K. Bromberg's Blog, page 17
December 7, 2016
A Sweet Ache Christmas Extra
Some of you were asking for this scene between Hawkin and Quinlan again . . . so here it is . . .
“Q?”
Hawke’s voice floats down the hall, a mixed melody of curiosity and excitement in that velvet rasp of his. I shift in anticipation. My body already on fire for his touch.
It’s been eight long weeks. Fifty-six days worth of Skype chats, dirty talking over the buzz of my vibrator and his strained voice panting my name. One thousand three hundred forty four hours of missing him, wanting him, waiting for him to come home to me.
“In here,” I say at the same time the sounds of his boots stop outside the bedroom door.
I’ve envisioned the next few seconds in my head – how it’s going to play out, what his reaction will be – and as much as I want it to be absolutely perfect, I’m having a ridiculously hard time not running to the door, throwing it open, and jumping into his arms.
The handle turns. I hold my breath. The door swings open. My body stills as my bad boy rocker with the good guy heart slowly comes into view. I take in the black combat boots, the Eagles’ T-shirt, leather wrist cuffs – my body vibrating with excitement. And then I meet his eyes. Storm colored irises stare back with so many emotions swimming in them – happiness, relief, longing, and desire.
The moment holds. Two lovers kept apart by distance, now reconnecting yet savoring those final last seconds before libidinous hunger gives way to the clothes ripping, teeth nipping, hands digging kind of sex my body instantly craves at the sight of him.
“Hi.” My voice is breathless. Desperate. Needy.
And then his eyes leave mine and take in the rest of me. His quick intake of breath fills the room and even though he doesn’t speak, that singular sound is all I need to hear to know he feels the same way.
I watch his eyes scrape up the high heels, fishnet stockings, and leather cupless bustier before meeting my eyes. A slow, cocky grin pulls up one corner of his mouth the same time he drops bags with a thud to the floor.
“Hi.” A bob of his Adam’s apple. A twitch of his fingers as if he’s itching to touch. A quirk of his eyebrow. All a slow seduction themselves when I don’t need anything but him and me. Right here. Right now.
“Welcome home. Merry Christmas. Get undressed.” All three of my demands are equally important. Only one is urgent.
That tug of a smirk turns into a full-blown grin as Hawke casually makes his way toward me, drawing out his reaction in painstakingly slow fashion. “Welcome home. Merry Christmas. Get undressed,” he repeats with a raise of one eyebrow. “It’s time to unwrap my present.” The comment takes me back to that first time I drove him home three years ago.
You’re like unwrapping a present. So many surprises to discover.
He stops in front of me, our bodies a whisper apart, our breaths feathering over each others, and desire ricocheting in the space between us. His cologne, his energy, everything I’ve missed over the past few months assaults my senses and makes me want to take and ravage but I know he likes his foreplay. And his sugar.
Let’s see how long it takes him to find it.
With eyes intense, his hands come up to frame my face. Every part of me that wasn’t already standing to attention, sparks instantly to life. Unspoken words pass between us as his mouth slowly descends to meet mine. A soft brush of a kiss. A gentle touching of tongues. My hands sliding beneath the hem of his shirt to touch the corded muscle beneath. His fingers tensing on my jaw as he draws out this first meeting of lips in a tantalizing temptation of everything I want to devour but love that he’s savoring.
God, I missed him. Missed this. Can’t wait to drown myself in more than just the taste of his lips over the next three weeks he’s home and off tour. And completely mine.
“Now that’s a welcome home if I’ve ever seen one,” he murmurs as the kiss ends but our lips remain brushing against each others.
“There’s a lot more where that comes from.” Suggestion laces my tone but desire tinges the edges.
“I can see that,” he says as he runs his hands down my bare arms to link his hands with mine. He steps back and holds our arms out so that he can look at me once again. And the minute he sees it, I can tell. The dart of his tongue to wet his lips. The stutter in movement. The flash of gray up to meet my eyes. “My two biggest vices – you and sugar – all wrapped into one stellar package.”
I love the grate in his voice. The audible sound of his desire. It turns me on. Causes that sweet ache he always creates to intensify.
“Unwrap me, rocker boy.”
A strained chuckle falls from his lips. With eyes still on mine, he pushes me to sit back on the bed behind me as he drops to his knees on the floor before me. The spread of my legs apart is an instant reaction, my own reflection of need for him as he moves between them. His eyes flick down to my nipples and an appreciative groan rumbles deep in his throat before his gaze lifts back to mine.
He lifts a brow in question. “For me, sweetness?”
It takes everything I have to not throw my head back and laugh. Who else does he think I’d wet my nipples and dip them in pixie stick sugar for?
“You use instruments. I use sugar.” My last word falls off into a gasp when his lips close over the sugared peak of my breast. My head falls back, my legs fall open, and my body eases into the bliss of his tongue sweeping circles over the sensitive skin.
One of his hands finds its way between my thighs as his tongue continues its welcome assault on my senses. His other hand grabs my ass and scoots it closer to the edge of the bed and farther into the adept skill of his fingers waiting and wanting there.
“Hawke.” His name is on my lips while my taste is on his tongue as he switches from side to the other with a satisfied sigh. And when his lips close around my nipple this time, his guitar hardened fingers part the lips of my pussy and dip into my wetness.
“Fucking perfection,” he murmurs, the vibration of his voice, warmth of his mouth, and skill of his fingertips give me everything I’ve been missing, craving, and desperate for. With his thumb on my clit, he begins to slide his fingers in and out of me, scraping over right where I need it to me.
And while my vibrator may have taken care of business while he’s been gone, there is nothing – absolutely nothing – that equals the feeling of his hands on me. In me. Pleasuring me into that riotous orgasmic frenzy that only he can.
His teeth scrape over my nipple. My hands thread through his hair. His fingertips curve against my hub of nerves. My body tenses. He quickens the pace of his fingers, driving me harder and faster. Our breaths pant. Our hearts race. His absence has made my orgasm so much easier to summon.
A moan falls from my lips as I tighten around his fingers, my tell tale sign I’m so very close. He lifts his face to watch me: eyes locked, teeth biting into his bottom lip, sex personified.
“I’m coming,” I moan just as my body goes tight, the orgasm slamming into me with reckless abandon. My fingernails dig into his arms as he draws out the sensations: softer strokes, incendiary words, intense eyes.
“Goddamn. I’ve missed watching you come. Making you come,” he murmurs as he leans in and kisses me long and thoroughly, sugar and need a potent combination on his tongue. He withdraws his fingers, the sounds and smell of my desire fill the room, an aphrodisiac that only makes me want more of him.
When Hawke rises from the floor, his knees still between mine, he pulls his shirt over his head and balls it with one hand before tossing it aside. I take the moment to appreciate every single inch of him but stop to watch his hands, still glistening from my arousal, undo the buttons on his jeans.
Damn.
“My turn, sweetness.”
My eyes flash up to his, sass on my lips and reignited desire in my eyes. “Play me, Hawkin.”
“Q?”
Hawke’s voice floats down the hall, a mixed melody of curiosity and excitement in that velvet rasp of his. I shift in anticipation. My body already on fire for his touch.
It’s been eight long weeks. Fifty-six days worth of Skype chats, dirty talking over the buzz of my vibrator and his strained voice panting my name. One thousand three hundred forty four hours of missing him, wanting him, waiting for him to come home to me.
“In here,” I say at the same time the sounds of his boots stop outside the bedroom door.
I’ve envisioned the next few seconds in my head – how it’s going to play out, what his reaction will be – and as much as I want it to be absolutely perfect, I’m having a ridiculously hard time not running to the door, throwing it open, and jumping into his arms.
The handle turns. I hold my breath. The door swings open. My body stills as my bad boy rocker with the good guy heart slowly comes into view. I take in the black combat boots, the Eagles’ T-shirt, leather wrist cuffs – my body vibrating with excitement. And then I meet his eyes. Storm colored irises stare back with so many emotions swimming in them – happiness, relief, longing, and desire.
The moment holds. Two lovers kept apart by distance, now reconnecting yet savoring those final last seconds before libidinous hunger gives way to the clothes ripping, teeth nipping, hands digging kind of sex my body instantly craves at the sight of him.
“Hi.” My voice is breathless. Desperate. Needy.
And then his eyes leave mine and take in the rest of me. His quick intake of breath fills the room and even though he doesn’t speak, that singular sound is all I need to hear to know he feels the same way.
I watch his eyes scrape up the high heels, fishnet stockings, and leather cupless bustier before meeting my eyes. A slow, cocky grin pulls up one corner of his mouth the same time he drops bags with a thud to the floor.
“Hi.” A bob of his Adam’s apple. A twitch of his fingers as if he’s itching to touch. A quirk of his eyebrow. All a slow seduction themselves when I don’t need anything but him and me. Right here. Right now.
“Welcome home. Merry Christmas. Get undressed.” All three of my demands are equally important. Only one is urgent.
That tug of a smirk turns into a full-blown grin as Hawke casually makes his way toward me, drawing out his reaction in painstakingly slow fashion. “Welcome home. Merry Christmas. Get undressed,” he repeats with a raise of one eyebrow. “It’s time to unwrap my present.” The comment takes me back to that first time I drove him home three years ago.
You’re like unwrapping a present. So many surprises to discover.
He stops in front of me, our bodies a whisper apart, our breaths feathering over each others, and desire ricocheting in the space between us. His cologne, his energy, everything I’ve missed over the past few months assaults my senses and makes me want to take and ravage but I know he likes his foreplay. And his sugar.
Let’s see how long it takes him to find it.
With eyes intense, his hands come up to frame my face. Every part of me that wasn’t already standing to attention, sparks instantly to life. Unspoken words pass between us as his mouth slowly descends to meet mine. A soft brush of a kiss. A gentle touching of tongues. My hands sliding beneath the hem of his shirt to touch the corded muscle beneath. His fingers tensing on my jaw as he draws out this first meeting of lips in a tantalizing temptation of everything I want to devour but love that he’s savoring.
