Fueled (29 page)

He just stares at me, his body tense, his voice silent, and I can feel him slipping away. A tear slides silently down my cheek, my breath panting out in white puffs after my verbal diatribe. I don’t feel any better because nothing’s been solved. The wall he’s hid behind for so long—that he’s been slowly peeking over—is suddenly reinforced with steel.

I look at him,
the man I love
, and my chest tightens and heart twists in pain. This is what I was afraid of. What my head and heart fought over and against. And yet here I am, scared and scarred, but still fighting for him, because Teagan is right.
He’s just that good.
His words run through my head.

You burned me, Rylee.

You. This. It scares the shit out of me, Rylee.

I can’t seem to get enough of you.

I step forward, wanting to touch him. Craving any kind of connection with him, needing to remind him of that spark between us when we touch and to try and prevent him from slipping through my fingers
. Like trying to grab the wind
. I reach my trembling hands out, his eyes following their movement, and lay them on his chest. I feel him stiffen in response, a proverbial slap at my attempt to connect with him that pushes me over the edge.

My eyes flash up to his, and I see that he knows how much he just hurt me with that small flinch—the nonverbal rejection that just spoke volumes. He instinctively brings his arms up to wrap them around me, to try and placate me, and I can’t let that happen. I can’t let him pull me into the one place I want to be more than anywhere else right now because nothing between us has changed. And I know if I’m wrapped in his arms, I will succumb to everything all over again so I won’t lose what I fear the most—
him
. But I deserve the whole him that he’s unable—
no, unwilling
—to give me.

I push against his chest, but his hands tighten their grip on my shoulders. He tries to pull me into him, but I struggle against him. When he doesn’t react…I lose it. “Fight damn it! Fight, Colton!” I yell at him, desperation seeping as my voice wavers and tears threaten. “For you. For us. For me,” I plead. “You don’t get to pull away from me. You don’t get to walk away without a second thought.” I’m still trying to resist his hold, but the dam breaks and the tears overflow. “I matter, Colton. I deserve the same
more
that you do.
What we have is not inconsequential
!”

Overcome with emotion, I succumb to my tears, my fears, the emptiness looming. I stop resisting him and he gathers me in his arms and pulls me to him, his hands running up and down over my back and arms and neck. The feeling is bittersweet because I know it’s fleeting. I know that the words I so desperately want and need to hear—that this is something…that we are something…anything to him—are never coming.

I consciously etch this moment to my memory.

His warmth.

The rasp of his calloused fingers across my bare skin.

The clenching of his jaw against my temple.

The timbre of his hushed murmurs.

His scent.

I close my eyes to absorb it because I know I’ve scared him. I know I’m asking for too much when there are so many others willing to settle for so much less.

“Rylee…” My name is a whispered hush over my now tearless sobs.

I fall silent, my hitching breath the only sound in the night. I lean back, his hands on my shoulders guiding me so he can see my face. I steel myself before looking up to meet his eyes. I can see fear and confusion and uncertainty in them, and I’m waiting for him to verbalize what’s on the tip of his tongue. His internal struggle plays out on his usually stoic face before he reins it in. My chest aches as I try to draw in a breath and prepare myself because what I see makes me panic. Has me resigning all of my fate because I know he’s preparing himself to walk away.

To say goodbye.

To break me apart.

“
I deserve more, Colton
.” I breathe out, shaking my head as a single tear trails down my cheek. His eyes follow it before looking back at me, and for a moment they soften with concern, his throat working a swallow as he nods his head in agreement. I reach a hand out and place it on his jaw, his eyes cautiously tracking my movements. I feel his jaw muscles tighten beneath my palm. “I know this is the whole reason you have your rules and stipulations, but I can’t abide by them anymore.
I can’t be that girl for you anymore.”

I lower my head at my last comment, avoiding his eyes because I can’t bear to see the reaction. Wanting and not getting one or wanting and being rejected—either one will shred my heart more than it already is. I sigh deeply, eyes focused intently on his impromptu pocket square and my mind marveling how simple things seemed just a couple of hours ago when he was underdressed and I was overdressed.

