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  COLLARED

  Copyright © 2016

  Nicole Williams

  Cover Design by Paper and Sage Designs

  Editing by Joy Editing

  Formatting by JT Formatting

  All rights reserved.

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, bands, and/or restaurants referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Dedicated to all the lost souls,

  the broken spirits,

  and shattered hearts.

  Wear your scars proudly

  for you’ve chosen to embrace life

  rather than try to escape it.

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  About the Author

  THIS IS THE happiest moment of my whole life. I know it.

  Of course I can’t tell Torrin that since he’s got a whole theory that those happiest moments are usually followed by the worst moments. He’s a little biased after what happened to his dad—not that I can blame him. I’d probably feel the same way if the day I’d scored the winning goal at the state championship was the day my dad had been killed by a drunk driver in the middle of a crosswalk.

  So instead of telling Torrin about my happiest moment ever, I curl a little tighter against him and wedge my head under his chin. I like this spot. A lot. I can hear his heartbeat at the same time my head rises and falls in time to his breath.

  His heart’s still beating. His lungs are still working. I don’t know why I find this so comforting—such a relief—but maybe Torrin’s happy moment theory is starting to rub off on me. My leg slung over his hips tightens around him. My arm stretched across his stomach does too.

  “What are you thinking right this very second?” His body stirs a little, like he’s just waking up, but I know better. We might be in his bed, but we weren’t using it for its general purpose. He tilts his head down toward me when I stay quiet. He’s probably making sure I haven’t fallen asleep.

  My thumb scrolls down one of his ribs. I can’t tell him the truth, so I tell him what I would be thinking if it wasn’t for the happiest-feeling-ever thing.

  “That I just lost my virginity to the boy next door.” My voice sounds the same as his—like we’ve both just woken up from a nap or are about to fall into one.

  “You make that sound so lackluster—losing it to the boy next door—and technically, I’m not the boy next door.”

  I hear the smile in his voice, which makes my own form. Torrin’s got one hell of a smile—the kind that makes a girl’s stomach wring dry—but I’m too happy nestled on his chest to lean back and check it out. Besides, I memorized that smile years ago. Perks of growing up next to Torrin Costigan.

  “The house beside mine has been empty for years, and the one beside you is owned by an eighty-three-year-old widow.” My smile stretches when I see where Torrin’s jeans landed—over the top of the lamp on his nightstand. “You’re the boy next door, Torrin. My boy next door.”

  “I’m your whatever you want me to be. How ‘bout that?” His hand combing through my hair stops at the ends to give them a soft pull.

  I melt a little more. Whatever was left of me to still melt at least. “What are you thinking?”

  Torrin’s both an open book and a book of secrets. Some days I feel like I know everything there is to know about him, and others I wonder if I’ve barely scraped the surface. Losing his dad messed him up for a long time, and even though he says that’s behind him, I know better. It never will be—people can’t just put that kind of thing behind them. Some days it’s just more in front of him than others though.

  “That all I want to do is fall asleep like this and wake up and do it all over again.” His chest opens like he’s stretching, but both of his arms stay tightly around me.

  “I like your idea. That’s what I’m thinking now.” My leg stretched across his hips slides lower.

  I feel something stir inside me again when I feel him. We just finished. Not even five minutes ago. This was my first time. I should be sore and tired and maybe even freaking out a little—according to my friends who ditched their virginity cards before me. Why do I want to do it again? Why is it the only thing I can think about?

  I know the answer though. It’s the same reason as always—I can’t get enough of Torrin. I know it isn’t a one-sided feeling either. My friends say being this into a guy when I’m only seventeen isn’t healthy. My parents have threatened to move across the city and put some distance between us if we don’t slow things down. No one seems to get it. We get it though. When you love someone, you love them. You can’t “slow that down” or portion out whatever “healthy” doses your peers deem acceptable.

  You love them as hard as you can, as best you can.

  “I thought you were coming over to yell at me for covering for Caden again.” His voice is quieter. I know why.

  “You mean for taking the fall for him? Again?” My voice is louder. He knows why. “Actually, I was coming over to do that, but then I saw you, and you gave me that sad smile of yours with that apologetic little shrug, and my emotions got crossed, and I decided this was the night.” I have to pause to take a breath. When I exhale, I notice the skin stretched across his chest just below my mouth rise. I love knowing I have this kind of an effect on him—even if I was just exhaling. “It felt right.”

  His hand buried into the curve of my spine presses deeper. It feels like it’s dissolving into me. “Thank you.” He kisses my hairline.

  “For finally being ready to have sex after being together the past two years? Yeah, no problem.” I laugh as quietly as I can.