God, I missed him. Missed this. Can’t wait to drown myself in more than just the taste of his lips over the next three weeks he’s home and off tour. And completely mine.
“Now that’s a welcome home if I’ve ever seen one,” he murmurs as the kiss ends but our lips remain brushing against each others.
“There’s a lot more where that comes from.” Suggestion laces my tone but desire tinges the edges.
“I can see that,” he says as he runs his hands down my bare arms to link his hands with mine. He steps back and holds our arms out so that he can look at me once again. And the minute he sees it, I can tell. The dart of his tongue to wet his lips. The stutter in movement. The flash of gray up to meet my eyes. “My two biggest vices – you and sugar – all wrapped into one stellar package.”
I love the grate in his voice. The audible sound of his desire. It turns me on. Causes that sweet ache he always creates to intensify.
“Unwrap me, rocker boy.”
A strained chuckle falls from his lips. With eyes still on mine, he pushes me to sit back on the bed behind me as he drops to his knees on the floor before me. The spread of my legs apart is an instant reaction, my own reflection of need for him as he moves between them. His eyes flick down to my nipples and an appreciative groan rumbles deep in his throat before his gaze lifts back to mine.
He lifts a brow in question. “For me, sweetness?”
It takes everything I have to not throw my head back and laugh. Who else does he think I’d wet my nipples and dip them in pixie stick sugar for?
“You use instruments. I use sugar.” My last word falls off into a gasp when his lips close over the sugared peak of my breast. My head falls back, my legs fall open, and my body eases into the bliss of his tongue sweeping circles over the sensitive skin.
One of his hands finds its way between my thighs as his tongue continues its welcome assault on my senses. His other hand grabs my ass and scoots it closer to the edge of the bed and farther into the adept skill of his fingers waiting and wanting there.
“Hawke.” His name is on my lips while my taste is on his tongue as he switches from side to the other with a satisfied sigh. And when his lips close around my nipple this time, his guitar hardened fingers part the lips of my pussy and dip into my wetness.
“Fucking perfection,” he murmurs, the vibration of his voice, warmth of his mouth, and skill of his fingertips give me everything I’ve been missing, craving, and desperate for. With his thumb on my clit, he begins to slide his fingers in and out of me, scraping over right where I need it to me.
And while my vibrator may have taken care of business while he’s been gone, there is nothing – absolutely nothing – that equals the feeling of his hands on me. In me. Pleasuring me into that riotous orgasmic frenzy that only he can.
His teeth scrape over my nipple. My hands thread through his hair. His fingertips curve against my hub of nerves. My body tenses. He quickens the pace of his fingers, driving me harder and faster. Our breaths pant. Our hearts race. His absence has made my orgasm so much easier to summon.
A moan falls from my lips as I tighten around his fingers, my tell tale sign I’m so very close. He lifts his face to watch me: eyes locked, teeth biting into his bottom lip, sex personified.
“I’m coming,” I moan just as my body goes tight, the orgasm slamming into me with reckless abandon. My fingernails dig into his arms as he draws out the sensations: softer strokes, incendiary words, intense eyes.
“Goddamn. I’ve missed watching you come. Making you come,” he murmurs as he leans in and kisses me long and thoroughly, sugar and need a potent combination on his tongue. He withdraws his fingers, the sounds and smell of my desire fill the room, an aphrodisiac that only makes me want more of him.
When Hawke rises from the floor, his knees still between mine, he pulls his shirt over his head and balls it with one hand before tossing it aside. I take the moment to appreciate every single inch of him but stop to watch his hands, still glistening from my arousal, undo the buttons on his jeans.
Damn.
“My turn, sweetness.”
My eyes flash up to his, sass on my lips and reignited desire in my eyes. “Play me, Hawkin.”
A Driven Christmas Extra
Here’s an oldie but goodie for you Driven fans . . .
COLTON
The house smells like a goddamn bakery. I’ve never had a sweet tooth, but the sight before me is making me crave some sugar. Well, more like a specific dessert that I know from experience tastes so good it can knock this grown man to his knees. I lean against the doorjamb as Rylee moves to the beat as she hums along to some seductive ass song. All I can do is watch her: the way she sways her curves in those killer jeans, tight in all the right places, the tank top that I’d bet my ass has no bra beneath it, and her hair pulled up.
Sweet Jesus. There may be a bag of sugar sitting on the counter beside her, but I sure as shit would prefer the sweetness between her thighs any fucking day of the week.
And that any day is going to start right about now. Long hours testing at the track make for a good day, but ending it like this? Talk about getting to claim a checkered flag when I’m not even in the race.
I watch her. How can I not? Shit, a year ago I would’ve called myself a pussy for thinking that I’d get turned on watching a woman bake Christmas cookies. But damn, that was BR: before Rylee.
There’s something so goddamn sexy about the way she moves to the music. I’m not sure if it’s because she doesn’t know I’m here so she’s letting loose, or if it’s because my fingertips have memorized every inch of skin beneath those fine as fuck jeans. Regardless, it’s worth taking a moment to appreciate.
But I think I need to appreciate it a little closer. Like with my fingers and mouth because I need all hands on deck when it comes to Ryles.
I walk forward, take note of the counters of my kitchen lined with cookies, some frosted, some not. It’s a strange sight in what used to be my bachelor pad, but it makes me smile for some weird reason. It makes me think of a home and how fucking lucky I am that she actually said ‘I do’ a few weeks ago.
We’re married. Talk about crazy.
“Arrgh!” she yelps as I slip my arms around her waist, tug her back against me, and press a kiss to the addictive curve of her neck.
“Hmm, you smell better than the cookies,” I murmur, lips against her skin, dick against the swell of her ass, and my head already filled with the things I want to do to her.
“Good day at the track?” She asks tilting her head to the side so it presses against mine. And there’s something about the motion that just pulls on those dark parts remaining inside of me and tells them, “See? I can be loved.”
“Yeah. Car’s handling good. Needs a few tweaks yet, but it’ll be ready to go.” I rest my chin on her shoulder as she dips her paintbrush in the icing and spreads it over the unfrosted cookie. “What’s all this for?”
“I’m playing Betty Crocker.” She finishes painting a Christmas tree green and holds it up, “See?”
“Can you play her in just an apron and heels and nothing else?” The thought alone has me groaning. Heels and ruffles bent over the kitchen table. Game on, baby.
“And who, kind sir, are you going to play?” She teases, the smile on my lips automatic.
“A baseball player.” She bursts out laughing at our long running joke that takes me back to that first date, cotton candy, and Ferris wheels. And then more cotton candy mixed with the taste of Rylee on my tongue. Fuck. What is it with this woman and sugar that makes me want to bury myself balls deep in her without a second thought? “Wanna see my stick?”
She wiggles her ass where my dick presses against it. The woman loves to test my restraint in every way possible. “Hmm, I can feel your stick all right. Too bad you’re only getting to first base until I finish frosting these cookies.”
Fuck that. Like she doesn’t know she just issued me a challenge I’ll take so much pleasure in winning. Sure as shit, I’ll be sliding into home in no time, frosting and all. “We’ll see about that,” I chuckle into her ear and brush my lips against her neck in that place that she likes. Her body tenses momentarily as goose bumps chase over her skin. This is going to be a piece of cake.
Or I guess I should say a piece of cookie since they’re about to be cleared to the floor so that I can play out my dining room table fantasy.
“Mmm-hmm,” she murmurs. I reach out to dip a finger in the icing, and she bats my hand away. “Hands off, Ace.”
“My hands do what they want,” I say as I place them over her boobs, brush my thumbs over the hard tips of her nipples, and cause that sigh of hers that turns me rock hard to fall from her lips. “And you’ll like it.”
“I will, will I?” She asks and when she turns around to face me, the frosting paintbrush in her hand hits my chin with the natural motion of the action.
Her eyes flicker down to where green frosting is coating my chin and then back up to my eyes. She fights the smile on her lips when I raise my eyebrows in a silent warning. “You want to play dirty now, do you?”
The smirk she was fighting is now full blown as she keeps her eyes locked on mine when she leans forward to lick the frosting off of my chin. I swear to God the tip of her tongue is like an open ended livewire because fuck if an electric shock doesn’t mainline straight down to my dick and then streak back up to jumpstart my heart.
She finishes her tantilization by sucking gently on my chin. “There was some right there,” she murmurs. “I’m just trying to play clean.”
I laugh softly, my cock now thick and ready against her abdomen. Thoughts of wiping the counter clean in one fell swoop so I can have my way with her fill my head again. If she keeps this shit up, it’s going to be more than just a thought.
“Sweetheart, that right there was playing dirty…” She starts to argue with me, but I cut the words off by kissing her again. The frosting on her tongue and the simple taste of her sears my goddamn memory and what feels like my balls from the ache it creates there. Just when I have her where I want her – sinking into me, lips taking, and tongue demanding – I pull back and reach for the paintbrush covered in frosting.
“What?” She feigns innocence as those pursed lips of hers fall open in the shape of an O. And hell if my dick isn’t begging to put the space between them to good use right now.
Before she can comprehend what I’m doing, I have the neckline of her cami-tank pulled down, and sweet Jesus, I was right. No bra. The sight of her pink nipples has every part of my body begging to take her hard and fast. And then that sound – her shocked gasp when I take the brush and paint frosting around her nipple – only serves to intensify that slow, sweet ache I have to take her.
After admiring my handiwork, I flick my eyes back up to hers to find them wide and hazy with need. “See, you’re dirty now too.” I smirk. “Makes it a hell of a lot easier to slide into home plate when you don’t mind a mess.”