He tenses his fingers on my biceps, and I force myself to look back up at him—glad I did because the look in his eyes takes my breath away. My gorgeous bad boy looks like a child—panic stricken and petrified. I struggle to find words to speak because standing there with that look in his eyes; he looks just like one of my damaged boys. It takes a moment, but I’m finally able to find my voice.

“I’m sorry, Colton.” I shake my head. “You did nothing wrong tonight but be the man that you are…but seeing your exes here tonight still wanting more...” I sigh “...I don’t want to be them in three months.
On the outside looking in
. I can’t stand by and blindly obey the parameters you dictate anymore. I want to have a say.” He shakes his head back and forth, automatically rejecting the idea, and I don’t even think he realizes he’s doing it. The grip of his hands tightens on my arms, but he says nothing to refute what I’m saying.

“I’m not asking for love from you, Colton.” My voice is barely a whisper when I speak, but my conscience is screaming that I am. That I want him to love me the way I love him. His eyes widen at my confession. His sharp intake of air audible. “I’m not even asking for a long-term commitment from you. I just want to be able to explore whatever this is between us without worrying about overstepping imaginary boundaries that I don’t even know exist.” I stare at him, willing him to hear my words. Really hear what I’m saying, not just what he wants to hear. “I’m asking to be your lover, Colton, not your happily ever after or your structured arrangement. All I want is a chance...” My voice trails off, asking for the impossible. “For you to tell me you’ll try…”

“You were never an arra—”

“Let’s call a spade a spade.” I arch my eyebrows at him, trying to summon the fire that coursed through my veins moments before that has since been replaced with desolation. “You have an uncanny way of putting me in my place any time I overstep one of your asinine boundaries.”

We stare at each other, unspoken words on our lips, and he is the first to look away and break our connection. He shrugs out of his dinner jacket, and wraps it around my shoulders, ever the consummate gentleman even in the midst of turmoil, but where his fingers would normally linger on my skin, he recoils instantly.

“I never meant to hurt you, Rylee.” His voice cracks with a quiet vulnerability I’ve never heard before. I’d never expect from him. He lowers his head, shaking it subtly, and mutters
fuck
under his breath. Déjà vu hits me from the night in the hotel room, and all the air punches from my lungs. “I don’t want to hurt you any further.”

This is it.

He’s going to end it right here, right now. Doing what I can’t for the life of me do myself. I press the heel of my hand to my chest, trying to press away the ache that sears through me. He runs his hands through his hair, and I tremble in anticipation, waiting for him to continue but hoping he doesn’t. He lifts his head and reluctantly meets my eyes. He is stripped bare—haunted, desolate—the emotion so transparent in his eyes it’s hard to hold his gaze.

And in this moment, it hits me. I realize that I’ve been chastising him for not fighting for me, but has anyone ever really fought for him besides his parents? Not for his material possessions or his notoriety, but for the little boy he was and for the man he is now? For the years of abuse and neglect I’m sure he endured. Has anyone ever told him they love him not despite it but rather because of it? And that all of those experiences combined have in fact made him a better person. A better man. That they accept all of him regardless—every maddening, confusing, heartwarming, piece of him.

I bet no one has.

And as much as I’m hurting and want to lash out at him in return, a part of me wants to leave him with something no one else has ever given him. Something to remember me by.

“For you, Colton…” My voice may be soft when I speak, a resignation to our fate, but my honesty comes through loud and clear. “…I’d take the chance.” I can visibly see his body stiffen at my admission. His lips part slightly and the tension leaves his jaw, as if he is shocked that I’d be willing to take the chance on him.
That I believe he’s worth the risk.

He takes a step toward me and reaches a hand out tentatively to frame my jaw. He stares into my eyes with an unfettered intensity, his lips opening several times to say something but closing without a sound. I inhale a sharp breath at the resonance of his touch as he rubs the pad of his thumb over my bottom lip—the roughness of his calloused fingers against the softness of my lips. A horrible sadness takes hold when I realize rough and soft is in a way a lot like us.

“For you, Rylee,” he whispers, his voice breaking. His usually steady hands tremble ever so slightly against my cheeks, and I swear I can see fear flicker through his eyes before he blinks away the moisture that pools in them. “
I will try.”

