Consolation Prize (Forbidden Men Book 9) (28 page)

Colton burst out laughing as he popped a handful of Sour Patch Kids into his mouth. When he glanced at me to share the amusement, he finally noticed I wasn’t paying any attention to the movie.

“Seriously, why do you keep looking at me like that?”

I shook my head, not really sure myself. “I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on with you? You’re acting...sweet.”

Huffing as if offended, he said, “I
am
sweet.”

“I guess,” I murmured, though he was taking sweet to a whole new level.

Not that I was going to complain. I wrapped my arms around his bicep, rested my chin on his shoulder and commenced to watch the movie with him. By the time the closing credits rolled, I’d fallen asleep.

I woke to Colton shutting my computer and easing it off my lap.

“Mmm,” I stirred, burrowing closer to his warmth and amazing Colton smell.

He chuckled and kissed my hair. “I think I’m going to take off and let you get some sleep.”

I clutched him tighter and mumbled my resistance.

“You want me to stay?” he asked, tracing his fingertips along my cheek. I nodded, and he said, “Okay.”

He climbed off the bed to strip down to his boxer shorts, then he climbed back in with me and curled under the blankets around me.

Humming my appreciation, I turned to him fully and ran my hands up his smooth, warm chest. He’d been absolutely perfect tonight: patient, caring, sweet, charming. And nothing he’d done had been because he thought it would help him score. He’d done it
just because
, which made me want to repay him
just because
.

Pressing my mouth to the side of his neck, I ran my hand down his sculpted pecs and over his six-pack. Then my fingers burrowed inside the band of his shorts until I had a handful of hot, quickly growing flesh.

“Holy shit,” he gasped, tensing under me.

I kissed his bare shoulder. “I want to do something for you.” Then I started to lower my face toward his lap.

“No, it’s okay.” He caught my shoulder to stop me, then drew my hand out from his underwear and brought it to his lips to kiss my knuckles. “You don’t have to do that.”

“What? Don’t you like blow jobs?” I teased, grinning mischievously.

Every guy liked blow jobs.

“Yeah, uh…actually…” He gave an uneasy laugh. “I don’t know. I’ve never had one.”

My mouth dropped open. “What? Really?”

“Hey, I’ve only been sexually active for two years. I haven’t quite tried
every
position yet.”

My return grin was immediate. “Well, trust me, honey. You’re going to like this.” I went for his dick again but he caught my shoulder.

“No,” he urged softly, stopping me again. “I don’t…I really don’t think I will.”

I stared at his face and took in the worry in his features before sitting upright and crossing my legs.

He shook his head and looked away. “Don’t. Stop looking at me with fucking
concern
.”

Shit, this was bad.

“Colton,” I said very slowly. “Why don’t you even want to
try
a blow job? Every guy wants to experience a blow job.”

He just kept shaking his head, not looking at me. So I touched his cheek, and he melted, closing his eyes and sighing his defeat.

“Fine. Here’s the deal. I saw something once, and it put me off wanting to try them ever. It’s not a big deal. I just…I don’t want one. Okay?”

Yeah right. Now I knew it was a huge deal. And he still wouldn’t look at me. I started to freak out a little.

“What did you see that put you off blow jobs?”

He speared me with a quick irritated glance before looking away again and admitting, “A boy. He was just a kid.”

I nodded. That was a start; it didn’t tell me much and didn’t seem so bad, but I knew it had to be worse, so I asked, “How old was he?”

“Thirteen,” he whispered. “I was eight. But he was thirteen.”

“Okay,” I said slowly. “So…what? You saw this thirteen-year-old boy get a blow job when you were eight?”

“No.” He shook his head and closed his eyes. “I mean, yes, but he didn’t want it. She was forcing him. He was crying and she—his mom—had him backed against this wall and—”

“Holy shit!” I screeched. “His
mom
? You saw a boy get molested by his mother when you were eight? What did you do?”

He pressed his hands to his temples. “Nothing. I…I didn’t do anything. I ran to my room and hid under the blankets in my bed. I didn’t tell anyone, I didn’t try to get help, I didn’t try to stop her. I just ran away and hid while he was just down the hall, getting—”

“Hey, hey, hey,” I soothed, grabbing his hands and kissing the palms. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“No. That’s the thing. It’s
not
fucking okay. I didn’t
help
him. I never helped him, and that fucker said he forgave me, like…like I actually
deserved
forgiveness, which I
don’t
. How could he possibly forgive me?”