“Is that your master plan, huh? This woman has cookies that will burn if —oh God…” she moans as I close my lips over her nipple and gently suck on it, the frosting a nice addition to her already addictive flavor. She part moans, part sighs as I suck a little harder, causing her hands to grab my hair.
“Let the cookies burn,” I say and fuck if the immediate nod of her head isn’t more of a turn on than her tight peak in my mouth. The fact that she wants me just as badly as I do her fuels my desire.
She watches as I paint her other breast. This time I make a production of it despite my body being on edge – want and need crashing into each other. My tongue over frosting. Her fingers in my hair. The heat of her skin on my lips. Christmas cookies only come once a year so I might as well make the most of it.
The banging on the front door startles the hell out of us.
“What the fuck?” I bark as I stand up. Rylee pulls me in to her, tells me to ignore the distraction, and fuck, I’m more than game. No one’s going to stop me from hitting this homerun. We dive back in to our addictive desire with mouths and tongues and her bare chest pressing against mine.
The pounding starts again. “Go away!” I shout in frustration just as Rylee releases me. “No,” I groan against her ear, desperate for more.
“Dude, why’s your door fucking locked?”
Rylee and I lock eyes when we hear Becks’s muted voice. “Go away, Daniels. I’m trying to get laid!”
Rylee laughs and fists a hand in my shirt to pull me in for a chaste kiss before pushing me away. “See what he needs and then you better get your big stick ready because I’m expecting a grand slam, rookie.” She raises her eyebrows in a silent taunt as she lifts her chin for me to get the door.
Rookie? Bullshit. I start to correct her, tell her I’m far from that, but the words get lost in the sight of her stuffing her tits back into her top. She can call me whatever the fuck she wants as long as she’s moaning my name later.
“Yes ma’am,” I say as I adjust my dick in my pants and then yank open the front door. “Dude, you really know how to kill a boner don’t you? You better make this quick because we’re playing baseball here.”
Becks looks at me, confusion on his face, but the quick moment of silence allows me to realize that something’s wrong. His usual smirk and smart ass greeting are missing.
“You look like shit. Must be a woman who has your panties in a bunch. Who is she?” I have to tease him. This is our thing, harassing the shit out each other instead of having some Kumbaya session.
His silence tells me I’m right. It’s woman trouble. And now I’m even more curious. Who the hell has knocked Daniels on his ass while we were on our honeymoon?
Ignoring my question, he glances over my shoulder and nods his head at Ry. No smile. No quip. Something’s definitely up. Fuck. The best friend in me wants to invite him in and the selfish, horny bastard in me doesn’t want to. I glance over my shoulder to where Rylee’s wet and frosted and waiting for me. She meets my gaze. I can see the concern in hers over Becks and that I should deal with him first. But shit, there’s that smudge of green frosting on her collarbone calling to me. Sweet Christ. Am I really picking friend duty over sex?
“This better be good, Daniels, because you’re causing a rain delay in my game,” I say as I step back for him to come inside.
Rylee disappears from sight as we walk into the family room. “So what gives, man? Who’s the woman who’s fucking you up?” I ask, never expecting in a million years the answer he gives.
“Haddie Montgomery.”
COLTON
The house smells like a goddamn bakery. I’ve never had a sweet tooth, but the sight before me is making me crave some sugar. Well, more like a specific dessert that I know from experience tastes so good it can knock this grown man to his knees. I lean against the doorjamb as Rylee moves to the beat as she hums along to some seductive ass song. All I can do is watch her: the way she sways her curves in those killer jeans, tight in all the right places, the tank top that I’d bet my ass has no bra beneath it, and her hair pulled up.
Sweet Jesus. There may be a bag of sugar sitting on the counter beside her, but I sure as shit would prefer the sweetness between her thighs any fucking day of the week.
And that any day is going to start right about now. Long hours testing at the track make for a good day, but ending it like this? Talk about getting to claim a checkered flag when I’m not even in the race.
I watch her. How can I not? Shit, a year ago I would’ve called myself a pussy for thinking that I’d get turned on watching a woman bake Christmas cookies. But damn, that was BR: before Rylee.
There’s something so goddamn sexy about the way she moves to the music. I’m not sure if it’s because she doesn’t know I’m here so she’s letting loose, or if it’s because my fingertips have memorized every inch of skin beneath those fine as fuck jeans. Regardless, it’s worth taking a moment to appreciate.
But I think I need to appreciate it a little closer. Like with my fingers and mouth because I need all hands on deck when it comes to Ryles.
I walk forward, take note of the counters of my kitchen lined with cookies, some frosted, some not. It’s a strange sight in what used to be my bachelor pad, but it makes me smile for some weird reason. It makes me think of a home and how fucking lucky I am that she actually said ‘I do’ a few weeks ago.
We’re married. Talk about crazy.
“Arrgh!” she yelps as I slip my arms around her waist, tug her back against me, and press a kiss to the addictive curve of her neck.
“Hmm, you smell better than the cookies,” I murmur, lips against her skin, dick against the swell of her ass, and my head already filled with the things I want to do to her.
“Good day at the track?” She asks tilting her head to the side so it presses against mine. And there’s something about the motion that just pulls on those dark parts remaining inside of me and tells them, “See? I can be loved.”
“Yeah. Car’s handling good. Needs a few tweaks yet, but it’ll be ready to go.” I rest my chin on her shoulder as she dips her paintbrush in the icing and spreads it over the unfrosted cookie. “What’s all this for?”
“I’m playing Betty Crocker.” She finishes painting a Christmas tree green and holds it up, “See?”
“Can you play her in just an apron and heels and nothing else?” The thought alone has me groaning. Heels and ruffles bent over the kitchen table. Game on, baby.
“And who, kind sir, are you going to play?” She teases, the smile on my lips automatic.
“A baseball player.” She bursts out laughing at our long running joke that takes me back to that first date, cotton candy, and Ferris wheels. And then more cotton candy mixed with the taste of Rylee on my tongue. Fuck. What is it with this woman and sugar that makes me want to bury myself balls deep in her without a second thought? “Wanna see my stick?”
She wiggles her ass where my dick presses against it. The woman loves to test my restraint in every way possible. “Hmm, I can feel your stick all right. Too bad you’re only getting to first base until I finish frosting these cookies.”
Fuck that. Like she doesn’t know she just issued me a challenge I’ll take so much pleasure in winning. Sure as shit, I’ll be sliding into home in no time, frosting and all. “We’ll see about that,” I chuckle into her ear and brush my lips against her neck in that place that she likes. Her body tenses momentarily as goose bumps chase over her skin. This is going to be a piece of cake.
Or I guess I should say a piece of cookie since they’re about to be cleared to the floor so that I can play out my dining room table fantasy.
“Mmm-hmm,” she murmurs. I reach out to dip a finger in the icing, and she bats my hand away. “Hands off, Ace.”
“My hands do what they want,” I say as I place them over her boobs, brush my thumbs over the hard tips of her nipples, and cause that sigh of hers that turns me rock hard to fall from her lips. “And you’ll like it.”
“I will, will I?” She asks and when she turns around to face me, the frosting paintbrush in her hand hits my chin with the natural motion of the action.
Her eyes flicker down to where green frosting is coating my chin and then back up to my eyes. She fights the smile on her lips when I raise my eyebrows in a silent warning. “You want to play dirty now, do you?”
The smirk she was fighting is now full blown as she keeps her eyes locked on mine when she leans forward to lick the frosting off of my chin. I swear to God the tip of her tongue is like an open ended livewire because fuck if an electric shock doesn’t mainline straight down to my dick and then streak back up to jumpstart my heart.
She finishes her tantilization by sucking gently on my chin. “There was some right there,” she murmurs. “I’m just trying to play clean.”
I laugh softly, my cock now thick and ready against her abdomen. Thoughts of wiping the counter clean in one fell swoop so I can have my way with her fill my head again. If she keeps this shit up, it’s going to be more than just a thought.
“Sweetheart, that right there was playing dirty…” She starts to argue with me, but I cut the words off by kissing her again. The frosting on her tongue and the simple taste of her sears my goddamn memory and what feels like my balls from the ache it creates there. Just when I have her where I want her – sinking into me, lips taking, and tongue demanding – I pull back and reach for the paintbrush covered in frosting.
“What?” She feigns innocence as those pursed lips of hers fall open in the shape of an O. And hell if my dick isn’t begging to put the space between them to good use right now.
Before she can comprehend what I’m doing, I have the neckline of her cami-tank pulled down, and sweet Jesus, I was right. No bra. The sight of her pink nipples has every part of my body begging to take her hard and fast. And then that sound – her shocked gasp when I take the brush and paint frosting around her nipple – only serves to intensify that slow, sweet ache I have to take her.
After admiring my handiwork, I flick my eyes back up to hers to find them wide and hazy with need. “See, you’re dirty now too.” I smirk. “Makes it a hell of a lot easier to slide into home plate when you don’t mind a mess.”
“Is that your master plan, huh? This woman has cookies that will burn if —oh God…” she moans as I close my lips over her nipple and gently suck on it, the frosting a nice addition to her already addictive flavor. She part moans, part sighs as I suck a little harder, causing her hands to grab my hair.
“Let the cookies burn,” I say and fuck if the immediate nod of her head isn’t more of a turn on than her tight peak in my mouth. The fact that she wants me just as badly as I do her fuels my desire.
She watches as I paint her other breast. This time I make a production of it despite my body being on edge – want and need crashing into each other. My tongue over frosting. Her fingers in my hair. The heat of her skin on my lips. Christmas cookies only come once a year so I might as well make the most of it.
The banging on the front door startles the hell out of us.
“What the fuck?” I bark as I stand up. Rylee pulls me in to her, tells me to ignore the distraction, and fuck, I’m more than game. No one’s going to stop me from hitting this homerun. We dive back in to our addictive desire with mouths and tongues and her bare chest pressing against mine.