  Torrin’s mom is working tonight, but I don’t want to wake his little brother, Rory, who’s probably asleep in his bedroom next door. I also don’t want to give Caden, T
orrin’s older brother, a reason to remember we exist. Usually he’s happy to pretend we don’t, but when he does, life’s rather unpleasant for those few minutes.

  “I would have waited for you no matter how long you took. A month, a year, an eternity.” My body lifts with his when he shrugs. “I would have waited.”

  “You would have waited an eternity? You know what that is, right?” My toes press into the side of his leg. They’re cold, and he’s warm. It’s strange how whatever I need, Torrin has. Or how whatever he needs, I have. Cold toes and warm side of a leg included.

  “Forever?” he answers all innocent-like. “Yeah, I know its general definition.”

  “And you’d be willing to wait forever for me to be ready?” My eyebrow lifts. Not because I don’t believe him but because a girl’s brow should rise when a boy proclaims he’d wait for her forever. My family believes in fairy tales like they believe in the possibility of world peace.

  I’d rather be whatever Torrin and I are.

  “There’s only one you.” He shrugs again. My body bobs with his again. “Of course.”

  Another laugh escapes my lips. “You used to hate me.”

  He groans. “I didn’t hate you. You just annoyed the crap out of me.”

  I probably should check the time on my phone, but I’m too happy. This moment is too perfect to end with something as trivial as a curfew. “Because I was faster than you, scored higher on tests than you, and kicked your butt in every game of one-on-one?”

  “Exactly. Annoying.” He tugs on the ends of my hair again.

  “Yeah, well, you used to annoy the crap out of me too,” I fire back, pinching his side.

  “You’re welcome.” He says it like he’s proud of it because, you know, annoying the crap out of a girl is medal-worthy or something. I guess it worked out for us though.

  “So how does a guy go from hating a girl to loving her?” I tip my head back just enough that I can see his face.

  His chin is barely stubbled from not shaving today. His dark hair is scattered all over his face and pillow. His light eyes are alive—almost as though the ones I’d been looking into for twelve years had been dead in comparison. In the soft light of his lamp, with his face flushed from what we just did . . . God, he’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

  I never want this moment to end. Even though I know it has to, I want it to stretch into my next three lifetimes.

  “For the millionth time, I didn’t hate you.” He sounds annoyed, but nothing about his expression matches that feeling.

  “But you do love me?” It’s a rhetorical question. I know. I’ve known for a while now.

  “Damn straight I do.” His words come out like they were dipped into steel—strong and weatherproof.

  That’s when my phone resting on the edge of his nightstand vibrates. I’ve started setting an alarm when I’m with Torrin because time just kind of gets away from me when we’re together. I wouldn’t worry about setting an alarm in the first place if my dad wasn’t a police chief who carries a gun twenty-four-seven and who also carries an impression that the Costigan boys are the type of people who end up in the back of his cruiser, not holding hands with his firstborn.

  “Eh, I’m late.” I sigh because this is my second alarm. The one that means I’d better haul ass and get home if I’m not there already. I distantly remember the first one going off fifteen minutes ago, but I was a bit preoccupied by something else at the time. Or preoccupied by someone else. “My parents are going to be pissed.”

  “You just got here.” Torrin reaches for his phone settled beside mine.

  “Yeah, I just got here two hours ago.” He’s shifting beneath me, but I’m not ready to move yet. I’m not ready to let go of him.

  “What? Really?” He snatches his phone off the nightstand and flips it around. His eyes widen when he reads the time. “Shit.”

  “Time flies when you’re having sex for the first time.”

  His eyes are the palest blue I’ve ever seen, but they darken when I say that. Might have something to do with my leg holding him in place when he tries to slide away.

  “Is it true for the second time?” Now he isn’t pulling away—he’s pulling me closer. He rolls my body on top of his, and my legs straddle his narrow hips. He’s all muscle and skin—he’s got the classic soccer body. I’m not exactly “soft,” but when my body’s pressed against his, I feel that way.

  “Only one way to find out.” My hands cap his shoulders, and I feel the muscles roll beneath my fingers.

  “When?” Torrin’s hands settle on the peaks of my hips, and I don’t know if he means to, but he makes my lap burrow deeper into his. My stomach feels like it’s been filled with lava.

  “Now?” I ask, but my body isn’t really asking. It’s more along the lines of telling.

  I feel him beneath me. I know he wants to. He knows I want to. So I’m not sure why he clenches his eyes closed and grinds his jaw like he’s trying to restrain himself.