“Maybe because you were only eight years old,” I suggested. “And you’re not the one who actually molested him.”

He looked up. His eyes were rimmed in red but he wasn’t crying. “Served me right that I’m the one who ended up with the nightmares. Not him.”

I smiled as I stroked his face, picking up pieces of his bangs and smoothing them where I wanted them to go. “But if you’d never had nightmares then you and I wouldn’t have had a reason to connect in the first place.”

His brown eyes shifted to me. “You’re right,” he admitted quietly. Then his hand found its way under my nightshirt and blindly smoothed its way up to where a major portion of my dream catcher was embedded. “I should get a tat of a rabbit’s foot and breath spray.”

I laughed. “A dream catcher would be prettier.”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Probably.”

He looked so morose; I sifted my fingers through his hair again and kissed his ear before making up my mind. I was fixing my wounded man. Tonight.

“Can you do me a favor?” I asked.

He glanced up. “Anything.”

I bit my lip, hesitant, before I took the leap. Then I said, “Would you at least
try
to let me give you a blow job?”

When his features immediately withdrew, rejecting that idea, I held up a finger. “Just hear me out. I’m really fucking pissed right now that some child-molesting whore traumatized you and gave you nightmares. And I would like nothing more than to give her the metaphorical finger, proving that she
didn’t
get the best of you, that you were strong enough to move past her filthy influence, and you
can
have a completely healthy sex life with blow jobs and any fucking thing you want despite what she did. I want it so bad, I can taste it. So will you please just…”

I begged him with my eyes, and I swear a tinge of green flushed his skin. But after a moment, he nodded. “Okay.” He grabbed my wrist. “But you’ll stop if—”

“Of course,” I reassured him, cupping his face in my hands. “Baby, I just want to make you feel good and show you that she didn’t limit you in any way. If at any time, you don’t like a single thing I do, that’s it; it’ll be over. No questions asked or pushing to get you to try for more.”

His gaze swirled with unease, and he didn’t look excited at all about the prospect of getting his junk sucked, but he nodded, allowing me to continue.

Determined to rock his world, I grinned my thanks and crawled into his lap, grinding down on his cock with my core. He groaned as I peppered kisses along his jaw and neck. Clutching my hip, he announced, “I’m on board so far.”

I laughed and lavished his chest with kisses and licks and little nibbles. As I worked my way down, he gripped the sheets at his side. “Still liking what I’m feeling.”

When I reached his shorts, there was a nice bulge growing under the cloth. I traced it with my fingers, making him arch his hips up toward my touch before I grasped the hem of his underwear and peeled the cloth down slowly.

The man was ready for me. His cock was as big as I’d ever seen it and dripping out the end. I picked him up and wrapped my fingers around his warmth before licking his balls.

“Holy
fuck
,” he gasped, arching under me. “That was…shit. You can keep doing that. I like that.”

Grinning, I licked him again. Then I went lower, swiping my tongue over the taint area. He groaned, tensing and shifting under me. “Jesus Christ, Juli. What’re you—”

The question broke off when I sucked his dick into my mouth and deep throated him.

He didn’t speak again after that, aside from some frantic pants and moans. I glanced up and was more than pleased to see he was staring down at me with awe as I licked and sucked and wrapped my lips around my teeth, careful not to scrape him. Wanting to give him the best blow job I’d ever given anyone, I fluttered my fingers over his nutsack before pressing my thumb back to his taint and then working him fast and deep.

His head fell back and chest bowed up as he chanted, “Shit, shit, shit, I’m going to…baby doll, I’m gonna
cooooome
.”

He tapped my shoulder in warning before groaning and flooding my mouth. I swallowed everything he had to give, and I swear he whimpered his gratitude as he grew limp and sated under me.

Smoothing my hand along his thigh, I pulled free of his dick and then kissed the side of it before crawling up his body and curling against him.

“Well?”

He nodded dumbly and stared with a dazed expression up at the ceiling. “Hi, I’m Colton David Gamble,” he uttered a second later. “And I like blow jobs.”

Glowing with triumph, I patted his chest. “Good.”

