COLT’S ASLEEP WHEN I WAKE UP the next morning, my head pounding after twelve hours in bed. Flipping onto my side, I prop my head on one elbow, watching his peaceful face. In the same breath, I realize I’m naked.
My cheeks heat as last night comes rushing back and I’m turned on again remembering how he watched me… like he never wanted to stop.
No one ever looked at me that way. No one ever touched or kissed me like he did. No one was ever so attentive.
I could blame his behavior on our fake dating act, but I know he’s not pretending. He’s not acting in a certain way to please my parents. No, he is attentive. He is caring.
He’s also dominant as hell.
Something I find entirely too attractive.
I’m not sure if he’ll be up for round two while we’re here, or if he’ll want to wait, but what I am sure of is that I don’t want this… us to end once the trip ends on Sunday. I want him to take me out on that date he promised.
I didn’t plan on sex last night.
I just wanted him to kiss me because the anticipation and his rejection was driving me crazy. I should’ve known we wouldn’t stop there. As soon as he gently gripped my neck, I knew we’d go the distance. The pull between us is undeniable.
I was intrigued by him the second he sat in front of me at the Express Dates, and that intrigue keeps growing every day, morphing into more.
“Morning,” Colt says, making me jump.
Lost in my head, staring into the distance, I hadn’t noticed him open his eyes.
“Morning. We missed dinner.”
He smirks, stretching out. “You missed dinner. I had roast duck with figs and sage glaze, zero cock soups, and no dicks for dessert. Then, instead of watching the lame rom-com Amara picked, I played poker with your dad until midnight.”
A small smile tugs the corners of my lips. “Dick desserts are good. You don’t know what you’re missing.”
“I’m more of a pink pussy sherbet type of man. If that’s ever on the menu, count me in.”
“You had your fill last night,” I remind him, the visual of his head between my legs invading my mind.
Colt tenses immediately, the playful jokes long forgotten. He flips onto his side and props his head on one arm, staring down at me. “How do you feel about that?” The muscles in his jaw work circles as he studies my face. “Any regrets?”
“Regrets? No. Why would you think that?”
“You said no sex when I agreed to come here.”
“I did.” I stretch and yawn before I flip onto my side as well. “Only because I’d never pay for favors with my body, but that wasn’t the case last night.”
I didn’t come on to him to compensate for his troubles. I know he’s enjoying the trip—his first vacation in five years—and me. I came on to him because I couldn’t stop myself no matter how hard I tried rationalizing.
And I really don’t want last night to be a one-off. Too bad he doesn’t look like he’s about to make a move. Which means I’m dictating the pace. I get to decide how much will happen and how often.
This is a bit out of character for me, but… screw it.
I want him, and I won’t cower again. Feeling a rush of confidence, I slip out from under the sheets, taking my sweet time as I drape my hair over my shoulder.
Slowly, I make my way to the bathroom and stop in the doorway, looking back at Colt.
He’s staring, his hungry brown eyes devouring every inch of my naked skin. “You little tease,” he groans, palming his cock under the sheets. “I want my dessert, Addie.”
“You shouldn’t eat dessert before breakfast,” I say, tracing the curve of my hip with the tip of my finger. “But we’re on vacation. Rules don’t apply, so dessert will be served in the shower.”
He shoots out of bed immediately, scoots me into his arms and doesn’t let go until we’re both in the walk-in shower, warm water pattering our backs.
And then, without warning or even a kiss, he drops to his knees, hooks my leg over his shoulder, and devours my pink pussy like he’s starving.
***
My jelly-like legs barely hold my weight an hour later. Three orgasms mere minutes apart will do that to a girl.
Too bad my blissful mood bursts as soon as we sit down for breakfast and Grant slips into the seat beside me, way too close for comfort.
Colt’s jaw clamps shut, his hands balling into tight fists on the table as the waitress pours his orange juice.
“Well, look at the lovebirds,” Grant drawls, reaching over to pick a strawberry off my plate. He pops it into his mouth, eyes idling between Colt and me. “What took you two so long? Amara’s almost incandescent she’s so impatient to start the next task,” he muses loudly, his tone implying he knows the reason we’re late.
I glance at my parents three seats down, catching my mother’s raised brow.
“We overslept,” I mutter, avoiding her glare and poking at the breakfast on my plate.
Grant’s a master at ruining my appetite.
“Overslept?” he drawls, bouncing his eyebrows. “You fell asleep before dinner last night. Colt said you had a headache.”
I grind my teeth, knowing damn well what he’s doing. “I did, but I’m fine now. Just had to sleep it off.”
“Are you sure you’re fine?” He makes a show of looking me over. “You look flustered, pumpkin.”