  “I thought your dad was going to lock you away in some tower and lock me up after the way he found me kissing you last week in the hallway. He finds out about this”—his finger waves between us—“and I’ll be in some unmarked grave decomposing under a pile of lye.”

  My nose curls at the thought. “Ugh. How do you know about that stuff?”

  His eyes are still closed, but his jaw relaxes a little. “This beast known as the Internet and morbid curiosity.”

  His eyes open a second later, right before he gently shifts me off of his lap and slides off the mattress. He snags his jeans from the lampshade and pulls them on. I know I tore off a pair of boxers earlier, but who knows where they landed.

  “How can you be that restrained?” I flail my hands at him right before he roams his room, rounding up his shirt and my clothes, which had wound up just about everywhere except for dangling from the ceiling fan. “I’m naked, in your bed, practically begging you to make love to me again, and you’re pulling on your shirt.”

  He drops the pile of my clothes in my lap but twirls my white cotton panties in my face. I grab them but throw them into the rest of my pile. I’m not ready to get dressed. I’m ready for something else.

  “I’m this restrained because I happen to really, really like making love to you and I’d like to continue doing it.” He cups my chin when I continue to sulk in his bed, and his thumb traces the seam of my lips. He isn’t making it any easier to crawl out of his bed and get dressed. “I also happen to know that’s not going to be an option if you get home past curfew after leaving my house.”

  His hand drops, and he rolls the blankets down to the foot of the bed like he’s hoping that will coax me out. Torrin’s sheets started out navy blue years ago but are more periwinkle in color now after being washed a thousand times. They’re soft though, and they smell like him. Why would I want to leave his bed? Ever?

  When he sees I’m still not moving, he holds his phone up in my direction and points at the time. I’m already three minutes late. If I stall for another three, my dad will come marching over here and pound down Torrin’s flimsy bedroom door, and I know Torrin’s right—he probably would wind up under a pile of lye if my dad found us the way we are now. That’s what finally pries me out of his bed.

  “You’ve got the restraint of a priest,” I mutter as I slide on my underwear.

  “Okay, talking about priests after what we just did feels all kinds of weird.” He’d been about to throw on his soccer flats but stopped when I started dressing. He’s watching me, smiling again, but this one’s crooked.

  When I slip into my bra, I go a little more slowly than usual. When I slide my hair over one shoulder before fastening the bra at my back, he swallows.

  “Oh please, like you’re the good little Catholic boy who was saving himself for marriage.” My eyes trace back to his bed where I can still see him hovering above me, all of his muscles slicing through his skin as he restrained himself, moving slowly so he wouldn’t hurt me. The
image makes me wish I was taking my clothes off instead of putting them back on.

  “Hey, I’ve been at Sunday mass every week for the past seventeen years of my life.”

  I make myself look away from his bed. It’s not like that was our last time in it. There’s tomorrow. And the day after that. And every one after that too. We have time. “Only because you’d have to answer to your mom if you didn’t show up.”

  After I wiggle into my skirt, Torrin snags my old Cons from his floor and crouches beside my feet to tie them on while I wrestle into my shirt. “Details.” When he’s done tying the second one, he kisses the outside of my thigh and grabs my hand. “We’ve got to hustle.”

  I know we do. I can practically feel my spidey senses going off. If Dad isn’t already rounding our front gate, he’s a minute away from it. I follow Torrin into the hall and jog down the stairs with him.

  Unlike his bedroom, which is relatively tidy for a seventeen-year-old guy’s, the rest of the house is kind of messy. Cluttered. Six months past being in need of a deep cleaning. I know he’s embarrassed to have me over—that’s why we usually spend most of our time at my place or somewhere else—but after the heated making-out-against-the-wall fiasco last week, Torrin’s been banned from my place. Indefinitely.

  I’m not embarrassed to be here though. Not ever. His house wasn’t always like this. Things started to change after his dad died five years ago and his mom had to take on two jobs. Torrin’s dad was kind of the anchor of the family, and once he was gone, it seemed like everyone and everything just kind of floated off in different directions.

  We’re almost down the stairs, and I want to stop and tell him how much I love him and how I could never be embarrassed by anything when it comes to him and how I can’t imagine a better place than his bed for our first time, but we’re both startled by the sound of something shattering from somewhere in the kitchen.

  I’m pretty sure I know what it is and who’s responsible for the glass—a.k.a. beer bottle—shattering, but Torrin has to check. His little brother is upstairs asleep, and even though he’s the middle brother, Torrin has stepped into the role of man of the house as best as he can. They’re big shoes to fill. Impossible shoes to fill if you ask Torrin.