45
Colton
"If you're not going to go willingly," I say.
She turns up her chin, her jaw set in the way it gets when she's pissed off. Or being stubborn. "I don't know where you got the idea that you could tell me what to do, Colton King."
God, she's infuriating.
"Stop talking and get in the truck," I demand.
"Why?"
"Because we have unfinished business, Cassie, that's fucking why," I say, trying to ignore the way that knot in my stomach, the one that disappeared the second I put her in my arms, suddenly returns now that I'm standing here waiting for her to either get in the truck or to tell me to fuck off.
I genuinely don't know what she's going to do.
"No kidding we have unfinished business," she huffs. But then she does it. She turns and slides into the front seat, her arms crossing her chest. She doesn't look at me when I get behind the wheel but when I glance over at her, she's tapping her foot on the floor of the car. It's a tiny movement, but it's there.
She's nervous.
I feel guilty for ordering her around, telling her no, demanding what I want from her, especially since she was just groped by someone who didn't take no for an answer.
I get on the highway, and drive straight out of town because I don't know what the hell else to do. She doesn't speak the entire ride, doesn't even ask where we're going, and I keep my eyes straight ahead. I want her so damn badly that I can't look at her.
As soon as I put the truck in park at the top of the lookout, I'm out of the vehicle and walking to Cassie's side. She slides out of the truck before I reach her, slamming the passenger door hard. When she turns to face me, she has her hands on her hips.
Her hips. My eyes go straight to them and I nearly groan.
"You sent me dildos as apologies," she says, her voice infused with anger.
"Because you didn't fucking listen to me that night when I came to your place."
"Because that creep – Dillon – told me… ugh, whatever, I don't want to say it again."
"You really actually thought I'd brag to a locker room full of guys about how I fucked you?" I ask, my voice getting louder. "I don't even want another guy near you. You think I want them imagining you naked?"
"The virgin thing…" she murmurs, her voice drifting off.
I'm standing a respectable six inches away from her, but I can smell her. She's wearing that perfume, the one that smells like coconuts and summer, and my cock goes absolutely rigid at the scent.
"I wasn't thinking," I explain to her, my voice softer. "That night when he was talking about wanting to nail you, I blurted it out before I hit him."
"Why?" she asks, her eyes flashing. She looks up at me, her lower lip caught between her teeth, and all I can think about doing is pulling it between mine.
"Because I was pissed the hell off," I say, irritated with even having to think about that again. "I didn't like him talking about my girl like that."
"Your girl?" She doesn't ask it; she states it like she's challenging me. "The one you hated because of the thesis?"
"You hated me because of Dillon," I growl back. "And yeah, my girl."
"Maybe I don't want to be your girl."
"You're so damn irritating."
Her eyes narrow. "So are you," she blurts back, her hands on her hips again. "You're infuriating. And you're stubborn, arrogant, and hot-headed."
"You're high-strung and uptight and way too fucking serious," I say. Somehow I'm so close to her now.
"Yeah, then why did you bring me out here?"
"Because training started and I should be thinking about football," I explain, exasperated, "but I can't fucking sleep, alright? I'm lying in the back of this stupid truck and all I smell is you on my damn pillows and it's making me crazy. Which means I can't fucking train because I'm so damn tired."
"So you brought me here to lecture me on how I'm screwing up your training?"
"Goddamn it, Cassie, stop talking." I growl the words because I'm done arguing with her, and I'm done not touching her, and I'm sure as hell done not having her in my bed.
"Don't tell me to stop –" she starts, but I plant my lips on hers before she can finish. She melts against me like she's made to fit right here in my arms, and when my tongue finds hers there's no question that this is where I'm supposed to be.
This girl feels like home. She feels like a place of calm, the eye in the middle of the storm. She's mine and I don't want to let her go.
She slides her hands underneath my shirt, her palms moving across my chest, and she lets out a sound, a cross between a whimper and a moan, as she slips her hands to my back and pulls me against her.