Bad Taste (Part I) // Colby Brock

91 - Rebecca

When I arrived home, I was fuming. My boots were louder than usual, stomping around the building. When I bumped into a tall man dressed in all black with his hood up—clearly with no spacial awareness—I almost murdered him, but it only added fuel to the fire for when I opened my apartment door.

Colby wasn't anywhere in the main room, which meant he was probably in my bedroom or the bathroom. My boots provided ample warning as I threw down my phone and keys on the table by the front door, kicked shut the door and stormed toward my room. My inhuman boyfriend was about to get a piece of my mind for pissing me off. Had it ever been any different between us?

As soon as I opened my door, however, I realised that it was empty. The only sign Colby had been there at all was my bed, which had two dents into the pillow rather than just the one. The sheets were untidy as well, showing that someone had gotten out almost in a rush. I stepped further inside, sure that he would be there rather than in the bathroom.

But I saw nothing.

In the silence of my apartment, I couldn't help but hear my heartbeat as it tapped steadily, if a little agitated, against my ribs. I was confused, that was for sure, until there was the slightest breeze brushing up behind me.

My heart jumped but I forced my body not to react when a hand started to pull back my hair on one shoulder. I froze in place, letting the familiar zing of electricity fly through my body as soon as the fingers brushed over my neck. I couldn't even speak when a body suddenly pressed up against me, lips attached to my skin. A knot formed instantly in my stomach, my body leaning back into the familiar embrace needing so much more.

Colby, even if I was mad at him, did things to me no one ever had. Not a single one of the guys I'd slept with—and I was somewhat of a whore at one point—had ever made me feel so unbelievably satisfied without doing anything.

Colby's hand slithered around to my stomach to hold me to him, his teeth carefully nipping at his favourite dark spot on my neck—right above the vein. His other hand kept a hold of my stubborn curls to keep them out of his way.

I was still angry, I had to remind myself. It wasn't working. "Fuck off, Colby," I whispered faintly, every ounce of what he was doing to me clear in my voice.

His lips twisted against my skin. "No."

"Yes," I argued, trying not to moan. He moved up to my jaw and gave it a gentle tug with his teeth before using one of his grips to spin me—I wasn't sure which. His fingers tangled into my hair behind my ear, his thumb rubbing my cheekbone. I felt my heart pounding now. Our bodies were so close that I could practically feel him. "You pissed me off." I breathed.

"Because you're more fun when you're angry," Colby growled back as he seized my lips. I couldn't stop him and I didn't try, gasping into his mouth. My hands pressed against his neck on either side and my hips pushed forward into his. The hand on my back slithered down over my ass, squeezing before he slapped it. I gasped again, this time pulling back.

The silver of his eyes took over the white. There was no way I was going to be able to keep control, so I decided I would just make it difficult for him to do the same. What was the worst that could happen?

I forced him forward with the grip I had on his neck until I found the bed. He followed me down onto it keeping our faces just inches apart the whole time. As soon as I was laid down, my hair sprawled out around me, he slid between my legs and kissed me again, this time hungrier. His tongue slipped in before I could even fathom that he was on top of me. I let him dominate me for a while because I was pretty sure I enjoyed it just as much as he did. Being here, in this apartment rather than the house, I didn't worry at all about what I was saying, because who would hear me besides Colby?

I couldn't remember what the term was for what we were doing, I just knew that Colby's hips were grinding against mine over our clothes and driving me insane. He was still only in sweatpants, which were easy enough to take off. It would be so unbelievably sexy if he ripped my fishnets, and shorts and a shirt weren't difficult to take off. So easily undressed and taken a step further.

I rolled us, sensing that he was trying to control himself. My hips took over grinding against his and I pulled back from the kiss by only an inch to breathe heavily. He was biting his lip as he stared right into my eyes, his a mesmerising blue. I felt the same longing he did but I hoped I didn't show it so clearly. I didn't want Colby knowing how damn much I wanted to move along in our relationship already.

My lips touched his for a second. "I'm not going to beg," I whispered, kissing him again, "but you really need to stop being a pussy," I kissed him again, "and just fuck me already." When I kissed him this time, he was hungry for me. I thought that, maybe, I might have gotten there with him. He started to pull my shirt up slowly and hesitated at my bra after that was long gone. I tried to grind down on him harder, frustrating myself with the knowledge that he wasn't going to let this go all the way again.

Sure to my predictions, he moved his hands to my face and carefully pulled me back from the kiss, eyes tender and apologetic. I didn't care how sorry he was: I would never accept this torture he put me through. "Colby," I growled—it was a warning.

"I can't, Becks. I already told you." He whispered softly.

I scowled. "I'm not going to fucking wait forever, Colby. You're driving me crazy right now." He smirked. "Don't push your fucking luck."

"I already am by being with you." He muttered as he wrapped his arms around my waist. He pulled me against his chest, forcing his blanket of cold warmth all around me. I melted into it.

"I hate you," I mumbled.

He sighed. "I know you do."