15. Colt

15

COLT

O ne week.

Seven days that bled together in a blur of pleasure.

Flora is a fucking angel. Eager to please and responsive to every touch.

We have fallen into a comfortable routine. Wake, fuck, repeat. Training in the day, then returning to our shared space to cook dinner, only to lose ourselves in each other’s bodies all night. Flora’s body was like a canvas; we painted it with our desire, leaving our marks all over her; hickeys and bruises. We need to calm it down before the Christmas show.

But there’s still an itch I can’t scratch. It’s the fantasy that Flora and I discussed. Neither of us can bring it up with Nash, and Flora did mention that I had to do it, not her. I agree, as Nash might do it to please her rather than wanting it for himself.

The thought lingers as I watch Flora and Nash practice their trapeze routine. Nash guides Flora through another aerial sequence, and his muscles ripple as he catches her.

My cock hardens at the sight of them together—the way Nash’s hands grip Flora’s waist, how she arches into his touch without hesitation now.

What a difference from that first day, when she’d jump at sudden movements. Now, she melts into Nash’s hold, trusting him completely. Whatever darkness haunts her past, we’re helping her overcome it one touch at a time.

Nash lifts Flora higher, their bodies pressed close. My mind wanders to forbidden territory—imagining myself behind Nash while he takes Flora. The image of my cock buried deep in his ass while he fucks into her makes my breath catch.

Flora catches my eye and gives me a knowing look. We’ve talked about it—my hidden desires for Nash. She understands and encourages it; she says we should explore it together. But bringing it up with Nash... that’s different.

What if it changes everything?

Nash calls out instructions to Flora, his voice deep and commanding. She responds instantly to his direction, her body moving fluidly through the air. There is no trace of that scared girl who first came to us in these moments. Here, suspended above the ground, she’s found her freedom.

I adjust myself discreetly, unable to tear my eyes away from them. The way they move together, the trust between them—it’s intoxicating. And knowing that later, we’ll take that connection to an even deeper level in our bed...

My cock throbs painfully against my zipper. Watching them is pure torture but the sweetest kind.

I watch as Nash helps Flora down from the rigging, his hands lingering on her waist longer than necessary. My mouth goes dry at their casual intimacy.

“Great work today,” Nash says, ruffling Flora’s hair. “You’re picking this up faster than anyone I’ve seen.”

“Lunch?” I suggest rolling my shoulder to work out the stiffness. “I’m starving after watching you two.”

Nash’s expression shifts, a flash of regret crossing his features. “Can’t. Ty needs help with some business.” He grabs his bag from the corner. “But I’ll meet you both back here before tonight’s show.”

Flora’s face falls slightly at the news, but she brightens as she turns to me. “We could grab lunch together?” She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, a habit I’ve come to find endearing.

“Yeah, angel. I’d like that.” I grab my own bag, slinging it over my good shoulder.

Nash heads for the exit, pausing briefly to squeeze my uninjured shoulder. “Don’t forget to ice that before the show tonight. Can’t have you dropping me in front of the crowd.”

“When have I ever dropped you?” I call after him, but he’s already gone, leaving me alone with Flora.

“Ready?” I ask her.

She nods, stepping beside me as we head for the tent’s exit. Crisp and clean winter air hits us, a stark contrast to the warmth of the training space.

I guide Flora to my truck, noting how her shoulders tense as we drive into town. Her fingers twist in her lap, a nervous habit I’ve picked up on this past week.

“There’s a quiet place on the edge of town,” I say, taking the long way around to avoid the main streets of Easthollow. “Best burgers you’ll ever taste.”

Flora’s eyes dart between buildings and passing cars. “That sounds perfect.”

I pull into Marie’s Diner, a weathered building with peeling paint and a flickering neon sign. Only two other cars occupy the lot. Inside, the smell of coffee and grilled onions fills the air. An elderly waitress leads us to a corner booth far from the windows.

“This okay?” I ask as Flora slides into the vinyl seat.

She nods, but her eyes keep tracking the door. I sit opposite her, positioning myself to watch the entrance.

“You know,” I say in a low and gentle voice. “If anyone tries to bother you, they’ll have to get through me first.”

Her hands shake slightly. “I just... I grew up here. There are people I’d rather not run into.”

The fear in her voice makes my blood boil. I reach across the table, covering her trembling hands with mine. “Angel, look at me.”

She meets my eyes, vulnerability written across her face.

“You’re safe now. With me. With Nash. Nobody’s going to hurt you anymore.”

The tension in her shoulders eases slightly, but her fingers remain curled tight around the menu. I understand her fear—this town holds her demons. But I’ll be damned if I let them touch her again.

The waitress returns with our menus, and Flora orders a cheeseburger with fries. At the same time, I go for the double stack with extra bacon. After the waitress leaves, Flora leans forward, her hazel eyes searching mine.