The pounding starts again. “Go away!” I shout in frustration just as Rylee releases me. “No,” I groan against her ear, desperate for more.
“Dude, why’s your door fucking locked?”
Rylee and I lock eyes when we hear Becks’s muted voice. “Go away, Daniels. I’m trying to get laid!”
Rylee laughs and fists a hand in my shirt to pull me in for a chaste kiss before pushing me away. “See what he needs and then you better get your big stick ready because I’m expecting a grand slam, rookie.” She raises her eyebrows in a silent taunt as she lifts her chin for me to get the door.
Rookie? Bullshit. I start to correct her, tell her I’m far from that, but the words get lost in the sight of her stuffing her tits back into her top. She can call me whatever the fuck she wants as long as she’s moaning my name later.
“Yes ma’am,” I say as I adjust my dick in my pants and then yank open the front door. “Dude, you really know how to kill a boner don’t you? You better make this quick because we’re playing baseball here.”
Becks looks at me, confusion on his face, but the quick moment of silence allows me to realize that something’s wrong. His usual smirk and smart ass greeting are missing.
“You look like shit. Must be a woman who has your panties in a bunch. Who is she?” I have to tease him. This is our thing, harassing the shit out each other instead of having some Kumbaya session.
His silence tells me I’m right. It’s woman trouble. And now I’m even more curious. Who the hell has knocked Daniels on his ass while we were on our honeymoon?
Ignoring my question, he glances over my shoulder and nods his head at Ry. No smile. No quip. Something’s definitely up. Fuck. The best friend in me wants to invite him in and the selfish, horny bastard in me doesn’t want to. I glance over my shoulder to where Rylee’s wet and frosted and waiting for me. She meets my gaze. I can see the concern in hers over Becks and that I should deal with him first. But shit, there’s that smudge of green frosting on her collarbone calling to me. Sweet Christ. Am I really picking friend duty over sex?
“This better be good, Daniels, because you’re causing a rain delay in my game,” I say as I step back for him to come inside.
Rylee disappears from sight as we walk into the family room. “So what gives, man? Who’s the woman who’s fucking you up?” I ask, never expecting in a million years the answer he gives.
“Haddie Montgomery.”
November 23, 2016
Thankful . . .
Everyone keeps asking me what I’m thankful for . . . and believe me, I’m thankful for A LOT. I’m thankful for my family, my readers and their support, for words even when they don’t want to come (like this whole week), my health, for this book community, etcetera, but if I really look to pinpoint one thing I’m thankful for, it all comes back to two people. Without them, I wouldn’t have any of this…. so let me explain…
I’m thankful for my parents. They were two young kids who started dating at the age of 13 and 18 (*side eyes to my dad*). They were neighbors living a few houses apart and their brothers were best friends. They met. They dated. People said they’d never last when they got married after my mom graduated high school. That they were young and didn’t know better. But 49 years later, they are still together, married for 43 of those years. And sickeningly happy at that.
So why am I thankful for my parents (besides the obvious that I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for them)? Because they taught me the following:
They taught me that hard work pays off. You may have a leg up, be the low man on the totem pole, or not have an inkling what you are doing, but if you work hard and are dedicated, good things happen. Sure you may get overlooked now and again, but in the end, you’ll be noticed. You’re hard work will pay off.
They taught me that a positive attitude is something you can’t quantify, but that it matters. A whole helluva lot.
They taught me that if I want something, I need to go after it. That just because I’m a *girl* doesn’t mean I can’t do it. Or win it. Or achieve it.
They taught me to get dirty. To put my toes in the mud, to slide into home plate, and to get grass stains on my tights . . . and that good things happen when you’re not afraid to break a nail.
They taught me to dance in the rain. (Driven readers will understand that one)
They taught me that having class, couth, and grace are way more important sometimes than being on top. With these three things, you can hold your head high even if you didn’t win, because you didn’t stoop to a lower level.
They taught me respect. To have it for others and to demand it for myself. And that all relationships stem from this one, simple exchange. Without respect your word means nothing.
They taught me to make my own mistakes. And I know sometimes they wanted to swoop in, swat me on my backside, and tell me what I needed to do instead (*ahem* attend Yale when I opted to stay home instead for a boy) because they knew they’d instilled the right values in me to look back later and realize that my mistakes were HUGE. But because they let me make them, I learned more from them because if it.
They taught me how to be a good parent (which I often feel like I fail at daily). To be patient and know that each of my kids need to have the space to be themselves regardless of what I think they should be.
They taught me to imagine. To think outside the box. To use my creativity when I felt stifled instead of become frustrated.
They taught me to love. To love people regardless of skin color, sexual preference, chocolate preference (because let’s face it, the people who love white chocolate are rare), or any other difference that is out there.
They taught me that your attitude when you lose tells more about your character than your attitude when you win. Lose with class. Win with humility.
They taught me to be humble. To never take anything for granted. To always be grateful. No one likes a spoiled brat.
They taught me to be self sufficient. To be able to care of myself and know that I can, and therefore I can take care of others.
They taught me hugs don’t always fix everything, but they sure as hell make you feel better in the moment.
I could go on and on… but my point being is they are the reason I can do what I do. Without their push to color outside the lines, I never would have had the courage to write a book let alone publish it. Without their love I wouldn’t have had the confidence to face the world and show them I have this creative side that had been hidden behind the very structured and modest person I am. Without their encouragement, I would have never ‘just jumped’ . . . so this Thanksgiving, I’m especially thankful for my parents and the unfathomable ways they have shaped me throughout my life…Is that corny? Possibly. Is it true? Most definitely.
And of course, I’m thankful for you. For taking this journey with me. For letting me fill your imagination with a world that exists on my pages. For your support.
I hope you have a GREAT THANKSGIVING with you and yours. What are you most thankful for?
Kristy
I’m thankful for my parents. They were two young kids who started dating at the age of 13 and 18 (*side eyes to my dad*). They were neighbors living a few houses apart and their brothers were best friends. They met. They dated. People said they’d never last when they got married after my mom graduated high school. That they were young and didn’t know better. But 49 years later, they are still together, married for 43 of those years. And sickeningly happy at that.
So why am I thankful for my parents (besides the obvious that I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for them)? Because they taught me the following:
They taught me that hard work pays off. You may have a leg up, be the low man on the totem pole, or not have an inkling what you are doing, but if you work hard and are dedicated, good things happen. Sure you may get overlooked now and again, but in the end, you’ll be noticed. You’re hard work will pay off.
They taught me that a positive attitude is something you can’t quantify, but that it matters. A whole helluva lot.
They taught me that if I want something, I need to go after it. That just because I’m a *girl* doesn’t mean I can’t do it. Or win it. Or achieve it.
They taught me to get dirty. To put my toes in the mud, to slide into home plate, and to get grass stains on my tights . . . and that good things happen when you’re not afraid to break a nail.
They taught me to dance in the rain. (Driven readers will understand that one)
They taught me that having class, couth, and grace are way more important sometimes than being on top. With these three things, you can hold your head high even if you didn’t win, because you didn’t stoop to a lower level.
They taught me respect. To have it for others and to demand it for myself. And that all relationships stem from this one, simple exchange. Without respect your word means nothing.
They taught me to make my own mistakes. And I know sometimes they wanted to swoop in, swat me on my backside, and tell me what I needed to do instead (*ahem* attend Yale when I opted to stay home instead for a boy) because they knew they’d instilled the right values in me to look back later and realize that my mistakes were HUGE. But because they let me make them, I learned more from them because if it.
They taught me how to be a good parent (which I often feel like I fail at daily). To be patient and know that each of my kids need to have the space to be themselves regardless of what I think they should be.
They taught me to imagine. To think outside the box. To use my creativity when I felt stifled instead of become frustrated.
They taught me to love. To love people regardless of skin color, sexual preference, chocolate preference (because let’s face it, the people who love white chocolate are rare), or any other difference that is out there.
They taught me that your attitude when you lose tells more about your character than your attitude when you win. Lose with class. Win with humility.
They taught me to be humble. To never take anything for granted. To always be grateful. No one likes a spoiled brat.
They taught me to be self sufficient. To be able to care of myself and know that I can, and therefore I can take care of others.
They taught me hugs don’t always fix everything, but they sure as hell make you feel better in the moment.
I could go on and on… but my point being is they are the reason I can do what I do. Without their push to color outside the lines, I never would have had the courage to write a book let alone publish it. Without their love I wouldn’t have had the confidence to face the world and show them I have this creative side that had been hidden behind the very structured and modest person I am. Without their encouragement, I would have never ‘just jumped’ . . . so this Thanksgiving, I’m especially thankful for my parents and the unfathomable ways they have shaped me throughout my life…Is that corny? Possibly. Is it true? Most definitely.
And of course, I’m thankful for you. For taking this journey with me. For letting me fill your imagination with a world that exists on my pages. For your support.
I hope you have a GREAT THANKSGIVING with you and yours. What are you most thankful for?
Kristy
November 14, 2016
Happy Release Day
SWEET CHEEKS is now LIVE on all platforms.
I can’t wait for you all to meet Saylor and Hayes in their unique, sweet, heartfelt second-chance romance.
AMAZON
I can’t wait for you all to meet Saylor and Hayes in their unique, sweet, heartfelt second-chance romance.
AMAZON
November 9, 2016
Your Sweet Cheeks Questions Answered
I have been getting a few of the same questions on repeat in regards to Sweet Cheeks and so I figured I’d answer them all in one place for you.
The Sweet Cheeks e-book will be priced at $3.99 and its official release day is Monday, November 14th.
Sweet Cheeks is up for pre-order on all platforms except for Kindle. Amazon will be a live release and therefore as soon as I have links (I’ll push publish Sunday morning so it might be available this Sunday 11/13) I will let you know.
The best way to be notified that Sweet Cheeks is available is to join my newsletter HERE. And make sure to add my email address (kbrombergwrites@gmail.com) as an approved sender so it doesn’t go to spam.
