Page 56 of Restored Dreams

“Sweet?” Hank jokes. “Did you not just hear that honk?”

I’m giggling harder for some reason, and Brut’s mouth opens to a wide smile.

“Sweetest sounds I’ve ever heard come from Lily pad.”

My breath hitches along with a giggle, and now it sounds like I’ve hiccupped.

“Cripes, get a room,” Hank mutters, running his hand down my arm in comfort.

“We already had one, thanks to you,” I mumble, and he freezes. Brut’s smile falls, and Hank watches me a second. Then his eyes twinkle, and his mouth opens. “Oh, you’re definitely part of the family.”

31

The party is over

[Lily]

Brut drives me to the bakery although there’s no reason for him to do so. He claims I’ve had too much to drink, which I deny. I’m warm and fuzzy but not buzzed. He also decides it isn’t safe for me to go home alone so late. I’ve lived here for years and come home later than nine without worry. I understand people’s concerns. It isn’t a great neighborhood on the edge of Los Angeles, but the area is trying to revive itself. The rent is cheap for now, and I feel perfectly safe living here, but I don’t argue with Brut. I don’t want to be alone yet, which is only prolonging the inevitable.

Not only does Brut insist on driving me, but he’s also adamant he escort me to the back door and then tells me he’s going to walk me up to my apartment. The entrance to my place is within the bakery and one reason the apartment came with the space. It isn’t much, but the owner did the space up nicely with exposed brick on two walls. It might have been a loft office for whatever the place was originally, but it’s been converted to include an open-concept space, and I do mean open. As you walk up the stairs, a low privacy wall encases the stairwell, but immediately at the top you see everything: a double bed in front of you, couch and television to the left, and a four-seater kitchen table centering the kitchen area, doubling as my desk. I’m able to write off the space as my office. I’ve tried to section off the areas by hanging a sheer curtain to separate the bedroom and living space, but my place looks more Bohemian than homey.

“So, this is it,” I say to him, crossing the short distance to my nightstand and removing my earrings. I hear Brut shuffling behind me, and it sounds as if he’s placing his suit jacket over the back of a kitchen chair. I turn to face him and find him slowly taking in my studio lifestyle. “It isn’t much. I guess you probably have a nice house.”

There’s a little snip to my voice, and I don’t know where the sarcasm comes from. He’s already told me his house is run down, so I don’t know why I’m thinking of it as none of that ever matters to me. It’s more that I don’t want him sizing me up because I live in a tiny, unsafe place when the bakery is all I have in life. On the other hand, the way he stands in my place causes me to have a flash of our lives as if it were a different time. With his shirt sleeves rolled up and his collar unbuttoned, he could have just returned home from work—teaching. I might be dressed like this because I served a party. The image is haunting, and I turn away from him.

“Thanks for the ride. Do you need to borrow my car to get home or call Chopper to pick you up?”

“I don’t think you should be alone tonight.” His low voice speaks directly behind me. The words tickle down my neck from his nearness. In many ways, he’s right. I don’t want to sleep with my thoughts, which I know will bring no rest. When thick fingers come to my shoulders and squeeze, I tense up without meaning to. Then the tip of one finger strokes down the back of my neck, and my head lolls forward. My eyes close, and I give into the shiver rippling over my skin. He finds the zipper to my dress and slowly slides the closure downward, exposing my back.

“Brut.” His name whispers through my lips.

“Let’s just be, Lily pad. Let me be here for you.”

I don’t reply, just feel the warmth of his palms as he presses open the sides of my dress, and the material falls off my shoulders. Fingertips tickle down my spine and stop at my lower back. Brut pushes at the waist of my dress, forcing the remaining material to the floor.

“God, I love your back,” he says, before kissing my neck. “You are so beautiful.”

I’m suddenly trembling with need—need for his touch, his mouth, him inside me. I want to forget everything just for a little bit.

“So sexy,” he murmurs as his hands cover my lower cheeks, smoothing his warm palms over the curve. I’m wearing a lace thong to prevent lines in my dress, and Brut slips a finger under the strip of fabric but doesn’t remove it. “Keep the heels on and step forward.”

He guides me as he speaks, moving me two feet to the wall beside my nightstand. One hand curls over my hip while the other lifts my wrist until I catch myself on the wall.

“Keep your hands up,” he mutters into my shoulder as he nips me, hard. My back arches at the sting, and my backside brushes against his silky suit pants. He moans against my skin as his tongue follows the trail of my neck to my shoulder. The hand on my hip slips forward, dipping into the thin strip of lace, and combs through the tuft of hair.

“Let me take your worries,” he says as he slips a finger inside me, and I instantly see stars. We’ve been together, obviously. We had our week’s worth of sexcation, but this…this feels different, intimate, intense. Brut’s finger slides slowly in and out before adding another and then a third.

“Oh God, Brut,” I moan. I’m full like this but not full enough.

“Like this first,” he hisses into my neck, nibbling at my skin, taking his time to linger with each bite and work his magic lower with each stroke. It’s languid, luscious, and my body tightens. I press back, wanting friction with the stiff length in his pants. He thrusts forward, mimicking how he’d move, but not yet as his fingers slide within and a suction sound fills my small apartment.

“You’re so wet, sugar, and you’re going to come so hard.” His command makes it happen. I still, the rush flowing out of me as my knees give. Brut presses forward, flattening me against the wall. “There she is,” he says like he did earlier when I laughed. “Give me all your sounds.” I don’t even realize I’m making a preening noise, a whimper at the relief. I’m outside myself, a million pieces, like confetti floating in the breeze, and it’s heavenly.

“Are you still coming?”

I nod because I am. With no purchase to grab anything, my hands slip from the wall, and I reach back for Brut’s hip, holding him against me.

“How do you want me?” I ask because I’ll give him anything if he can make that kind of orgasm happen again.