Broken Saint (Seattle Saints #1)

65. Colton

65

COLTON

T he thought of her sitting in that truck and crying long after I’d disappeared into the airport makes me want to turn around and go straight back to her.

I desperately wanted to look back, to go back and tell her that I wasn’t leaving.

But I couldn’t.

We both knew it. But it didn’t mean it hurt any less.

I’d messaged her before getting in the line for security, and as if she was waiting for it, she replied instantly.

I hadn’t planned on proposing minutes before leaving.

I bought the ring two days ago and had hoped that the right time would present itself.

But sitting there in the car, watching her eyes fill with tears and her bottom lip tremble, I knew I couldn’t leave without showing her how serious I was.

She’s told me time and time again that she’s forgiven me, but it’s a tough one to swallow when I know how much I hurt her.

The second we landed, I didn’t message her. I needed more than a few words on a screen. I needed to know that she was okay. So I called her.

She sounded sad, but she was okay.

She was home with Angie, sitting out on the deck and watching the sunset.

I could picture it. With almost high-definition clarity, I could see her sitting on the swing seat with her legs curled up and a mug of decaf coffee in her hands as she laughed with Angie.

That house…despite all the pain it’s seen over the years, it’s so full of laughter and happiness.

I loved being there. It is the kind of home I always hoped my house on the outskirts of Seattle could be.

With a sigh, I push through my front door and step into my apartment for the first time in weeks.

I haven’t been here since before my accident, yet it feels weirdly welcoming. Although I can’t help but wonder if Ella’s lingering presence has something to do with that.

The blanket that’s thrown haphazardly over the back of the couch is courtesy of her. The wine glass in the kitchen with a lipstick mark on it? Hers.

The small pair of shoes in the hallway.

And then I step into the bedroom.

Image after image of the two of us in here assaults me. There are little reminders of her everywhere. I both love and hate it.

It’s barely been a few hours and I miss her so much already.

Standing at the floor-to-ceiling windows that showcase the city I love, I pull my cell from my pocket. The temptation to call her first is strong. But I manage to put it off for just a little while longer.

I’ve got plans that need my attention. Plans that I put in place when I first arrived in Texas. Plans that Ella doesn’t know anything about. Plans that I hope will continue to cement in her mind that I am in this for the long haul with her.

Colt: What are you doing?

Bombshell: Watching TV with Mom. What are you doing?

Colt: Thinking about you…

F uck, if that ain’t the truth.

I stretch my legs out in the hope of some relief from the ache that has taken up residence not only in my cock but in every inch of my body.

Being so close to her and not taking her was torture of a whole new kind that I wasn’t used to.

It’s what we both needed, and I’ll stand by that decision. It was fucking hard, though.

So much of our relationship has focused on the passion, on the electricity that sparks when we collide. Hell, what am I saying? Prior to her turning up in Seattle and rocking my world, that was all it was. I made sure of it.

But that’s no longer the case. Our connection, our commitment runs deeper than sex. I needed her to see that. I also needed her to heal, to rest, to give her body the time it needs to be able to support our little one.

Fuck me. Ella’s pregnant.

I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to the idea. Every single day, multiple times a day, that little reality check has hit me upside the head and knocked me for six.

I’m happy about it. Fuck, I’m ecstatic, don’t get me wrong. But I’m also fucking terrified.

I can barely look after myself on a good day. How the hell I’m meant to now take care of not only Ella but also an innocent little baby, I’ve got no fucking clue.

I’m going to do it, though.

I am going to be the best husband and the best father that ever existed, because Ella and our baby deserve it.

Bombshell: What about me?

Colt: How hot you are.

Colt: All I can see in my apartment is you.

Colt: Sitting on the couch. Cooking in the kitchen. In the bath surrounded by bubbles. Laid out on the bed…

Bombshell: Colton Rogers, behave.

Colt: When have I ever done that?

My mouth twitches into a smirk as I think about all the things we’ve done over the years. All the beautifully filthy things.

My cock jerks, my already snug boxers getting tighter by the second.

Bombshell: That’s a good point. You are bad, Colton Rogers.

Colt: Just the way you like me.

Colt: Does your mom like your new jewelry?

My smile grows as I think about her sitting there with my ring on her finger.

Fuck. Who knew just one—admittedly very expensive—piece of jewelry could have such a profound effect?

Bombshell: I think you already know how much she loves it. I can’t believe you asked her permission. You’re a little bit cute, you know that?

Colt: 1, I’m not cute. I’m a big bad football player. 2, I love your mom, she’s amazing, but something tells me that she has a fierce side I don’t want to wake up.

I laugh, imagining her doing the same thing.