Sweet Cheeks is not affiliated with the Driven series in any way, shape, or form. This is an all new sexy, playful standalone novel.
If you’d like to order a signed paperback of SWEET CHEEKS, you can do so HERE.
I’ve been asked by many readers how they can help promote the release of Sweet Cheeks. If you are a reader and would like to help, you can fill out this form HERE and I’ll contact you with information shortly.
I have a TON of takeovers on blogs, author groups, etc next week. Make sure to come and say HI and hopefully win a thing or two.
If you do not read on a kindle and would like to pre-order Sweet Cheeks, you can do so here:
iBooks
Nook
Kobo
Paperback (not signed)
Audiobook
I can’t wait for you to get your hands on Hayes and Saylor …. Stay tuned….
The Sweet Cheeks e-book will be priced at $3.99 and its official release day is Monday, November 14th.
Sweet Cheeks is up for pre-order on all platforms except for Kindle. Amazon will be a live release and therefore as soon as I have links (I’ll push publish Sunday morning so it might be available this Sunday 11/13) I will let you know.
The best way to be notified that Sweet Cheeks is available is to join my newsletter HERE. And make sure to add my email address (kbrombergwrites@gmail.com) as an approved sender so it doesn’t go to spam.
Sweet Cheeks is not affiliated with the Driven series in any way, shape, or form. This is an all new sexy, playful standalone novel.
If you’d like to order a signed paperback of SWEET CHEEKS, you can do so HERE.
I’ve been asked by many readers how they can help promote the release of Sweet Cheeks. If you are a reader and would like to help, you can fill out this form HERE and I’ll contact you with information shortly.
I have a TON of takeovers on blogs, author groups, etc next week. Make sure to come and say HI and hopefully win a thing or two.
If you do not read on a kindle and would like to pre-order Sweet Cheeks, you can do so here:
iBooks
Nook
Kobo
Paperback (not signed)
Audiobook
I can’t wait for you to get your hands on Hayes and Saylor …. Stay tuned….
October 14, 2016
Sweet Cheeks Cover Reveal!
SWEET CHEEKS
By K. Bromberg
Release Day: November 14, 2016
Standalone
PRE-ORDER SWEET CHEEKS NOW!
iBooks: http://apple.co/29Plxb6
B&N: http://bit.ly/2bMuSj7
Paperback: http://amzn.to/2bB19dI
Goodreads: http://bit.ly/29NVvpP
Alert when Amazon goes Live: http://bit.ly/2bsdEGX
Cover model: Andrew Biernat
Cover photographer: WanderBook Club
Cover designer: Perfect Pear Creative Covers
By K. Bromberg
Release Day: November 14, 2016
Standalone
An all new second chance love story by the New York Times Bestselling author of the beloved Driven series.
It all started with the invitation. To my ex-fiance’s new wedding.
I should have ignored it. Thrown it away. Set it afire. But I didn’t. I replied.
With a plus one.
And then my assistant accidentally mailed it.
Enter Hayes Whitley. Mega-movie star. The man who has captured the hearts of millions. But I gave him mine years ago. He was my first love. He was my everything. Right until he up and left to chase his dreams without so much as a simple goodbye.
When he showed up out of the blue ten years later, I should have known to steer clear of him. I should have rejected his offer to take me to my ex’s wedding. I should have never let him kiss me.
But I didn’t.
And now we’re left wondering if the pieces of the life we once shared still fit together somehow. First loves are hard to forget. The question is, do we want to forget? Or do we risk the chance and see what happens next?
PRE-ORDER SWEET CHEEKS NOW!
iBooks: http://apple.co/29Plxb6
B&N: http://bit.ly/2bMuSj7
Paperback: http://amzn.to/2bB19dI
Goodreads: http://bit.ly/29NVvpP
Alert when Amazon goes Live: http://bit.ly/2bsdEGX
Click to Enlarge
Cover model: Andrew Biernat
Cover photographer: WanderBook Club
Cover designer: Perfect Pear Creative Covers
October 4, 2016
Down Shift is FINALLY here!
“This book is everything you could ask for – fun, laugh out loud moments, sexy, angsty, heart- warming and absolutely well-written. From the very beginning the writing captivated me right away and did not stop until I finished.” – AC Book Blog
Can you believe that DOWN SHIFT is finally here? I can’t wait for you to get you hands on Zander and Getty’s story so you can fall in love with them and their journey.
So there is always A LOT of craziness during release week, so please use this post as your point of reference for all of your information.
First up, where you can buy Down Shift:
2. Release Week Giveaways:
✺Signed Paperback Giveaway of New Releases. Get info and easy entry HERE
✺Win (1) of (40) $10 Amazon Gift Certificates on some of your favorite authors’ pages. All you have to do is like and share a post to help spread the word that Down Shift has released. You can enter once on each author’s page. Fingers crossed that you win!
3. When you get a chance to read Down Shift, please leave a review if you have a quick moment. Your reviews help give the book some extra visibility and that’s always appreciated.
4. A lot of you are aware I’m attending the New Romance Festival in Bandol at the moment and have asked what you can do to help promote the release since I won’t be online as much as I normally would…the simple answer is tell your friends in book world that Down Shift is out. It’s been a year since it’s release date was announced and so it’s easy for people to forget…so word of mouth, a share/like on a post, or comment here and there helps more than you’ll ever know.
5. Takeovers. It’s release week and release week means I’ll be in some groups hosting some takeovers. You’ll get a chance to win free e-books, Amazon gift cards… and maybe a few surprises thrown in. Here’s a comprehensive list of here I’ll be and at what time in case you want to stop on by…(links for the group will be posted on my Facebook page for you)
Tuesday – October 4th:
1-2 pm – AL Jackson Reader Group
2-3 pm – BBB Romance Room
3-4 pm – One Click Addicts
8-9 pm – Team Wild (Meredith Wild’s group)
9-10 pm – The Holiday Reads group
Wednesday, October 5th
9-10 pm – Social Butterfly Party Room
Thursday, October 6th
8:30 – 9 pm – Vilma’s Vixens
9-10 pm – Fictional Boyfriend’s Group
Friday, October 7th
9-10 pm – Book Besties Group
I think that’s it for now . . . I hope you love reading Down Shift as much as I loved writing it.
Just Jump,
Kristy
August 3, 2016
May 25, 2016
In honor of…
In honor of the Indy 500 taking place this weekend, I thought I might repost this ‘extra’ scene when Colton took the checkered flag there for the first time. Enjoy.
First Wedding Anniversary
“I’m so confused…intrigued…turned on,” Colton says as I lead him by the hand through the tunnel. And the way he says it – half groan, half plea – causes that sweet pang of desire to stir in my core.
“Considering turning you on isn’t very hard to do…” I let the words trail off as his chuckle fills the night around us. Anxiety over all of the details dissipates when I see the blanket laid out with the picnic basket on it. My contacts have done their jobs. Everything else is up to me.
“Don’t you dare lift that blindfold, Ace!” I slap his hand away hoping that all of this was worth it: The surprise private flight, the blindfold I put on him before we landed so that he wouldn’t recognize our location, the mindless chatter to distract him as we walked into the facility.
“So if I leave it on, do I get sexual favors for obeying?” he asks, hope laced with suggestion in his tone.
“You just might get all kinds of favors if you’re lucky,” I taunt. His hand is still in mine but my feet falter when they hit the asphalt track and take in this iconic facility. Even under the cover of night, its enormity looms all around us. Our only company is a single light tree turned on at the opposite end of the grandstand and Sammy keeping guard at the entrance.
I stare at the empty speedway and then back to Colton. For a split second I’m reminded of that night back at the track in Fontana a little over two years ago. When he relieved the burdens on his soul he’d spent a lifetime carrying and let me completely into his life. The poignancy is not lost on me that I’m taking him to a similar setting to celebrate our first wedding anniversary.
“Almost there,” I murmur as I shake away visions from that night, grateful for the journey we’ve been on and the happiness we’ve found.
“I can tell we’re outside, the ground is hard…all I’m going to say is that there better not be a hundred people in front of us waiting to shout surprise, sweetheart, because when I think of a blindfold and you in the same sentence, it brings certain activities or rather positions, to mind and I sure as hell don’t think you’d appreciate having an audience while we play out that scenario. Then again…you might like having someone watch.”
“Just come here and shush.” Men. I roll my eyes and put my hands on his shoulders to position him perfectly: body squared to the asphalt stretch laid out in front of us and feet placed within the band of brick beneath us.
“Bossy, bossy,” he mutters under his breath.
Hours of preparation, secrecy, and anticipation lead up to this moment. He’s helped me find myself, lose myself again with him by my side, given me confidence, made me feel sexy…and whole – something I never thought I’d be again. My love surges as I lean forward and press a kiss to the back of his neck. When he doesn’t flinch, a soft smile forms on my lips.
“I wanted to do something special for you for our first anniversary,” I explain as all of a sudden my nerves begin to hum as I step to his side. I can’t wait to see his reaction.
“Ry…” I love when that tender tone comes into his voice, the one reserved only for me.
“You can look now.”
His trademark smirk returns and then falls into a shocked O as he lifts the blindfold. My heart skips over a beat in excitement as surprise flickers over his features.
“What? Is this…? Holy shit, Ry!” he exclaims as he takes in the sight around us: the famed Indianapolis speedway and its start/finish line delineated in bricks beneath us. I wonder how it looks through his eyes. Is the track still a place where he finds consolation to outrun the demons of his past or is it now a path to a brighter future where he can enjoy the wind in his face instead of worrying about the ghosts that linger?
“Surprise!” I hold my hands out to my sides and shrug, tears burning the back of my eyes. Colton swoops me up in his arms and spins me around, his laugh echoing around us.
