He laughed, low and rough, and kissed his way back up my stomach, my ribs, the curve of my breast. His body settled over mine, and I felt the evidence of how badly he wanted me pressed against my hip.
"Still with me?" he asked against my throat.
"Barely." I turned my head and caught his jaw in my hand, tilting his face toward mine. In the strange phone-flashlight glow of this half-built house, he looked almost golden. Like he'd been made specifically to ruin women who thought they had it all figured out. "Come here."
He kissed me soft, then not soft at all. My hands went to his jeans and he groaned against my mouth.
"Finally," I muttered.
He huffed a laugh and helped me, lifting his hips long enough to shove them down his legs and kick them off somewhere into the dark. When he settled back over me with nothing between us, we both went still for a beat.
"Better," I managed.
"Much," he agreed.
I reached between us and wrapped my hand around him and he made a sharp, punched-out sound against my mouth.
"Calvin."
"Yeah." I stroked him slowly, watching his jaw go tight. "I know."
"I need—" He broke off. Swallowed. "Condom."
He was already moving, fishing through the dark for his discarded jeans. I heard the soft thud of denim, the snap of a wallet, and then he was back, kneeling between my thighs and tearing the wrapper with his teeth. I propped myself up on my elbows and watched him, something hot and private pooling low in my stomach.
He caught me looking. Raised an eyebrow.
"You gonna supervise or you gonna help?"
I sat up and took it from his hands. His breath hissed in through his teeth as I rolled it on, taking my sweet time about it.
"Christ,woman."
"Patience."
"I have beenpatient," he said through his teeth. "Sofucking patient."
He pressed me back down gently, one hand behind my head, one bracketing my hip, and settled between my thighs. For a moment he just looked at me. The kind of looking that felt like more than looking. The kind I usually deflected with a joke or a smirk.
I let him look anyway.
"Okay," I said quietly.
He pressed forward, slow and careful, watching my face the whole time. I'd known he was big. I'd had my hands and my mouth on him, had tried and failed to take him that first night. But knowing andfeelingwere two different things entirely. My lips parted on a sharp exhale. My fingers dug into his shoulders. He paused, giving me a beat to adjust, then pressed deeper, and I had to consciously remind myself to breathe.
"Okay?" The restraint in his voice was tight and deliberate, like it was costing him.
"Keep going," I breathed.
He did. Until he stilled, fully seated. We were both holding our breath.
Then he exhaled. And I exhaled. And something that had been wound tight in my chest for years loosened its grip just slightly.
"You good?"
"More than." I shifted my hips and watched his eyes flutter shut. "Brody?"
"Yeah?" His eyes opened and met mine again.
