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“Fuck,” he grits out, one hand slinking up to rub my clit, the other still wrapped around my thigh. “I want you to come. I want you to come so fucking hard.”
“Brant…God…” I cry, my body angled so he’s hitting me just right. So deliciously deep.
“You’re so wet. You’re soaking me.”
My hands clutch at the bedsheets, fisting them in my palms. “Ohhh…” I’ve been reduced to unintelligible sounds and whines as my body shakes and trembles with need, the swell of an orgasm building. I can hear how wet I am as he ruts into me with reckless abandon.
I glance down to where our bodies are pounding furiously together, watching him slide in and out of me, his muscles flexing, a look of savage possession glowing in his eyes.
My orgasm unravels in an instant.
I arch and bend and break, scratching at the bedsheets then at his arms as I moan his name with my release.
Brant collapses over me, his hips still pumping hard and fast, hands grasping my cheeks. He buries his face into the crook of my neck, groaning against my sweat-slicked hair, chanting my name as his own orgasm claims him. His thrusts become clumsy as he empties into me with a satisfied grunt of pleasure, filling me in every possible way.
I hold him as he comes down.
I wrap my arms around his back, link my wrists, and just hold him.
I’m not sure if it’s the gesture itself or the aftershocks of his climax or the heaviness of it all—but Brant breaks down. He falls on top of me, slightly to the side so I don’t bear the brunt of his weight, and lets out a ragged, painful sound near my ear. He gathers me into his arms, so close, so vulnerable, and he trembles beside me as emotion funnels through him and warm tears rain down on my shoulder.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, my fingers twining through his air. “I love you, and I promise it’s okay.”
He inhales a shuddering, tearful breath, pressing a kiss to the tender skin just below my ear, riding out the final waves of grief. We stay like that for a while, Brant still sheathed inside me, as our bodies remain fiercely entangled.
“When the day comes and you regret this,” he murmurs softly into my neck, his voice cracking, “I pray you can forgive me.”
My chest tightens. My muscles lock up, and all I can do is cling to him tighter. “I’ll never regret this,” I tell him. I kiss the top of his head, his damp curls tickling my nose. “Never.”
I’ll never regret you.
31
FIRST GLIMPSE
BRANT, AGE 25
She’s on my mind as I accidentally bump into Sydney, nearly spilling my Long Island.
“You okay?” Sydney wonders, arching a worried eyebrow in my direction. “I’m supposed to be the flighty one here.”
I regroup quickly. “I’m good.” Reaching for a top-shelf bottle of liquor, I twirl it in the air and catch it with ease just to prove how “good” I am.
She narrows her eyes, jabbing me in the chest with her long fingernail. “Nice try. I’m the master of the smoke show. You can’t fool me.”
This time I’m the one raising an eyebrow. “You’re the master at being attractive?”
“What?”
Sydney’s sister, Clementine, is perched on one of the barstools, slurping on a daiquiri and nearly choking at the look on Sydney’s face. We both start laughing.
Sydney blinks rapidly, her eyes flaring with bewilderment. “What? What did I say?”
“Smoke screen,” I correct her, still chuckling as I toss some olives into a martini glass. Clem drops her head to her arms as her shoulders shake with laughter, her blue-streaked hair bouncing. “You’re right, though. I did need the laugh.”
“Wow, I’m a fucking idiot,” Sydney says, smacking the underside of her palm to her forehead. “Sorry. I have a boy on the brain. It’s a legitimate impairment, you know…very serious.”
“Oliveritus,” Clem chimes in, snickering under her breath. “Maybe Brant will grant you medical leave so you can take some time off to recover. I think we both know where you can find the cure.”