My cheeks burn hotter, showing everyone that Grant’s barking up the right tree.
The fucking nerve of him.
Amara giggles behind her coffee and my mother’s bright red. I don’t dare check what facial expression my father’s sporting. There’s nothing more mortifying than thinking about your daughter’s sex life, I’m sure.
A few excuses dance on the tip of my tongue like the shower was hot, but instead of digging deeper, I say, “I’m fine.”
The less I talk, the better.
Grant doesn’t let the subject rest, pressing the back of his hand to my forehead. “You’re not running a fever, so…”
“Either you take your hand off her, or I’ll rip it out of your shoulder socket,” Colt grinds out, holding the fork so hard his knuckles are white. “Don’t test me, man. I don’t play well with others.”
Grant chuckles, withdrawing his hand and lifting both in surrender. “Chill out. She knows I’m joking. It’s all good fun.”
“You’re being an ass,” Benjamin says in a playful tone behind us, gripping Grant’s shoulders. “C’mon, we gotta talk.”
I offer my brother a small, grateful smile as they leave. He might be on Grant’s side, but he does have my back sometimes.
“He’s harmless,” I tell Colt quietly.
“I’ll decide that.” He takes a large gulp of juice, dropping his eyes back to his plate. “He better not touch you again.”
A warm feeling inside my chest should not be my body’s reaction to his possessiveness, but it is. I’m learning a lot of new things about myself with Colt around, and I’m enjoying every single one. It’s like I’ve been locked in a shell my whole life, and he cracked it open last night.
I wonder what else I’ll learn while we’re here.
We inhale breakfast in record time thanks to Amara breathing down our necks and complaining we’re delaying the next task: an egg-and-spoon race.
Not a standard one, though. No, my brother has turned the skill level up to infinity. Paired with—surprise, surprise—Grant, I stand by the railing, staring at a diving board jutting out from the yacht, suspended over the ocean.
It’s narrow. Very narrow, and we’re supposed to walk to the end, blindfolded, holding the spoon with our teeth as we balance the egg. The fastest duo to not drop their egg, wins.
I’m certain the draw was rigged so I ended up with Grant. The only consolation is that Colt’s paired with my father not my mother. They stepped aside as soon as the task was announced and now look lost in conversation, probably preparing a battle plan.
The warm sea breeze tugs at the loose tendrils of my hair, the smell of salt and seaweed blending with the strong scent of Grant’s cologne. I swear he bathes in it.
My head feels light just looking at the drop below the board. I’m not great at judging heights, but it’s at least thirty feet, probably more. There’s no way I’ll complete the race. My legs feel like they’re about to give in and I bet they will the moment I take one step away from the railing.
“I can’t do this,” I say, my voice trembling even though my feet are firmly on the deck. “You can’t make me.”
Grant sidles up closer, a smug grin plastered on his face. “It’ll be fun, pumpkin. You’ll be blindfolded so you won’t see the drop.” His fingers brush against mine, sending a shiver of revulsion up my arm.
“Stop calling me that. And don’t touch me.”
Across the deck, Colt’s watching with concern, annoyance, and a protective spark in his eyes that kindles a flame inside me. I send him a small smile, moving away from Grant to maintain a safe distance. Colt admitted he’s a hothead and I believe his word. It’s not difficult to imagine him throwing his fists. With six brothers, he’s probably very good at it. Siblings always fight when they’re kids. I sure did with Ben.
“I’ll panic and fall, Grant. I’m not a good swimmer.”
“There’s a huge inflatable underneath. You’ll be fine. C’mon, don’t leave me hanging. I know you want to win and be back with Colt for the task tomorrow.”
Bastard. He’s not wrong, though. Winning means choosing a partner tomorrow, but…
I lean out, checking how far the drop is, and my head starts spinning. “I’ll pass out,” I mutter more to myself than him.
“You won’t. Look,” he nudges my shoulder, motioning at my mother who’s going first. “Watch everyone and by the time it’s our turn you’ll be fine.”
Piece of cake.
Not so much. Watching others doesn’t help. Not in the slightest. Every cheer, every splash as someone loses their balance, tumbling onto the airbag below or missing it by a foot, every laugh echoing from the deck feels directed at me.
I pinch the hem of my dress, hoping to stop my hands shaking, but the weight pressing onto my chest grows heavier as the minutes tick by.
My father and Colt are second to last, completing the task with undeniable ease. I feel better while I watch Colt navigate the narrow plank. He makes it look so damn easy, every step confident, his posture straight, the egg firmly on the spoon.
Once he’s back, my father repeats the process, almost losing the egg twice along the way.