His lips find mine causing that instant chemistry we always have to spark to life. I can tell he’s torn between prolonging our kiss and stopping to ask questions. I don’t make him choose. I pull back so that I can explain but he stops me.
“No. Not yet. Give me a minute,” he murmurs against my lips as he rests his forehead against mine and pulls me in closer.
After a few moments of silence, he kisses my nose and then slowly releases me so that my body can slide down the length of his. That spark? It turns into a full-blown wildfire at the feel of his chest, hard and strong, against my breasts.
“Ry…?” he says, voice gruff, fingers lacing with mine.
“What’s the one race you’ve yet to win?”
“The Indy 500,” he states, eyebrows narrowing as he tries to figure out where I’m going with this.
I take a few steps away, the coy smirk on my face unmistakable. “You mean you’ve never claimed the checkered flag here?”
“No.” He angles his head to the side and stares. I can tell he’s working this all out, thinks he knows where I’m going with it, but doesn’t believe I’d step outside of the box and do something like this.
Time to prove him wrong.
Taking another step toward the blanket, I begin to unbutton the top of my dress. His eyes widen. His breath hitches. His fingers fidget to reach out and touch. And even after a year of marriage, I love that offering myself to him still causes this reaction. It’s powerful. Heady. Comforting.
“Well…” I bite my bottom lip and shrug out of my dress so it can slide down my body and pool at my feet. “I’m giving you an opportunity to claim it. Right now.”
His eyes scrape over the sultry combination of lace and leather I’ve been hiding beneath my dress. His lips part in disbelief before slowly spreading into that I’m-going-to-claim-that-checkered-flag smirk of his that makes my stomach somersault. When he steps toward me, I’m able to see so many things in his eyes through the darkness: surprise, amusement, acceptance, and desire.
But the one emotion I recognize more than any other is the one thing he thought he could never give anyone: love. And that warms me more than anything as the arrogant, bad boy I fell in love with walks toward me with a swagger that says he’s going to claim what’s his.
“Fuckin’ A, Ry…” he groans as he takes another look at my ensemble before reaching out and yanking my body against his. Our lips are inches apart, our bodies breathing as one, and our hearts pound against each other’s.
“You gonna claim this checkered flag, Ace?” I raise my eyebrows to taunt him all the while every nerve in my body is attuned to everything about him: his cologne, the hitch of his breath, the widening of his eyes as they grow hazy with desire, and the unmistakable feeling of his dick hardening against me.
“Baby, I was born to claim it.” I catch a glimpse of his smirk a heartbeat before his mouth slants over mine. Our tongues intertwine in a savage union of lust and want, desire and greed, and I know there’s no turning back. Hands roam like we are touching for the first time, fingertips digging possessively into flesh, and it’s still not enough – will never be – because everything I feel for my husband intensifies with each passing day.
And by the way he’s kissing me, I know he feels the same. He nips my lip and pulls on it softly as he leans back, need in his eyes and my name a strained sound on his lips when his fingers dip between my thighs to find out that my panties are crotchless.
“Happy first anniversary.”
“Fuck!” he groans. “You trying to get me to rip these off of you?” He asks as his fingers slide along the seam of my sex. And now it’s my turn for my breath to stutter from the expertise of his touch, and the anticipation that he knows what my body needs without having to say a single word.
“Fucking is the point. And the panties?” I say, my breath hitching when he slides his finders back and forth coating them with my own arousal, teasing my clit with a hint of touch before moving back down. “They save you from ripping them off of me.” On the last slide up and down, he tucks his fingers into me. My fingernails score his shoulders as I hold tight and let the sensation swamp me when
We both groan. My muscles contract around him in response causing every interior nerve to engage. The night around us fills with the sounds of my moans and his hushed praise as he works his fingers in and out of me.
“You’re so wet,” he murmurs against the skin of my shoulder The warmth of his breath causes goose bumps to race over my skin despite the heated fever pitch he’s working my body into. “I’m gonna make you come…then I’m gonna lay you down, fuck you hard and fast because you – this – right now – has me so fucking turned on…but after…later…I’ll make it up to you. I’ll slide my tongue in your pussy, flick it over your clit until you come so hard your muscles will be sore tomorrow from it.”
His words, his actions, the here and now – all three of them drive me faster to the edge. “Colton,” I pant as I buck my hips into his hands, taking what I want, getting what I need. And what I need is more.
“Almost there.” He changes the angle, adjusts the pressure, and adds his thumb against my swollen clit. Within a minute that ball of white hot heat churning in my belly explodes into lightning bolts of pleasure, surging out to my limbs before retracing their steps right back to the apex of my thighs with a pleasure so intense it bears on painful.
Still lost in my post-orgasmic high, I don’t realize he’s supporting my sagging yet sated body until he withdraws his fingers from me and steps back. My legs are unsteady but I get lost in the devilish smirk on his lips when he brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks on them. There is something so damn hot about the action but it’s the words he says next that are even sexier.
“My turn.” He unfastens his pants, pulls down the zipper, and frees his dick. I lick my lips in reflex as he runs his hand up and back over its length. He’s a striking picture standing there so devastatingly handsome with dark hair and broad shoulders looking so much like the bad boy I never wanted but now can’t imagine living without. My heart swells in my chest. And then of course when he strokes himself and lets his head fall back so I can watch, I’m seriously turned on.
Like that’s not hard to be when it comes to Colton.
He lifts his head back up, emerald eyes blazing through the darkness. “Get on all fours,” he commands and my pussy clenches at the dominance in his tone. A part of me wants to challenge him, keep my control, but with my panties wet and body on fire for his touch, I obey. Ever so slowly, I turn my back to him, make a show of dropping to my knees, and crawl out onto my hands.
The carnal sound he emits deep in the back of his throat tells me he likes what he sees: my ass in the air, lace top stockings at mid thigh, and my face looking over my shoulder with a coy smile. Colton moves toward me, his teeth biting his bottom lip and his hungry eyes roam over the lines of my body as he drops to his knees.
His hands knead the flesh of my hips, fingers laced with intention and dick rubbing ever so softly at my opening. My lips fall lax at the sensation and I drop my head down to wait for the pleasure just within reach. I’m lost in that suspended state of anticipation when he surprises me by leaning over, his chest to my torso so he can scrape his stubbled chin against the bare curve of my shoulder.
“You blindfolded me, took the reins…mmm…it was fucking hot, Ry, but a man has to get his control back somehow…And I’m taking that control right now.” The deep timbre of his voice is strained – the sound of a man about to lose restraint – and the knowledge that I can do this to him, for him, still surprises me and turns me on.
“You want control?” I ask
His chuckle resonates as he runs his chin down the bare skin of my back. With one hand on my hip, he takes the other and runs the crest of his cock up and down my pussy to make sure I’m ready for him.
“Then take it, Ace.”
The words aren’t even out of my mouth before he enters me in one slick thrust. We both cry out from the sensation. My hips buck from that pleasurable burn that tells me he’s filling me to the edge of reason and from the knowledge of what’s coming next. Because God yes, I love the soft and slow with Colton but damn if I don’t like his hard and fast too. To know that I can push my husband to the brink, cause that animalistic urge to surface momentarily as he pistons into me is an extremely heady and satisfying feeling.
And no sooner than the thought passes through my desire laden mind, does he start the slow withdraw out before grinding back into me. That sweet ache of pleasure begins to simmer anew. The feel of his hands – one on my waist and the other on my shoulder holding me against him so that he can draw out every last sensation gives the whole act a sense of desperation.
Take. Harder. Sate. Faster. More. Deeper. The words flash in my mind but die in the fog of pleasure he’s wrapping around me.
“Goddamn woman,” he says drawing the words out. The slap of his body against mine and our harsh panting as he picks up the pace are the only sounds we make. Our bodies move in perfect synch, his action becomes my reaction, causing my knees to dig into the unforgiving asphalt beneath the blanket. But I welcome the pain with the pleasure because my body is riding that fine line of heightened sensation and it only enhances the intensity.
He changes the angle some, pushing himself deeper, faster, harder – unconsciously giving me all of the things I wanted to ask of him – until he cries out my name in a harsh growl. His hips buck, fingers bruise and soothe all at the same time as he loses his control to me once again.
After a moment, he loosens his hold just before I feel the brush of his lips against my bare shoulder. I can’t help my soft moan that falls in protest as he slips out of me. He shifts to sit on the blanket beside me and we lock eyes. So many emotions surge within and pass between us without speaking a single word. The moment is so real, so raw, so packed with feeling that I can’t help but remember our first date and my thoughts as I looked in my rearview mirror at him standing beneath the street light.
“Most definitely an angel,” I murmur, overwhelmed with how far we’ve come since that night.
Colton narrows his eyes and angles his head, “An angel? What are you talking about?”
The soft smile on my lips spreads. “Nothing,” I say with a shake of my head. The man’s ego doesn’t need any more boosting. Colton doesn’t need me to tell him that I know the answer to the question without a doubt. He was most definitely an angel fighting through the darkness. My angel.
Confusion flickers over his face momentarily before he leans forward and cups the side of my face, thumb brushing over my bottom lip still swollen from his kiss. The depth of emotion in his eyes causes a lump to form in my throat because I know I’m responsible for them. The man who never thought he could feel, now feels in spades.
And this should be humorous: him with his pants half down and me in lace and leather sitting on a blanket in the dark in the middle of an empty racetrack. But it’s not. It’s perfect. It’s us.
It’s perfectly imperfect.
“Happy anniversary,” I whisper.
“Happy anniversary.” He leans forward and kisses me tenderly. Our lips linger against each other’s and I feel his mouth spread into a smile. “I can’t believe you gave me the only checkered flag I’ve never claimed for our first anniversary.” The awe in his voice warms my heart and makes all of the trouble I went through to do this worth it, a thousand times over.
“I had to make it memorable. Moments like this only happen once in a lifetime.”
