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“I can walk,” I said on another laugh.
“Not fast enough,” Brant answered and though his voice was gritty, he shot me a smile. The moonlight played over his face, which only made him look more incredibly gorgeous than normal. And tonight . . . tomorrow . . . he was all mine. So many hours stretched before us, and I already felt sad that with every breath, the moments were slipping away.
“You’re right,” I said. “Hurry.”
Brant let out a tight laugh, fast-walking up the porch steps and setting my feet down as he searched his pocket for the key. We’d locked up earlier since no one was home, and now I regretted the act of safety that cost us seconds. Apparently Brant felt the same way—he swore softly, fumbling in his other pocket and finally producing the key. His hands shook slightly as he opened it and then we were through, the door shutting behind us, the click of the lock echoing in the empty house. Brant turned toward me and without a word, we came together, our moans mingling, his deep, mine breathy, before being cut off by the meeting of our mouths. His lips were hot and soft against my own, his taste so familiar though I’d only experienced him twice before. It was enough, apparently, because I knew exactly how his mouth would taste, remembered the precise way his tongue twisted against my own, knew what to do to elicit those small growls in his throat.
Oh God, kissing him was so good. So, so good. It was wet and hot and it was shooting sparks all throughout my body, making me feel soft and tingly and needy in the most delicious way. Because there was more, much more. I knew that now, and potent excitement rose inside me at the knowledge of what lay ahead. I pulled at his clothes, managing only to untuck the front of his shirt from his pants, and he let out a small, strangled chuckle. “Bed. We need a bed.”
And then his lips were back on mine and we were moving, but I wasn’t sure who was leading the way. Maybe neither of us were. Maybe we’d end up somewhere completely unexpected, and it wouldn’t matter as long as he was on top of me, filling me, and relieving the empty ache pulsating between my legs. But Brant must have had more presence of mind than I did, or maybe his innate sense of direction was better, because I opened my eyes for a moment as we spilled into his bedroom, still kissing, our moans and the wet sounds of our mouths filling the space. He kicked the door closed behind him, and stepped back, our lips coming apart with a wet popping sound as I blinked dazedly at him. The look on his face brought me up short. His eyes were heavy lidded with arousal, trained on me in a way that made me feel deliriously wanted and yet slightly skittish too. No man had ever looked at me that way. Not even the man I’d been married to. And I was suddenly afraid I wouldn’t be enough, wouldn’t know enough to live up to the desire burning in his eyes. I wanted him, yes, but when it came down to it, I was so inexperienced. We’d been together once, but that had been under such different circumstances. I’d told him I wanted him to teach me all the things I didn’t know, but now I worried I would bore him.
He moved forward, putting a hand on my cheek as if he could read the doubts suddenly assaulting me. “What are you thinking?” His voice was still raspy, but also held a note of concern.
I glanced to the side. “It’s just, you’re used to women who are much more—”
“Belle, no. Don’t. I’m not thinking of anyone except you right now.” He chuckled and it sounded pained. “Please believe me when I tell you there’s literally nothing you can do wrong here, okay?”
I searched his eyes and saw only honesty, only the same desire, not dimmed in the slightest by my sudden insecurity. I nodded and he brought his hands to the tie at the side of my dress, undoing it and watching as the material fell open, his eyes—impossibly—heating even more.
Our movements slowed, but my heartbeat sped up, my breaths increasing.
“You’re so goddamned beautiful,” Brant said, pulling my dress open and over my shoulders so it slipped down my body and pooled on the floor at my feet. I resisted the urge to cover myself, my confidence aided by the blatant lust on his face as his eyes raked my near-naked body.
Leaning in, he trailed his lips down my neck and I let my head fall back on a moan, the warm slide of his mouth on my skin sweet torment. “I looked for you,” he murmured against my skin, “while I was away.” I felt my bra slip down my arms, even though I hadn’t noticed Brant unhooking it, so lost in the sensations he was eliciting with his mouth.
“You . . . you looked for me?” I asked, confused.
“Yes. In every room I entered.” His voice was low, deep, his breath whispering over the skin of my throat as he spoke. “I knew you wouldn’t be there. I knew you were here, far away, and yet . . . it was the first thing I did. I found myself looking for you in every room I walked into. I wanted so much for you to be there.”