Amara’s not sharing times, so I have no idea who’s winning. That’s the only reason I’m still by the railing, watching, instead of hiding in the comfort of our suite.
I should at least try. Colt was lucky to land with my father today, but who knows who he’ll get paired with tomorrow?
What if it’s my mother?
What if it’s Grant?
I know he doesn’t give a shit about their digs, but I brought him here and I should be at least trying to make his stay pleasant.
“How are you doing?” Grant asks me when Amara hands him a spoon. “We good?”
Swallowing hard, I meet Colt’s gaze over Grant’s shoulder and relax my muscles by letting out a long puff of air. It’s surreal how just the sight of him helps me find my balance.
“Okay. I’ll try,” I say, moving my eyes to Amara.
She gives me an appreciative, if a little surprised, nod. “I was certain you’d back out,” she chirps, looking between us. “Grant goes first. Then he hands you the spoon. Same spoon, same egg.”
Grant doesn’t waste time. Shooting me one last smirk, he blindfolds himself and takes the spoon in his mouth. Unlike Colt, he’s not graceful. Every few steps, there’s a wobble, an almost disaster, but he reaches the end quickly and spins on one leg, starting back. My dread intensifies the closer he comes, inevitably bringing my turn with him.
The moment he hops down onto the deck, he thrusts the spoon toward me. “See? Easy peasy,” he says, the challenge evident in his voice. “Make me proud, pumpkin.”
“Call me pumpkin again and I’ll shove this egg so far down your throat it’ll tickle your intestines.”
Amara lets out a half-gasp, half-chuckle and Grant grins, pretending to lock his mouth and throw away the key.
Colt’s still with my father, Amara’s instructions are clear: stay with your team until the end of the task. I’m not sure how this stops any foul play, since there’s no way to cheat, but no one disobeys, eager to please the bride-to-be.
Taking a deep breath, I let Amara tie the blindfold. It’s thick and doesn’t let in much light. Maybe that’s for the best. They say looking down is the worst thing you can do when you’re afraid of heights.
At least now I can’t see anything.
Slowly, I pop the spoon in my mouth, chanting it’ll be over in one minute on repeat in my head. With a deep breath, I let Grant help me onto the board and, using the band-aid method, I quickly take a step forward.
The faster I walk, the sooner it’ll be over and the better the chance we’ll win. Too bad one shaky step is all I manage.
The blindfold doesn’t help.
It makes things worse because my imagination compensates for it tenfold. My heart races like a frightened horse, vertigo hits, and my legs feel like lead. I’m shaking so hard that the spoon slips from my mouth to clatter away under my feet. Two seconds later there’s a soft splash below. Probably the egg.
My stomach churns so hard I feel sick. I know one step back is all I need to take, but I’m frozen, paralyzed. Panic grips me, a tight band around my chest and I’m hyperventilating.
“Get me down,” I squeal, the board beneath my feet shaking with me. “Please. I can’t… I can’t move.”
“Trust you to overreact,” Grant huffs behind me. His big hand cuffs my wrist and he helps me down, taking little care to make sure I keep up with his moves. Yanking the blindfold off me, his narrowed eyes bore into mine and his grip tightens. “You’re fine. Chill out. It’s not even that high.”
“Hands off,” Colt growls, his voice dripping with anger as he materializes behind Grant.
“We’re just talking, man. She panicked, so—”
“Panicked?” Colt echoes, stepping around Grant to get to me, his eyes searching mine like he can read my mind if he tries hard enough. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s too high,” I mutter, my tense body slowly relaxing. “I’m not good with heights.”
Grant scoffs beside us. “I thought you’d been dating a while… I’d have thought your many fears would be something Colt’s familiar with by now. Didn’t you fly to Miami?”
There’s an edge to his voice. A challenge of sorts, like he’s not buying our relationship. Like he suspects we’re leading everyone by the nose. Or it’s just me reading too much into it, freaking out that we’ll get discovered.
Conor’s words come back to me like an echo.
“Only you know the truth, and you might end up overcompensating, making a show, so no one doubts you. Don’t do that.”
I close my eyes briefly, taking a deep breath. I’m overthinking. That’s all. I’m doing something wrong, and I’m scared it’ll blow up in my face.
“He knows I don’t like flying,” I say, grasping Colt’s hand and squeezing his fingers. “But heights isn’t the same thing… I mean, it’s not like I hand out a list of my phobias to everyone I meet.”
“You should. You’re afraid of your own shadow, Addie,” my mother cuts in, standing nearby. “Grant’s right, though. It’s rather odd Colt doesn’t know such a basic thing about you. First your allergy, now this… seems you two don’t talk much.”
I grit my teeth, choosing not to argue. Instead, I look over to Amara and her notepad. “Who won?”