Bombshell: She can have her moments. Benny is usually at the wrong end of her wrath, though. He’s the naughty second kid.

Colt: Can’t say that surprises me. I see a lot of myself in him.

Bombshell: Poor Benny. He doesn’t stand a chance.

Colt: Bombshell…

Reaching down, I squeeze my length through my boxers, picturing her cheeks heating and her eyes darkening as the deep rasp of my warning hits her.

Colt: Do you have any idea how much I need you right now?

Bombshell: Not sure I do…

“Fuck, baby.” I groan before shamelessly opening my camera and taking a photo of my cock straining against the fabric of my boxers.

I really hope she’s not sitting next to her mother…

Send.

My blood heats as I wait for it to be delivered and then for the ticks to show that she’s read it.

Bombshell:

Colt: That doesn’t help

Bombshell: Not sure what I can do from so far away…

Colt: I think it’s time you headed to bed, don’t you, baby?

Bombshell: Are you suggesting I ditch Mom to dirty talk with you?

Colt: That is EXACTLY what I’m suggesting. Your fiancé is suffering here…

Holy hell, that’s both weird to type and look at.

I’m a fiancé.

Ella is my fiancée.

She’s going to be my wife.

Unable to stop myself, I shove my boxers down my legs and kick them off.

Bombshell: My fiancé…I like the sound of that.

Colt: I’d prefer the sound of you moaning in my ear.

I don’t know what it is. I was able to restrain myself when she was next to me. Sure, I was horny as fuck and desperate to push inside her. But the distance between us now is the ultimate aphrodisiac, apparently.

Bombshell: You’re trouble.

Colt: And you’re hot. Are you alone?

Bombshell: Just closed my bedroom door. What would you like me to do now?

Colt: What are you wearing?

Bombshell: Nothing like you’re imagining, I’m sure.

Colt: Try me…

It takes her longer to respond this time. For a few seconds, it says that she’s typing, but nothing comes.

It hits me that she’s probably second-guessing all this. Questioning her appearance and how she’ll look if she were to send a photo of herself.

Colt: You’ll look sexy as hell no matter what you’re wearing.

She makes me wait a few more seconds before a photo pops up on my screen of her wearing a tank and leggings.

“Fuck,” I breathe, wrapping my hand around my dick. Anyone would think she just sent me a nude or something for the way my body responds to hers.

Colt: Beautiful. So fucking beautiful.

Colt: Are you hot for me?

Bombshell: Yes.

Fucking hell. Why didn’t I just book a later flight and take her to a hotel for a few hours? Why did I do this to myself?

Colt: I’m already naked…

Holding myself up, I snap a picture that shows off my dick and abs perfectly and send it over.

Colt: Now it’s your turn, baby. Let me see that sexy body of yours.

Am I pushing too hard? Maybe.

But it feels right, and I can only hope she feels the same.

As the seconds pass with no response, I begin to question myself. Maybe it was too much. Maybe we should have left it at sexy talk.

When five minutes pass with nothing from her, I cave and video call her.

“Hey,” she says with only her face filling the screen.

“I’m sorry. That was too much, wasn’t it?”

She shakes her head. “No. I was just…”

“Obsessing despite the fact I love every inch of your body?"

She drops her eyes, unable to hold mine as she agrees.

“Lucky for you, I have a very good memory and a very vivid imagination. Are you naked for me?”

She shakes her head again. “In my underwear.”

Dragging my bottom lip between my teeth, I picture it in my head.

“What color?”

“Baby pink.”

“Mmm,” I moan, licking my lips. “Go and get on the bed, Bombshell. Maybe put the TV on to drown out your moans.”

“Colt,” she warns.

“I’m going to make you feel so good about yourself, baby. Trust me.”

She nods before moving through her room, finding the TV remote, and doing as she’s told.

“Good girl. Now get on the bed.”

“Okay,” she whispers, confirming that she has. Not that I need her to; I can see.

I can also see how fast her chest is heaving and the lace edging of her bra. She’s right, it’s baby pink, but it’s hard to focus on that when her tits are full and needy behind the soft fabric.

“Now what?”

Pulling my cell away from my face, I let her see the rest of me.

Her sharp gasp fills the line and I grip my dick harder.

“This is all for you, Bombshell. I’m so fucking hard right now.”

Slowly, I stroke myself.

“I’m trying to pretend it’s your hand working my dick,” I tell her.

“Christ, Colt,” she breathes.

It’s far from the first time we’ve had phone sex. We were pretty fucking good at it when we were in college and one of us was feeling a little lonely. But we haven’t done it as adults. It’s going to be hot, though. I can already tell that.

“Are you wet for me, Bombshell?”

“Yes,” she whispers.

“Prove it.”