Oh, God. A shiver—warm and tingly—rippled over my skin. “Brant,” I murmured just as his tongue flicked my nipple, I let out a gasp, weaving my fingers through his thick hair. “Yes,” I breathed, the self-doubt I’d felt only moments before melting away under his touch, the romance of his words. I looked for you.
He licked slowly, tortuously around one hardened peak, and sparks shot downward, a surge of wetness between my legs making me squirm. I brought my head forward and our gazes tangled, heat ricocheting between us. My lips parted on another strangled gasp as he moved to the other breast, not breaking eye contact. Watching him watch me as he pleasured me in that way was so sexy I thought I’d climax right then and there. “Brant,” I moaned, so many questi
ons contained within that one word.
His mouth came off my breast and he stood, taking my face in his hands and kissing me on the mouth quickly before moving back to shrug off his shirt that was mostly unbuttoned. Dear God in Heaven. His chest was a work of art. I’d seen it in the very dim light of the distillery, knew he was fit, but hadn’t been able to see the shadows and highlights of his sleek muscles, the masculine breadth of his shoulders, the smoothness of his skin, and the very light sprinkling of hair. Unable to resist, I reached a finger out and traced the lines of his stomach muscles. He hissed in a breath. “Belle,” he said, his voice ragged right before he kissed me again.
The backs of my legs hit the bed, and I lay back as Brant stood over me, removing his pants. His erection sprang free, a drop of moisture beading the tip, and I swallowed, squirming again at the knowledge that he’d be inside me soon. “Jesus, Belle,” he murmured as if he had read my mind yet again. He pulled something from the pocket of his discarded jeans, tore it open with his teeth, and then pulled a condom over his hard length, his eyes watching me as I watched him. I was captivated by the action. Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined such a thing could be so sexy. My breath quickened as I dragged more air into my lungs. Brant’s expression was strained as he pulled my underwear down my legs, coming down on top of me, his skin hot and smooth.
He kissed me again, his mouth demanding, his tongue dancing with mine and then probing in and out in an imitation of the sex act. An inferno raced through my veins and I clutched the blankets beneath me, wanting more, needing more. I broke from his mouth, the sound of my desire bursting from my lungs as a half gasp, half groan. I lifted my hips, and wrapped a leg around his upper thighs, my body seeking his. Brant let out a strangled chuckle, and then I felt the nudge of his hardness at my entrance and used my leg to apply pressure to the backs of his legs. He hissed out another small laugh and then pressed all the way inside, filling me, and I let out a gasp of pleasure, of joy.
He kissed me again for a moment as he began moving, and I was lost to the glorious sensations, lost in the heady amazement of sex. I felt my mouth tip into a smile even though Brant was still kissing me. He leaned back, smiling back at me, his eyes heavy with pleasure. “God, we’re magic together,” he rasped, quickening his movements for a moment, leading me to the edge of orgasm and then slowing. I let out a sound of protest, bringing my hands to the round globes of his ass so I could control his movements myself.
He laughed, rolling me suddenly so I was on top, and I blinked, the lust fog clearing slightly as we both stilled.
“You’ll like it this way,” he said, grabbing my hips. “Sit up and ride me, Belle. You have all the control now.”
Oh. I did as he said, feeling a tinge of nervousness, though my state of arousal was suppressing that. “How do I . . .?”
“Do whatever feels good. Anything you want.”
I began moving tentatively, experimenting, letting out small pants of pleasure each time I came down on him. Oh, I liked that. I leaned forward to get the perfect amount of contact and then moved faster, the beginnings of an orgasm spiraling upward after less than a minute.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Belle. Aw, Jesus, fuck,” he grunted, his fingers digging into my hips, his expression contorting into one of pleasure and pain as if he was trying desperately to hold back.
I slowed my movements, watching his expression relax slightly. His eyes were dark with passion. When I sped up, his jaw clenched again and he tipped his head back slightly, apparently trying not to orgasm before I did. A thrill tumbled through me, the knowledge that I was controlling this, just as he said, and he was completely at my mercy. I slowed, then sped up until he looked so tortured I almost laughed, watching him, learning his every bodily reaction to the pleasure I was eliciting. I, too, was teetering on the edge of orgasm, my playfulness having had the same effect on me as it was having on him.
“You’re the cruelest woman I’ve ever met,” he groaned.
