He must not be too bothered by my rebuff back at the riverfront. At least I didn’t think he was until he grabbed my hair and gave me a yank like I was a puppy wandering too far off the sidewalk. It should’ve been enough for me to demand he take me home immediately, even if it meant an awkward two hours in the car with him, but it had the exact opposite effect. And I think he saw it—the twitch in the corners of my mouth that I couldn’t hide fast enough. Which is why, by the time Colson’s pinky brushes against the top of my inseam, I’m sure he feels me seeping out of my spandex.
At least they’re black. Thank God I didn’t choose grey…
“You alright over there?” he glances over at me, feeling my leg tense, “You’re pretty quiet.”
“Yeah, spacing out, I guess. Where are we going now?”
“I’m taking you home.”
I guess I was wrong. Apparently, he is that offended. My disappointment is palpable, so much so that I shift my gaze out my window and decide to stay there for the rest of the ride instead of looking at him. I should’ve just gone out with Barrett, Katie, and Emma tonight. What a waste.
Colson’s voice cuts the silence, “To my home,” he clarifies, “but I’ll take you back to campus to get your car first.”
“OK,” I draw in a shaky breath while his hand slides up and down between my thighs, “you should take King Avenue instead of Cannon because it’s blocked at night for construction.”
Colson cracks a smile, “You know what I like about you, Brett?” he asks as his hand brushes over the most sensitive part of me, “This laser focus you have. I don’t know where you get it. My hand is between your legs right now and you’re over here telling me about road closures.”
He’s not wrong. I can’t help it, it’s just how I am.
“Meantime,” Colson continues, “all I can think about is how you would look bent over my hood while I fuck that tight little pussy of yours.”
My eyes fly open and I clench my jaw in surprise.
Colson doesn’t take his eyes off the road, “I don’t know how tight your pussy is,” he shrugs, “I’m just making an educated guess. But it’s distracting.”
He slowly drags his fingers over my leggings, feeling every one of my contours. Soon, his movements follow the rise and fall of my breathing, which becomes more labored by the second.
“I didn’t think I’d get another chance after I was such a dick to you at Cade and Anderson’s,” he casts me a sideways glance, “I thought it’d be fun—string you along for a couple hours, really get you going, it would’ve been so fucking hot.”
I do a double-take.
Is he telling me how he was trying to manipulate me?
Yes, he definitely is. And he’s doing it with his hand between my legs.
“What?” I hiss, “Why would you do that?” But my attempt at confrontation sounds more like the whining of a petulant child than anything else.
“Yeah, you got really mad, really quick,” he snickers.
Is he seriously trying to have a whole conversation about this right now, confessing his transgressions toward me?
Yes, he is. And maybe you even like it.
“But then I realized that you have self-respect and aren’t going to take any of my selfish bullshit, which told me something else.”
“Like what?” I mumble between breaths.
“You have confidence,” he says as the corner of his mouth curls, “so, I bet you fuck like a filthy slut.”
My chest caves and his words render me utterly speechless.
He’s still doing it. He’s trying to manipulate you now.
“Am I wrong?” Colson asks with a hint of amusement.
“What?” Now I’ve lost my train of thought.
Is he wrong? Maybe he should ask Trey Schneider, who wanted to know how many times I came after aimlessly pounding me for five minutes in his bedroom at the Sig house right before winter break. After that, I decided to be more selective—and make sure my birth control prescription was up to date.
So, do I fuck like a filthy slut? Maybe, just not with Trey Schneider.
Colson’s hand wanders under the hem of my t-shirt, running back and forth at the edge of my leggings. He’s slow and deliberate, until finally he dips his fingers beneath my waistband and pushes them beneath my black thong. My muscles go rigid and my lungs fill with air at the sensation of his hand on my skin. He reaches further, sliding his fingers over my pussy and coating them in the thick heat already pooling there.
“Oh,” Colson breathes, “Brett’s been keeping secrets.”
He teases my entrance as his fingers glide back up to my clit, rubbing slow, hard circles around it with his newly acquired lubrication. I’m too slow to stifle the split-second moan that escapes my throat.
At that, Colson glances at his hand buried in my leggings and then gives a nod to my lap, “Does she want some attention, too?” I sink into the seat with a gasp as he feels for the wettest part and slips one finger inside me, and then another.
He gapes while he explores, his mouth curling into a ravenous grin, “Shit,” he mutters, “you’re tighter than I thought.” He tries to slide a third finger inside me, eliciting a high-pitched moan, “Fuck, baby,” he smiles, “my dick might split you in two.”
I cock one eyebrow, “You fucking wish.” As hard as I try to sound scornful at his arrogance, it only comes out as desperate.
“Brett Sorensen,” Colson grins at the highway, “sweet as honey but stings like a bee…don’t worry, you’ll be good and ready by the time we get back.” He slides his fingers out and focuses on my clit, moving in rapid circles that nearly make me fold in on myself, “Do you like games, Brett?”
“What games?” I stammer as my hips grind against his hand, wishing he would just finish me.
“I ask you a question, you answer it, but if you don’t,” he stills his hand and lets the pleasure dissipate, “I stop.”