He turned his face my way. “Wow,” he said. “Just…wow. You, like...I mean, you’re willing to do that again, right?”

With a laugh, I kissed his cheek. “Any time you want, baby doll.”

His smile was pleased and smug, and yet also humbled. A flush spread across his cheeks. “I think you’re the most awesome person I’ve met in the history of ever.”

“Geesh, if I knew you’d turn this complimentary after a blow job, I would’ve forced one on you weeks ago.”

“Yeah, why didn’t you?” he asked, crinkling his brow.

I poked him in the side. “Hush. Don’t ruin the moment.”

He grinned before offering, “Sorry.”

“Forgiven,” I answered, resting my head on his shoulder. “Thank you for letting me try that.”

“Welcome,” he whispered and ran his hand over my hair wrap. “Thank you for trying.”

With nothing more to say between us, we lay there, quiet, relaxing in the aftermath of what I thought was a very pivotal moment in our relationship.

Colton had just trusted me enough to take him where he’d allowed no one to go. This couldn’t just be sex for him then, either. It just couldn’t be.

But I stayed awake, stressing about it, wondering, worrying if I was setting myself up for some epic heartbreak. He hadn’t mentioned anything about letting his brother in on the fact we were together now, but then I guessed I hadn’t brought up my dad either.

Maybe I should be the first to broach the subject. Maybe it’d prompt him to say he didn’t want to keep us a secret either, that he wanted
more
than just sex.

I didn’t know. Maybe I was just overthinking it because what was going to happen was going to happen no matter how much I worried.

Colton shifted against me, and I noticed his breathing had changed. I wasn’t sure when he’d fallen asleep, but it only made me feel more protective of him. My hand smoothed over his hair. I’d do anything to keep him happy.

I couldn’t believe some wicked bitch had traumatized him like that and given him nightmares. I wanted to find her and—

Wait…

The night of Brandt’s wedding, he’d told me his
mother
had caused his nightmares, not…

I shook my head as the pieces from all the things he’d ever told me began to fall into place.

And then it struck me.

I sat straight up in the dark and gasped. “Holy shit.”

It had been
his
mother who’d molested the other boy, not some other boy’s mother, unless...

Oh my God, what if both him and the other boy had the
same
mother? Like they’d been brothers.

And if that boy had been thirteen when Colton had been eight, then that made a five-year age difference between them.

Brandt
was five years older than Colton.

I glanced over at the man sleeping soundly next to me and whispered, “Oh my fucking God.”

C
OLTON’S
C
HAPTER
|
25

“L
et’s go out,” I suggested the next night as I patted Julianna’s thigh in encouragement.

It was night two of Aunt Flow’s visit and since there was no action going to go on in the apartment—except for that one little blow job I’d begged from her about two seconds after I’d arrived, but that had been nearly two hours ago—I was getting cabin fever.

Even Juli’s roommates were gone. She told me they often disappeared whenever she had her period because it made her so cantankerous, though I’d yet to see her even mildly moody.

Glancing up from the really boring show on the television we’d been watching about how cement was made, she blinked at me from big brown eyes.

“And do what?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Let’s get something to eat.” We hadn’t had supper, and I was always ready to eat.

She blinked as if startled. “You want to go out to dinner with me?”

“Sure.” Why was she staring at me as if I’d just said something amazing? “I’ve been eyeing that place a few blocks down from here. Gusano’s, or whatever it’s called.”

“Gusano’s?” she said slowly and I could see the hesitation in her eyes.

I cocked an eyebrow. “What? Do you not like pizza? We can try somewhere else.”

“No, it’s not that,” she quickly reassured, only to laugh at herself. “I mean, I
do
like pizza. We usually order it delivered from the convenience store on the corner, though. I just…I really don’t go down that way often. Toward Gusano’s.”

“You don’t?” I frowned because it seemed like a nice enough neighborhood to me. “Why not?”

“No reason,” she said quickly. “You’re right, let’s do this. I’ll just change into something presentable and—”

When she stood from the couch and started to move away toward the hallway, I caught her hand. “There’s no need. You look great.” And she did. A snug cotton top with an ESU Viking on it and black yoga pants that never looked so good on anyone else before.

“Colton…” she whined, tugging on her hand to break free.