“Everything with you is memorable,” he says winning my heart all over again, “because you’re my once in a lifetime.”
First Wedding Anniversary
“I’m so confused…intrigued…turned on,” Colton says as I lead him by the hand through the tunnel. And the way he says it – half groan, half plea – causes that sweet pang of desire to stir in my core.
“Considering turning you on isn’t very hard to do…” I let the words trail off as his chuckle fills the night around us. Anxiety over all of the details dissipates when I see the blanket laid out with the picnic basket on it. My contacts have done their jobs. Everything else is up to me.
“Don’t you dare lift that blindfold, Ace!” I slap his hand away hoping that all of this was worth it: The surprise private flight, the blindfold I put on him before we landed so that he wouldn’t recognize our location, the mindless chatter to distract him as we walked into the facility.
“So if I leave it on, do I get sexual favors for obeying?” he asks, hope laced with suggestion in his tone.
“You just might get all kinds of favors if you’re lucky,” I taunt. His hand is still in mine but my feet falter when they hit the asphalt track and take in this iconic facility. Even under the cover of night, its enormity looms all around us. Our only company is a single light tree turned on at the opposite end of the grandstand and Sammy keeping guard at the entrance.
I stare at the empty speedway and then back to Colton. For a split second I’m reminded of that night back at the track in Fontana a little over two years ago. When he relieved the burdens on his soul he’d spent a lifetime carrying and let me completely into his life. The poignancy is not lost on me that I’m taking him to a similar setting to celebrate our first wedding anniversary.
“Almost there,” I murmur as I shake away visions from that night, grateful for the journey we’ve been on and the happiness we’ve found.
“I can tell we’re outside, the ground is hard…all I’m going to say is that there better not be a hundred people in front of us waiting to shout surprise, sweetheart, because when I think of a blindfold and you in the same sentence, it brings certain activities or rather positions, to mind and I sure as hell don’t think you’d appreciate having an audience while we play out that scenario. Then again…you might like having someone watch.”
“Just come here and shush.” Men. I roll my eyes and put my hands on his shoulders to position him perfectly: body squared to the asphalt stretch laid out in front of us and feet placed within the band of brick beneath us.
“Bossy, bossy,” he mutters under his breath.
Hours of preparation, secrecy, and anticipation lead up to this moment. He’s helped me find myself, lose myself again with him by my side, given me confidence, made me feel sexy…and whole – something I never thought I’d be again. My love surges as I lean forward and press a kiss to the back of his neck. When he doesn’t flinch, a soft smile forms on my lips.
“I wanted to do something special for you for our first anniversary,” I explain as all of a sudden my nerves begin to hum as I step to his side. I can’t wait to see his reaction.
“Ry…” I love when that tender tone comes into his voice, the one reserved only for me.
“You can look now.”
His trademark smirk returns and then falls into a shocked O as he lifts the blindfold. My heart skips over a beat in excitement as surprise flickers over his features.
“What? Is this…? Holy shit, Ry!” he exclaims as he takes in the sight around us: the famed Indianapolis speedway and its start/finish line delineated in bricks beneath us. I wonder how it looks through his eyes. Is the track still a place where he finds consolation to outrun the demons of his past or is it now a path to a brighter future where he can enjoy the wind in his face instead of worrying about the ghosts that linger?
“Surprise!” I hold my hands out to my sides and shrug, tears burning the back of my eyes. Colton swoops me up in his arms and spins me around, his laugh echoing around us.
His lips find mine causing that instant chemistry we always have to spark to life. I can tell he’s torn between prolonging our kiss and stopping to ask questions. I don’t make him choose. I pull back so that I can explain but he stops me.
“No. Not yet. Give me a minute,” he murmurs against my lips as he rests his forehead against mine and pulls me in closer.
After a few moments of silence, he kisses my nose and then slowly releases me so that my body can slide down the length of his. That spark? It turns into a full-blown wildfire at the feel of his chest, hard and strong, against my breasts.
“Ry…?” he says, voice gruff, fingers lacing with mine.
“What’s the one race you’ve yet to win?”
“The Indy 500,” he states, eyebrows narrowing as he tries to figure out where I’m going with this.
I take a few steps away, the coy smirk on my face unmistakable. “You mean you’ve never claimed the checkered flag here?”
“No.” He angles his head to the side and stares. I can tell he’s working this all out, thinks he knows where I’m going with it, but doesn’t believe I’d step outside of the box and do something like this.
Time to prove him wrong.
Taking another step toward the blanket, I begin to unbutton the top of my dress. His eyes widen. His breath hitches. His fingers fidget to reach out and touch. And even after a year of marriage, I love that offering myself to him still causes this reaction. It’s powerful. Heady. Comforting.
“Well…” I bite my bottom lip and shrug out of my dress so it can slide down my body and pool at my feet. “I’m giving you an opportunity to claim it. Right now.”
His eyes scrape over the sultry combination of lace and leather I’ve been hiding beneath my dress. His lips part in disbelief before slowly spreading into that I’m-going-to-claim-that-checkered-flag smirk of his that makes my stomach somersault. When he steps toward me, I’m able to see so many things in his eyes through the darkness: surprise, amusement, acceptance, and desire.
But the one emotion I recognize more than any other is the one thing he thought he could never give anyone: love. And that warms me more than anything as the arrogant, bad boy I fell in love with walks toward me with a swagger that says he’s going to claim what’s his.
“Fuckin’ A, Ry…” he groans as he takes another look at my ensemble before reaching out and yanking my body against his. Our lips are inches apart, our bodies breathing as one, and our hearts pound against each other’s.
“You gonna claim this checkered flag, Ace?” I raise my eyebrows to taunt him all the while every nerve in my body is attuned to everything about him: his cologne, the hitch of his breath, the widening of his eyes as they grow hazy with desire, and the unmistakable feeling of his dick hardening against me.
“Baby, I was born to claim it.” I catch a glimpse of his smirk a heartbeat before his mouth slants over mine. Our tongues intertwine in a savage union of lust and want, desire and greed, and I know there’s no turning back. Hands roam like we are touching for the first time, fingertips digging possessively into flesh, and it’s still not enough – will never be – because everything I feel for my husband intensifies with each passing day.
And by the way he’s kissing me, I know he feels the same. He nips my lip and pulls on it softly as he leans back, need in his eyes and my name a strained sound on his lips when his fingers dip between my thighs to find out that my panties are crotchless.
“Happy first anniversary.”
“Fuck!” he groans. “You trying to get me to rip these off of you?” He asks as his fingers slide along the seam of my sex. And now it’s my turn for my breath to stutter from the expertise of his touch, and the anticipation that he knows what my body needs without having to say a single word.
“Fucking is the point. And the panties?” I say, my breath hitching when he slides his finders back and forth coating them with my own arousal, teasing my clit with a hint of touch before moving back down. “They save you from ripping them off of me.” On the last slide up and down, he tucks his fingers into me. My fingernails score his shoulders as I hold tight and let the sensation swamp me when
We both groan. My muscles contract around him in response causing every interior nerve to engage. The night around us fills with the sounds of my moans and his hushed praise as he works his fingers in and out of me.
“You’re so wet,” he murmurs against the skin of my shoulder The warmth of his breath causes goose bumps to race over my skin despite the heated fever pitch he’s working my body into. “I’m gonna make you come…then I’m gonna lay you down, fuck you hard and fast because you – this – right now – has me so fucking turned on…but after…later…I’ll make it up to you. I’ll slide my tongue in your pussy, flick it over your clit until you come so hard your muscles will be sore tomorrow from it.”
His words, his actions, the here and now – all three of them drive me faster to the edge. “Colton,” I pant as I buck my hips into his hands, taking what I want, getting what I need. And what I need is more.
“Almost there.” He changes the angle, adjusts the pressure, and adds his thumb against my swollen clit. Within a minute that ball of white hot heat churning in my belly explodes into lightning bolts of pleasure, surging out to my limbs before retracing their steps right back to the apex of my thighs with a pleasure so intense it bears on painful.
Still lost in my post-orgasmic high, I don’t realize he’s supporting my sagging yet sated body until he withdraws his fingers from me and steps back. My legs are unsteady but I get lost in the devilish smirk on his lips when he brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks on them. There is something so damn hot about the action but it’s the words he says next that are even sexier.
“My turn.” He unfastens his pants, pulls down the zipper, and frees his dick. I lick my lips in reflex as he runs his hand up and back over its length. He’s a striking picture standing there so devastatingly handsome with dark hair and broad shoulders looking so much like the bad boy I never wanted but now can’t imagine living without. My heart swells in my chest. And then of course when he strokes himself and lets his head fall back so I can watch, I’m seriously turned on.
Like that’s not hard to be when it comes to Colton.
He lifts his head back up, emerald eyes blazing through the darkness. “Get on all fours,” he commands and my pussy clenches at the dominance in his tone. A part of me wants to challenge him, keep my control, but with my panties wet and body on fire for his touch, I obey. Ever so slowly, I turn my back to him, make a show of dropping to my knees, and crawl out onto my hands.
The carnal sound he emits deep in the back of his throat tells me he likes what he sees: my ass in the air, lace top stockings at mid thigh, and my face looking over my shoulder with a coy smile. Colton moves toward me, his teeth biting his bottom lip and his hungry eyes roam over the lines of my body as he drops to his knees.
His hands knead the flesh of my hips, fingers laced with intention and dick rubbing ever so softly at my opening. My lips fall lax at the sensation and I drop my head down to wait for the pleasure just within reach. I’m lost in that suspended state of anticipation when he surprises me by leaning over, his chest to my torso so he can scrape his stubbled chin against the bare curve of my shoulder.
“You blindfolded me, took the reins…mmm…it was fucking hot, Ry, but a man has to get his control back somehow…And I’m taking that control right now.” The deep timbre of his voice is strained – the sound of a man about to lose restraint – and the knowledge that I can do this to him, for him, still surprises me and turns me on.