He will try?
My mind has to switch gears so quickly that I’m left disoriented. Talk about going from an unbelievable low to an unexpected high. “
You’ll try?”
my broken voice asks, not believing my ears.

Just a trace of the crooked, roguish smile that I find irresistible curves up one side of his mouth, but I can hear the trepidation in his tone. “
Yes
,” he repeats. His eyes burn into mine until my eyes flutter closed as he leans in and gives me the gentlest, most reverent kiss I’ve ever received. He then kisses the tip of my nose before resting his forehead against mine. His breath whispers against my lips, and his heart pounds a frantic tattoo against my chest all the while my insides are leaping for joy, bubbling over with hope.

Holy shit!
Colton is going to try. He is going to fight for us. For me. For him. There is so much unspoken beneath his declaration. So much promise, fear, vulnerability, and willingness to overcome whatever plagues his dreams at night and incessantly haunts his memories—just to try and be with me.

He dips his head down and kisses me again. A slow, soft brush of lips and dance of tongues that is so packed with unspoken words it causes tears to well in my eyes. He finishes by kissing my nose again and then pulling me into him in a crushing embrace. I sigh, welcoming his warmth, his strength, and enjoying how the long, lean line of his body fits perfectly against my curves. I drink in his scent and the sound of his heart beating beneath my ear. He leans his face down, his cheek rubbing against my temple, as he emits a sigh that sounds similar to a muttered oath. And I swear it sounds like he mutters something about a
voodoo pussy,
but when I snap my head up to look at him, he just shakes head and smirks.

“What am I going to do with you, Rylee?” He holds me tighter, chills dancing up my spine. “What am I going to do?” He sighs again and I suppress a smothered chuckle as I wriggle against him. The mixture of his body on mine, the relief in knowing he is going to try, and the anticipated buildup of the evening has me more than desperate for just a platonic hug in a garden.

How can such a simple statement leave me breathless with anticipation and desperate for his touch—emotionally and physically? He trails a finger down the line of my neck before dipping it down into the bodice and then descending the long torturous path downward, parting the draped slit of my dress to my hypersensitive sex. His deft fingers find me weeping and wanting, and when he touches me I swear I’m ready to splinter into a million pieces of pleasure. I gasp a strangled moan from its effect.

I lean into him, my forehead pressing against his chest, my hands gripping his biceps. I’m not sure if my responsiveness is from Colton’s willingness to try or the onslaught of sensation, but my body climbs the precipice quicker than normal. I am so close. So close to the brink that my nails dig into his arms.

Colton slides his fingers back and forth one more time before emitting a feral growl. “Not yet…I want to be buried in you when you come, Rylee,” he murmurs against the crown of my head. “I’m desperate to be.”

I suck in an audible breath, my muscles so taut and nerves so aware of the feeling of his body against mine that I can’t contain myself. I launch myself at him like an addict needing a fix. One hand grips the back of his neck, automatically fisting his hair, and pulls his face lower so I can meet his mouth. My other hand reaches down to rub the hard length of his growing erection against his slacks. His guttural moan tells me he’s bound with as much need as I am.

I kiss him with a hungry desperation, passion unfurling between us, as I pour everything I’ve been holding back into our melding of mouths. He snakes his hands between his jacket that I’m wearing and my dress, his hands mapping the lines of my backside and hips, inciting a need so strong that it rocks me senseless and leaves me breathless.

“Colton,” I moan as he laces open mouth kisses down the line of my throat, sending earthquakes of sensation rocketing through me.

“Car. Parking garage. Now,” he says between kisses with a teeming desperation, restraint non-existent.

I agree with a non-coherent moan, but my body doesn’t want to let up or let go. His hand fists my hair and pulls it down so my face is forced up. The dark desire that clouds his eyes has my thighs clenching together, begging for relief. “Ry? If we don’t walk right now, you’re going to find yourself bent over that bench right there in plain view of all of these hotel rooms.” His husky warning has me swallowing loudly. He leans down and kisses me chastely, his tongue tracing the line of my bottom lip. “You’ve annihilated my control, sweetheart. Elevator. Now,” he commands.