“Julianna,” I returned, arching my eyebrows. “Remember that little problem you have of worrying so much about what everyone else thinks of you? Well,
I
think you look sexy as hell, and you and I are the only ones who matter tonight. So if you’re comfortable, then don’t change.”

She growled out her resistance before tipping back her head and sighing. “Okay, fine. I’ll put on my shoes and that’s it.”

“Don’t even touch your hair,” I warned as I loosened my grip on her hand just enough for her to pull free.

With a roll of her eyes, she turned away and sashayed off, calling over her shoulder, “Honey, you don’t ever tell a woman what she can and cannot do with her hair.”

I laughed, glad her sassy spark had returned. By the time she reentered the living room, I had my own shoes on and wallet, phone, and keys back in my pockets. When she smirked at me, her mouth looked extra shiny.

I shook my head. “Lip gloss, you little rebel?” Then I wiggled my eyebrows. “I think someone’s begging for a spanking from Colton tonight.”

With a laugh, she smacked my arm. “Baby doll, you only
wish
you had the privilege of placing your palm anywhere near my hind end.”

Wondering if it was wrong that I liked it when she stole my pet name for her and used it against me, I made a hungry sound in my throat and tugged her close, wrapping a hand around her waist before saying into her ear, “Challenge accepted.”

When my fingers snuck down her back and squeezed her ass, she set her hand on my chest and looked up at me, her face absolutely glowing with pleasure. “I really do have my hands full with you, don’t I, young man?”

“You really do,” I agreed. “So do you want to walk or drive?”

“Let’s walk,” she said. “I kind of like being out in the cool air sometimes with the breeze on my face, and I feel like being active tonight.”

“All right then. Walking it is.” I took her hand, and we left her apartment together, walking the seven blocks to Gusano’s. We laughed and chatted the whole way, and the late January air really did feel good against our faces.

Once we were seated in a dark intimate booth in the back corner with only the soft glow of a paper lantern over us, I reached across the table and took her fingers, rubbing my thumbs over hers because she said her hands were freezing.

“Tell me something good you remember about your mom,” I said.

She blinked, shaking her head in surprise. “My mom?”

“Yeah,” I encouraged, squeezing her fingers. “All I know is that she was a good mom, but I want details.”

“I…” Julianna laughed and her cheeks brightened. “I don’t know. I was so young; I just remember silly, simple things really. Like when we watched TV together, I’d sit on her lap in the big rocking chair in the front room while she’d wrap her arms around me and rest her chin on my shoulder.”

“That sounds nice.” I smiled. “What was your favorite show to watch together?”

“No way!” She giggled and ducked her face. “You’ll laugh.”

“I won’t. I swear.” I tugged on her fingers to get her to look up again.

Finally, she lifted her gaze, still looking rueful before she mumbled, “SpongeBob.”

“Shut the front door!” I widened my eyes. “I watched that too.”

Covering her mouth, she laughed before sighing out her pleasure. “Of course you did.”

“No, I did. Seriously. Caroline helped me be Patrick for Halloween one year.”

“Oh my God!” She pointed, her eyes going wide. “I was Sandy.”

I suddenly loved this girl. “Spacesuit Sandy or Bikini Sandy?”

She set her hands over her eyes as she admitted, “Bikini Sandy. I had the ruffled purple skirt and everything.”

Sweet.
“What did you use for the tail?”

“My dad borrowed a real fox tail from my grandma.” When my mouth opened, she pointed. “Don’t ask. Please don’t ask.”

I lifted my hands in surrender, but still had to say, “So you used a real fox tail for a fake squirrel costume tail?”

Tears streamed down her cheeks she started to laugh so hard. “Yes. Grandma Cicely is kind of into hoodoo stuff.” She wiped at her cheeks before narrowing her eyes. “Don’t ever tell anyone I told you this, but I loved my tail. I wished it had been real.”

Imagining my Julianna as a little girl with a fox tail made me grin.

I winked. “Don’t worry, Sandy. Your secret tail is safe with me.” Then setting my hand over my gut, I rose from my seat. “I gotta hit the john real quick. I’ll be right back.”

After she nodded at me, I kissed her temple and went in search of the bathroom.

I was in there two minutes max before I returned to our table. But the laughing-so-hard-she-was-crying Juli I’d left only seconds before was long gone. She’d pulled her arms to her chest protectively and had scooted back to the darkest back corner of the booth.