“You know, despite spending every moment together this past week, I realize I don’t know much about you,” she says, fidgeting with her straw wrapper. “Where did you come from? How did you end up at the carnival?”

I lean back against the vinyl booth, my shoulder twinging slightly. “Not much to tell, really. Rich dad, absent mom. She...” I pause, the memory still raw after all these years. “She overdosed when I was twelve. Dad shipped me off to military school right after.”

Flora’s hand reaches across the table, her fingers brushing mine. The simple gesture catches me off guard.

“I got kicked out at sixteen,” I continue, trying to keep my voice steady. “Couldn’t handle the authority, the rigid structure. Ran away before Dad could find out. Found the carnival a few months later, and Tyson gave me a shot.”

Flora’s fingers trace patterns on my hand, her touch gentle and understanding. “And Nash? Was he already there when you joined?”

“Yeah.” I can’t help the small smile that forms. “He’d been with the carnival about two months already. Tyson paired us up almost immediately—said our heights matched perfectly for the aerial act.”

Flora nods, still absently drawing circles on my skin. “You two just... clicked?”

“Not exactly.” I chuckle at the memory. “Nash was this perfectionist who couldn’t stand my military-style counting during routines. We butted heads for weeks until Tyson threatened to separate us. After that, we figured out how to work together.”

The waitress arrives with our food, and Flora withdraws her hand. Steam rises from the perfectly grilled burgers, and the fries smell divine. But my mind is stuck on Nash, on how that initial friction transformed into something deeper.

“He saved my life once,” I say quietly, picking up a fry. “About a year after I joined. I was being reckless on the trapeze, showing off without a net. The rope frayed, and I would’ve fallen if Nash hadn’t caught me. He didn’t speak to me for three days after that—just kept drilling safety protocols into my head during practice.”

“That sounds like him.” Flora smiles, taking a bite of her burger. “Always protective.”

“Yeah.” I roll my shoulder, remembering how he’s fussed over my injury. “That’s Nash.”

I clear my throat, pushing my half-eaten burger aside. “How did you end up in foster care, angel?”

Flora’s hand freezes mid-reach for a fry. Her eyes dart to the exit before settling back on her plate. The question hangs heavy between us.

“My parents...” She takes a shaky breath. “They dropped me off at a care center when I was four. I hardly remember them.”

Her voice cracks. I reach across the table, covering her trembling hand with mine. She pulls her hand away, wrapping her arms around herself. “I spent years bouncing between homes before the Lowleys took me in on a more permanent basis when I was eleven.”

The way she says their name—like it tastes bitter on her tongue—makes my jaw clench. There’s more to that story, but I won’t push. Not here, not now.

“Seven years with them,” she whispers, more to herself than to me. “Seven years until I turned eighteen last week.”

The pieces click into place—why she chose now to run, why she jumped at the chance to join the carnival. Freedom at eighteen, but what happened in those seven years?

I want to ask more, but the haunted look in her eyes stops me. Some wounds need time to heal before they can be exposed.

My fork clatters against the plate. “Wait—eighteen? I thought you were at least twenty.”

Flora’s eyes drop to her half-eaten burger. “No, I... I turned eighteen the day we met. At the masquerade.”

The diner suddenly feels too small, too warm. I run a hand through my hair, my mind racing through the implications. “Your birthday? That was your eighteenth birthday?”

She nods, still not meeting my eyes. “I had to wait until I was legally an adult, but officially, I haven’t aged out of the system until I’ve graduated high school.” She shrugs. “I couldn’t face staying there another six months.”

“Christ.” I lean back against the vinyl booth, my appetite gone. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Would it have mattered?” Her voice is barely above a whisper. “I needed to get away. The carnival was my only chance.”

I reach across the table, tilting her chin until she meets my gaze. “Of course, it would’ve mattered. Nash and I—we should’ve known.”

A tear slides down her cheek, and she quickly wipes it away. “Are you angry?”

“Not at you, angel.” Never at her. But at myself? That’s a different story. “We should’ve known so we could have made it special.”

Flora’s eyes meet mine, a small smile tugging at her lips. “But you did make it special,” she says, pushing her plate aside. “You and Nash gave me something I never thought I’d have—freedom.”

My chest tightens at her words. She reaches across the table, her fingers brushing against mine.

“It was the best birthday I can remember,” she continues, her voice soft but sure. “For the first time in seven years, I felt... safe. Protected. When you found me at the masquerade and helped me meet Tyson—” She pauses, collecting her thoughts. “You gave me a home, Colt. You and Nash both did.”

I swallow hard, remembering how terrified she’d looked that first night, hiding behind her mask. Now, here she sits, strong and determined, despite everything she’s been through.

“We’ll always protect you, angel,” I promise, squeezing her hand. “No matter what.”

She nods, and I see the trust in her eyes—the trust we’ve earned over this past week. The same trust she shows when flying through the air, knowing Nash and I will always catch her.

“I know,” she says simply, and those two words carry more weight than any lengthy declaration could.