“Dude, I said I was sorry. You could’ve just told me off or kicked my ass for walking in on you and Georgia. You didn’t need to torture me with ringside seats to the show.”
“You could’ve gone to your room. You wouldn’t have had to listen to a thing.”
Keats blinked. That option had never occurred to him. Hell, who was he
kidding? A herd of charging elephants wouldn’t have been able to drive him out of that kitchen.
Colby spooned a serving of enchiladas onto his plate and turned around with a knowing look. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t do it to torment you. I let you listen because it turned her on.”
That sent Keats’s thoughts careening in an entirely different direction—straight toward Georgia. He leaned forward on his elbows. “Seriously?”
Colby gave him a shrug that seemed to say, Hey, my girl is a kinky sex goddess. What can I do?
“Fuck. Me.” If Keats had a spark for Georgia before, it was now a full-fledged crush. “Well, if my torture did it for her, then I guess I don’t mind a little suffering on her behalf.”
Colby cocked his head, studying him for a second. “Quite self-sacrificing there, Keats.”