As I sat across from her, she shot a glare toward another table.

“Everything okay?” I asked, glancing that way to find two girls at another table eating their own supper. When they smirked back, I blinked. “Do you know them?”

“Hmm?” She tore her attention from them and finally focused on me. “No, why?”

I shook my head confused. “I don’t know. Maybe because you guys keep sending each other killer glares.”

She sighed. But all she said was, “They started it.”

“Started what?” I glanced between her and the girls again. “The glaring contest?”

“Yes.”

Still totally lost on what I was missing, I arched my eyebrows. “Why would they glare at you if they don’t even know you?”

She pierced me with an incredulous stare. “Why would
I
start a glaring contest with
them
?”

“Good point.” I glanced at them—yep, they were still sneaking sneers our way—and then I scanned Juli from head to…well, wherever the table hid her from view. “I wonder what their issue is. It’s not like your clothes don’t match. You look hot and sporty. So it can’t be some fashion faux pas that’s offended their trendy little senses.”

Julianna rolled her eyes. “It’s because I’m black,” she told me dryly.

I lifted my eyebrows. “Huh?”

“They don’t think I belong here with
you
.”

I stared at her a moment without speaking, then turned to study the gossiping women openly. “You think?”

“Yes,” she hissed, reaching out to grab my hand in order to get my attention. “I knew it’d be a bad idea to come here. I’ve never seen any black people in this neighborhood when I’ve driven by before. I don’t belong here. Dammit, Colton,
please
stop looking at them.”

I turned back to her, not letting go of her fingers when she tried to pull away. “Okay, first of all, that’s just bullshit. You belong
everywhere
, baby doll. And secondly, are you
sure
it’s a race thing? Maybe they’re just jealous because you’re so beautiful.”

With a roll of her eyes, she sighed. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s the problem.”

“No, seriously,” I urged. “I know you go to great lengths to make sure everything on you is perfectly in place and flawless every day. To you, nothing would be worse than being criticized for your appearance. But I think all that perfection actually brings you
more
judgment.”

She pulled back, lifting her eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

“You’re almost inhuman because of how gorgeous you are,” I explained. “That’ll make all the mortal, average women out there jealous and more critical. They’ll watch you closer, look for any small, insignificant thing wrong with you to prove you’re not so perfect after all just to make themselves feel better.”

“Is that how you think I feel?” she demanded. “That how a person looks is what’s most important to me?”

“No…” I said slowly, knowing I’d just put myself on some slippery ground here, but I couldn’t seem to shut myself up. “I don’t think
you
judge other people for how they look. And I don’t think you’re trying to make yourself out to look better than anyone else either. You’re not that arrogant. You’re…fuck, what’s the word.” I snapped my fingers when it came to me. “You’re defensive. I think your motto is that the best defense is a good offense.”

She shook her head slowly. “I’m not following.”

“You don’t judge, but you feel as if you’re always
being
judged, so you go on the offensive before anyone can attack you. Every time you dress, you make a statement. You’re trying to prove to the world that you are not lower than anyone else. You’re not going to go down without a fight.” I shrugged. “Which I find really admirable and awesome, though sometimes it works against you.”

“How does that work against me?” She leaned toward me, seeming intrigued, but not pissed, which was a huge relief to me, since pissing her off was the very last thing I wanted to do.

“To stupid, simple-minded people just glancing by, all that pride in yourself sometimes makes you appear…” I winced, knowing the next word I said wouldn’t be pretty.

She sent me a dry glance. “Just say it.”

So I blurted, “Stuck-up.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Oh really? Stuck-up, huh?” She shook her head, grinning as if amused. “But you say you know better than that, huh?”

“Of course, I know better.” I winked and whispered, “I’ve seen your underwear, remember?”

She threw her head back and laughed. “My underwear? How the hell does my underwear have anything to do with
anything
?”

“They’re my favorite thing you wear,” I swore solemnly.

Shaking her head, she continued to chuckle. “How? They’re boring as hell.”

“No,” I insisted. “They’re
honest
as hell. They’re one of the only things you put on your body that no one else sees. So they tell me exactly how you’d dress if it didn’t matter to you what anyone thought about you. They tell me you value comfort and practicality while you also like flashy colors over dull boring ones. And you keep all this tucked privately away where very few privileged people get a glimpse of them.”