“You want control?” I ask
His chuckle resonates as he runs his chin down the bare skin of my back. With one hand on my hip, he takes the other and runs the crest of his cock up and down my pussy to make sure I’m ready for him.
“Then take it, Ace.”
The words aren’t even out of my mouth before he enters me in one slick thrust. We both cry out from the sensation. My hips buck from that pleasurable burn that tells me he’s filling me to the edge of reason and from the knowledge of what’s coming next. Because God yes, I love the soft and slow with Colton but damn if I don’t like his hard and fast too. To know that I can push my husband to the brink, cause that animalistic urge to surface momentarily as he pistons into me is an extremely heady and satisfying feeling.
And no sooner than the thought passes through my desire laden mind, does he start the slow withdraw out before grinding back into me. That sweet ache of pleasure begins to simmer anew. The feel of his hands – one on my waist and the other on my shoulder holding me against him so that he can draw out every last sensation gives the whole act a sense of desperation.
Take. Harder. Sate. Faster. More. Deeper. The words flash in my mind but die in the fog of pleasure he’s wrapping around me.
“Goddamn woman,” he says drawing the words out. The slap of his body against mine and our harsh panting as he picks up the pace are the only sounds we make. Our bodies move in perfect synch, his action becomes my reaction, causing my knees to dig into the unforgiving asphalt beneath the blanket. But I welcome the pain with the pleasure because my body is riding that fine line of heightened sensation and it only enhances the intensity.
He changes the angle some, pushing himself deeper, faster, harder – unconsciously giving me all of the things I wanted to ask of him – until he cries out my name in a harsh growl. His hips buck, fingers bruise and soothe all at the same time as he loses his control to me once again.
After a moment, he loosens his hold just before I feel the brush of his lips against my bare shoulder. I can’t help my soft moan that falls in protest as he slips out of me. He shifts to sit on the blanket beside me and we lock eyes. So many emotions surge within and pass between us without speaking a single word. The moment is so real, so raw, so packed with feeling that I can’t help but remember our first date and my thoughts as I looked in my rearview mirror at him standing beneath the street light.
“Most definitely an angel,” I murmur, overwhelmed with how far we’ve come since that night.
Colton narrows his eyes and angles his head, “An angel? What are you talking about?”
The soft smile on my lips spreads. “Nothing,” I say with a shake of my head. The man’s ego doesn’t need any more boosting. Colton doesn’t need me to tell him that I know the answer to the question without a doubt. He was most definitely an angel fighting through the darkness. My angel.
Confusion flickers over his face momentarily before he leans forward and cups the side of my face, thumb brushing over my bottom lip still swollen from his kiss. The depth of emotion in his eyes causes a lump to form in my throat because I know I’m responsible for them. The man who never thought he could feel, now feels in spades.
And this should be humorous: him with his pants half down and me in lace and leather sitting on a blanket in the dark in the middle of an empty racetrack. But it’s not. It’s perfect. It’s us.
It’s perfectly imperfect.
“Happy anniversary,” I whisper.
“Happy anniversary.” He leans forward and kisses me tenderly. Our lips linger against each other’s and I feel his mouth spread into a smile. “I can’t believe you gave me the only checkered flag I’ve never claimed for our first anniversary.” The awe in his voice warms my heart and makes all of the trouble I went through to do this worth it, a thousand times over.
“I had to make it memorable. Moments like this only happen once in a lifetime.”
“Everything with you is memorable,” he says winning my heart all over again, “because you’re my once in a lifetime.”
May 4, 2016
When was the first time you fell in love with Colton Donavan?
When was the first time you fell in love with Colton Donavan? I’ve been reading through quotes from all five of the books in preparation for the new covers to be revealed Monday, May 9th … And I thought since next week will be the third anniversary of Driven’s release, I’d ask the question:
When was the first time Colton Donavan captured your heart?
Was it somewhere in Driven? Or possibly Fueled? Or did you have trudge through Crashed to see how it ended for you to finally fall for him?
For me? There were so many moments for me. I loved in Driven when he met Zander for the first time because I knew there was more there…. but the moment I knew he was going to be hard for me to top, was when I wrote Fueled’s prologue. We saw the invisible scars beneath his hard ass facade. And then the shower scene that followed…. and basically every chapter after that stole a tiny bit of my heart as I wrote it.
*Warning – SPOILERS ahead*
In Fueled, I loved writing drunk Colton when he couldn’t spell ‘inebriated’ …. Or in Las Vegas in the garage when he knew he wanted Rylee, but just couldn’t find the way to let her in. I loved Colton in the limo when he was contemplating Rylee being underdressed/overdressed. Or when he placed Rylee in front of that mirror to show her why he chooses her. And even that next day, I lost a little more of my heart to him when he sat in that dive bar (what I call the Humpty Dumpty chapter) and broke the mirror with his fist. And then damn, when he stood amidst the swirling chaos at the track and called out, “Hey Ryles,” and then said those three words that have become so important to this series, I Race You. And then the four words of that last chapter…. my heart jumped in my throat as I wrote it.
And then there were the scenes in Crashed that tied more little ribbons around my heart. Colton needing Rylee to be strong when he couldn’t. The scene on the chaise lounges when Rylee explained how she loved the broken, the bent, and every other part of him. Or when he finally remembered he raced her. And then came trouble. With Tawny. With the unexpected. With Zander’s father. With the ‘Say Something” chapter. That chapter was my proof to the reader that Colton could be the man we all thought he could be. And maybe we even fell in love with Becks some too. When he showed Colton where his alphabet, A to Z, was. His emotions understanding what was happening stole my heart…. but nothing compares to the scene when he’s at the track with Rylee at night time. When he bares his demons to her. His raw honestly and brutal confession tore my heart apart and then put it all back together when he finally told her the words for real… I love you. So many chances to fall for him in Crashed. Then the proposal. The scavenger hunt. The wedding.
But then came the unexpected Raced. The insight to his thoughts. The moments he realized he really loved Rylee. The moment he figured out that damn grain of sand was so much more than what he ever thought.
And lastly was Aced… *sigh* The book where Colton took everything we’d witnessed in the previous four books and we were able to see the man he’d become. The husband we knew he could be. The rock for Rylee when she needed him the most. His thoughts seeing Ace for the first time. His heart to heart with his son as he struggled to be a dad. The endless memories he made up for Rylee to hold onto until she could overcome her burden. Marriage and responsibility definitely made him sexier and love him that much more…
So many moments throughout this series that stole my heart – piece by piece. And now that I’m looking back, I forgot so many of them and smile at the memory of where I was when I wrote it or how I got the idea for the scene in the first place… or it makes me recall an email I received from a reader about how this or that scene touched them.
So as we await the new covers to be revealed next week, tell me, when did you first fall in love with Colton Donavan?
When was the first time Colton Donavan captured your heart?
Was it somewhere in Driven? Or possibly Fueled? Or did you have trudge through Crashed to see how it ended for you to finally fall for him?
For me? There were so many moments for me. I loved in Driven when he met Zander for the first time because I knew there was more there…. but the moment I knew he was going to be hard for me to top, was when I wrote Fueled’s prologue. We saw the invisible scars beneath his hard ass facade. And then the shower scene that followed…. and basically every chapter after that stole a tiny bit of my heart as I wrote it.
*Warning – SPOILERS ahead*
In Fueled, I loved writing drunk Colton when he couldn’t spell ‘inebriated’ …. Or in Las Vegas in the garage when he knew he wanted Rylee, but just couldn’t find the way to let her in. I loved Colton in the limo when he was contemplating Rylee being underdressed/overdressed. Or when he placed Rylee in front of that mirror to show her why he chooses her. And even that next day, I lost a little more of my heart to him when he sat in that dive bar (what I call the Humpty Dumpty chapter) and broke the mirror with his fist. And then damn, when he stood amidst the swirling chaos at the track and called out, “Hey Ryles,” and then said those three words that have become so important to this series, I Race You. And then the four words of that last chapter…. my heart jumped in my throat as I wrote it.
And then there were the scenes in Crashed that tied more little ribbons around my heart. Colton needing Rylee to be strong when he couldn’t. The scene on the chaise lounges when Rylee explained how she loved the broken, the bent, and every other part of him. Or when he finally remembered he raced her. And then came trouble. With Tawny. With the unexpected. With Zander’s father. With the ‘Say Something” chapter. That chapter was my proof to the reader that Colton could be the man we all thought he could be. And maybe we even fell in love with Becks some too. When he showed Colton where his alphabet, A to Z, was. His emotions understanding what was happening stole my heart…. but nothing compares to the scene when he’s at the track with Rylee at night time. When he bares his demons to her. His raw honestly and brutal confession tore my heart apart and then put it all back together when he finally told her the words for real… I love you. So many chances to fall for him in Crashed. Then the proposal. The scavenger hunt. The wedding.
But then came the unexpected Raced. The insight to his thoughts. The moments he realized he really loved Rylee. The moment he figured out that damn grain of sand was so much more than what he ever thought.
And lastly was Aced… *sigh* The book where Colton took everything we’d witnessed in the previous four books and we were able to see the man he’d become. The husband we knew he could be. The rock for Rylee when she needed him the most. His thoughts seeing Ace for the first time. His heart to heart with his son as he struggled to be a dad. The endless memories he made up for Rylee to hold onto until she could overcome her burden. Marriage and responsibility definitely made him sexier and love him that much more…
So many moments throughout this series that stole my heart – piece by piece. And now that I’m looking back, I forgot so many of them and smile at the memory of where I was when I wrote it or how I got the idea for the scene in the first place… or it makes me recall an email I received from a reader about how this or that scene touched them.
So as we await the new covers to be revealed next week, tell me, when did you first fall in love with Colton Donavan?
