Page 7 of Claim Me, Colt
And God help me, I believe her.
Chapter 4
Simone
Idon’tknowwhomoves first—me or him—but suddenly we’re tangled together, mouths crashing, hands searching, breathing like we’ve been drowning and just came up for air.
It’s messy. It’s desperate.
And it’s exactly what I need.
He cups the back of my head, pulling me deeper into the kiss while his other hand grips my hip, fingers digging in like he doesn’t quite believe I’m here. I straddle his lap, feeling the heat of him through his jeans, hard and thick and ready. It sends a jolt through me—because this isn’t pretend. This isn’t obligation or expectation.
This is raw, recklesswant.
I rock against him, chasing friction, and the sound he makes—half growl, half groan—goes straight to my core.
“Simone,” he rasps. “If you don’t want this, tell me to stop now.”
“I won’t,” I whisper, breathless. “Don’t ask me to.”
His eyes search mine like he’s trying to be sure, like he needs this to be more than a reaction.
So I say it again, louder this time. “I want this.I wantyou.”
That’s all it takes.
He stands in one fluid motion, taking me with him, my legs wrapped around his waist, his hands gripping my thighs. I kiss his jaw, his neck, tasting salt and cedar and something uniquely Colt as he carries me down the hall.
The bedroom is dimly lit by firelight spilling through the open door. It flickers across his face as he lays me down on the bed, his expression dark with intent.
He kneels beside the mattress, eyes devouring me as I lie there in nothing but his flannel shirt. I start to unbutton it, but he catches my hands.
“Let me,” he says, voice low and rough.
He opens the shirt slowly, reverently, like he’s unwrapping something sacred. When he reaches the last button, he pushes the shirt open to reveal my bare body beneath.
His gaze scorches me.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he mutters, hands trailing from my collarbone to my waist, then lower. “You don’t even know.”
I shiver as he leans down and takes one of my nipples into his mouth, hot and wet and wicked. My back arches as he sucks, tongue circling, then switches to the other, giving it the same devastating attention while his hand slides between my thighs.
I’m already wet for him.
He groans against my skin, fingers teasing along my slit, then dipping in just enough to make me whimper.
“Colt…”
“You like that?” he asks, his voice like gravel and smoke.
“Yes,” I gasp. “More.”
He gives me more.
One thick finger, then two, pumping slow and deep while his thumb circles my clit with maddening precision. He watches every reaction—every shudder, every moan, every arch of my hips—and it only makes him touch me better, rougher,hotter.
“I’ve thought about this,” he growls, curling his fingers just right and making me cry out. “Since the second you walked out of that creek. Thought about what you’d sound like when you fall apart for me.”
