She pushed back against him. Her hands had slid a little and she felt almost bent over in place, her bottom high as she backed up, searching for him.
On her next wiggle backward, she was rewarded with the surge of his hips moving forward, and he sank himself to the hilt. Beth Ann cried out at the intense sensation.
“That what you wanted, darlin’?” he asked huskily, and pumped into her slowly again, pushing until his full length was rubbing inside her.
“Yes,” she moaned, her eyes squeezed shut with the onslaught.
“You want me to push into you again? Or was that enough for you?”
God, he loved teasing her. Making her beg for more. “More,” she panted. “I need more.”
He pushed deep again, the movement slow and excruciating in its exquisiteness. Beth Ann moaned with need. He was making love to her so slowly, so sweetly, but she needed more. When he dragged his c**k slowly out of her once more, and then just as unhurriedly sank back in again, she whimpered.
“What do you want, Beth Ann?”
“You,” she whimpered. “Harder. Faster. Please, Colt. Take me fast.”
She didn’t need to repeat it. He surged deep into her again, the force of his thrust rocking her forward on her feet and sending a tidal wave of pure pleasure through her. He thrust again, and again, his hands locked on her hips, and then she was clinging to the wall for support as he thrust into her over and over again, his hard motions rocking the two of them forward with every thrust. His skin smacked against her own, and oh God, she was so close to coming. One hand left the wall and she slipped it between her legs, brushing against her clit as he slammed into her.
“That’s my girl,” he rasped hoarsely. “Touch yourself.”
She did, and immediately cried out as the orgasm blew through her like a tornado. Her body clenched, hard, and she stiffened with a low, guttural moan that she wasn’t entirely sure came from her own throat.
He thrust hard twice more, rocking against her body, and then he growled her name. “Beth Ann!” and then he was coming, too, and she felt his body jerk and clench against her own stiff one.
When she came down, she panted, blinking rapidly as her surroundings came back into focus. Delicate pink claw marks marred the edges of the white painted wall where she’d clung to the sides of the window.
Colt’s body slid from hers and she felt his hands tug her skirts down, heard his zipper go up and his belt fasten. And then he was pulling her against him from behind, and kissing her neck, now damp with a sheen of sweat. “You are always incredible.”
She smiled, wrapping her arms around his and leaning back against him. An “I love you” bubbled up in her throat, and she almost blurted it out.
Then she stopped, shocked. She couldn’t be in love with Colt already, could she? Oh lord. Was she crazy? This was supposed to be an easy, casual relationship. He’d think she was rebounding hard if she started declaring love for him after only a month of dating. He needed to declare it first. Then she’d feel safe confessing her own love to him.
“Something wrong?” he asked, squeezing his arms around her waist and nuzzling his face against her throat. “Nothing,” she said lightly, hating that she had to conceal it. All that big talk about truth and here she was lying, too. “Just wondering if I should mention to Georgia that I clawed up the paint job.”
“Nah,” Colt drawled. He looked at the place, then grinned. “Probably an improvement.”
TWELVE
Beth Ann slowly spun around in the barber’s chair. She’d painted her own nails, waxed her own brows, dyed a pink streak in her own hair out of sheer boredom.
No customers.
The realization was like a sick, gnawing ache in her stomach.
She’d failed. Her business had failed. Everything she’d worked so hard for. Failed. She rose from the chair and moved to the front door, stepped outside into the autumn breeze. The Bluebonnet town square bustled with people, a few tourists enjoying the quaint shopping, locals getting their chores done. The Halloween Festival banner swayed over Main Street square, and down the street, she could see the utility building. Miranda would be working today—her volunteers never wanted to work on a Saturday. She wished her friend would come over so she could mess with someone’s hair other than her own. So it’d look like she had at least one client.
There was nothing sadder than an empty salon.
Almost against her will, she glanced down the street. Still no permanent sign over Cutz, but she could see people sitting in the waiting room, magazines in hand. Were those her clients? How on earth had that woman stolen all her clients?
What had she done that was so wrong? She hadn’t changed her prices. She hadn’t cut anyone’s hair badly or botched a nail job. Beth Ann didn’t understand it. And if she didn’t understand it, she couldn’t fix it. The sick gnawing in her stomach grew worse. The breeze picked up, leaves scattering down the busy street. The Halloween Festival was in two weeks. Soon, she’d be done with that horrible committee, and then hopefully she could avoid Allan for a few weeks.
As if thinking about him had summoned him, Allan’s shiny BMW turned down the street. She groaned and quickly headed back inside her shop. Please don’t stop here, please don’t stop here—
The car pulled up into the empty parking space in front of her salon.
“Fuck!” She clenched her fists. Okay, so she’d resorted to cussing. It did feel better than just saying “fiddlesticks” or “fudge.” She should cuss more often. It always sounded so sexy when Colt did it.
The doorbell clanged and Allan stepped in, his expensive leather jacket sweeping around him. He grinned over at her, his gaze taking in the empty salon. “Looks like I caught you at just the right time.”
“What do you want, Allan?”
He gave her a wounded look, as if surprised by her defensiveness. “I just wanted to talk. Maybe get a haircut.”
“I don’t really feel like talking right now. We can talk when we get to the committee meeting.”
He looked disappointed, his shoulders slumping. “I thought I could walk you over when we were done here.”
She sighed. Stared at her empty chair. She was going to learn to live with Allan. If he was going to be polite and nice, she could extend an olive branch as well. With a small smile, she gestured at her chair.