"Colt—" I try to speak, but he won't let me. He bites my bottom lip, and I almost moan.

His hand slips inside my shirt, caressing my stomach. I do nothing to stop it; I like his touch. I like the rough prickle of his stubble against my skin as he kisses me. He moves to my neck, and it feels even better.

I let out a soft, involuntary moan. His hand drifts lower, down my stomach to my waist. This time, it’s truly hard to stop him. When his fingers press against my crotch, a jolt of pleasure shoots through my core. I moan aloud, and he lets out a guttural grunt against my neck. "D-don't," I finally manage to gasp.

He pulls his hand back just a fraction. "Don't you want to try?"

I do, but I’m terrified of going too far. "Uhm... I don't know. I don't want to lose control."

"I won't let you," he promises. He kisses me again, and this time, his hands drift down without hesitation. I make no attempt to stop him.

Even over my clothes, the contact feels electric. I’ve never heard myself make sounds like this before—I’d be embarrassed if I weren't so consumed by the sensations flooding my body.

"Moan for me, Angel," he whispers against my ear. "Let me hear that beautiful, raw melody."

My left hand clutches his shoulder, while my right tangles in his hair, pulling him closer.

"Mh!"

"Just like that," he whispers, his hand rubbing slow, deliberate circles against that sensitive spot between my legs.

He sounds desperate, too.

"Uh! Mh!"

"Mhh..." he moans softly.

When he isn't whispering, he’s watching my face, tracking every expression. "You look fucking gorgeous right now."

I feel him grinding against my thigh, and I realize he’s hard—a sensation entirely new to me.

"Come for me, Angel. Come for me."

I don't know if that’s even possible, but I can't think anymore. My nails claw at his back, and then—abruptly—a sharp, aggressive pounding echoes at his door.

"Fucking shit!" he growls.

"No," I whimper as he pulls away.

"Sorry, baby." He gives me a quick, desperate kiss before striding toward the door. "I'll be right back."

"But..." I try to protest, but he’s already opened the door and slipped out. He shields me with his body as he exits, ensuring whoever is there doesn't see me.

I lie there, aching for his warmth. I touch my breasts, then rub my pants right where he was touching me, but it’s not the same. It’s not him. I feel desperate, irrational, and completely undone.

Colt Beaufort... what are you doing to me?

I whisper to the empty room.

As the rush fades, exhaustion sets in. I pull the blanket over myself, curling on my side to watch the window. Just as I start to drift off, I feel arms wrap around me from behind. I panic for a split second until I recognize the scars on his arms. Colt. My instinct is to pull away—it feels too intimate, too real, and it scares me—but I can’t. I crave this feeling.

"Fucking stupid interruptions," he sighs against my neck.

"What happened?"

"It was my mother. She didn't know what to do with Ezra."

"Ezra?"

"He woke up screaming."

My eyes widen as the realization hits. "Was it... because of us?"

He nods.

Guilt washes over me, but he pulls me tighter. "Don't you dare feel bad for him. Not once did he ever feel bad for you. So don't you dare feel guilty."

I turn to look up at him. "I... I can't help it."

He nuzzles into my hair, taking a deep breath. "I know. That's what makes you so beautiful. You care, even when you know you shouldn't."

Soon, we drift into a peaceful sleep. I wake an hour later to him stirring. His face is contorted as if he’s in pain; he shakes his head and lets out a low, pained moan.

"Colt?" I touch his cheek. He snaps his eyes open and catches my hand. For a moment, there’s pure fear and anger in his gaze, but it softens as soon as he realizes it’s me. He pulls me into a crushing hug.

"Are you... okay?" I whisper.

"Yeah. Just a bad dream."

"Can I work in the fields today, please?" I ask.

He lets out a faint laugh. "Yeah. If that's what you want, I won't stop you."

I smile, grateful. "I probably should go."

"Mhg... a few more minutes," he murmurs, holding me tighter.

Ten minutes later, I move again. "I really have to go."

"Fine. Or... you could shower with me."

He gets up, finally letting me go. "Take a shower with me."

"No."

"Why?"

I stand and fix my clothes. "Because that would require us to be naked together."

"So? I've already seen you naked." He strips off his shirt as he says it. I can't look away—it’s impossible not to stare at his muscular body.

"Sure, but that nakedness would lead to

other

things."

He laughs, entirely unsurprised. As I head for the door, he catches me by the waist. "At least give me a kiss before you leave."

I turn, and he tilts my chin up. I close my eyes and kiss him, trying to figure out if this is real.

Does he truly want me?

I don't know, but the way he treats me is intoxicating. Even if it doesn't last, I want to live in this moment.

I kiss him back with every ounce of passion I have.

"Mh," he moans as we break apart. "You are mine now. Remember that, Angel."

I don't answer. I turn to leave, but he catches me one last time, whispering in my ear: "I'll make you come next time."

My face burns. I practically flee the room. I’m not so lucky this time; there are people in the hall, and they stop to stare. I sprint out the front door, desperate to avoid the dining hall.

I head for the back fields, but Ezra is leaning against a tree, waiting. He sees me and stomps over.

Shit.

"What?" I say, trying to walk past him. He grabs my arm, jerking me around to face him.

"WHO IS IT?!" he roars, inches from my face.

"Let me go!"

He’s lost it. I can see the insanity in his eyes. People stop to watch, but he doesn't care.

"WHO IS IT?! TELL ME!" He squeezes my shoulder so hard I fear the bone will snap; his claws sink into my skin.

I slap him. The grip loosens, and he stares at me, stunned.

"LET. ME. GO!" I warn.

He pulls away, looking as if he hadn't intended to hurt me—but then his rage returns. "WHO... THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?" He shakes me, then throws me to the ground.

I fall hard, my hair messy, my breathing ragged. He stalks toward me like a demon. I’ve never seen him this angry, and suddenly, I’m not scared—I’m furious.

He doesn't want me? Fine. He wants to sleep with others? Fine. But he does not get to hurt me anymore.

I get up and charge him. We collide, and I start throwing punches. I land two solid hits—one to his face, one to his shoulder—before he grabs my hair and pulls my head back.

"You crazy bitch!"

"Crazy?! I'll show you crazy, you son of a bitch!" I scream. I twist my head and sink my teeth into his hand.

He screams and lets go, but before I can recover, he punches me in the stomach. I gasp for air as I hit the ground. It knocks the wind out of me, but the adrenaline keeps me moving. I scramble to my knees.

"What is wrong with you?!" he yells.

I don't answer. I rush him again.

"I hate you!" I scream, throwing a punch that catches his mouth and splits my lip. I don't care. I jump on him, latching my legs around his waist like a koala on a tree, and start raining down wild, frantic punches. He covers his head, shielding himself, but I don't stop. It doesn't matter if I’m doing damage—it feels damn good to let it all out.