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Add in the dilemma that I can’t be in the RV while Brooke is in the shower, and a walk was more than necessary. It was pure survival. Not to mention, if I didn’t call Mo back tonight, I was pretty sure she was going to suffer an aneurysm. She sent me no fewer than ten texts during the meet-and-greet alone. All of them revolving around Mo being on some kind of secret-spy-fangirl reconnaissance mission to make sure no other reader loves Brooke’s books as much as she does.
I love my sister, but she’s obviously off her rocker.
Once I reach the big bus, I climb up the small metal steps to open the door, but just as it swings open, my ears catch the sound of “Oh God,” followed by a moan that I know comes straight from Brooke’s lips.
To further fuck with my already messed-up head, it’s not the soft, barely there moan I heard the last time she was in the shower. It’s louder and grabs my attention in ways that are not at all professional.
Panic widens my eyes, and I quickly swing the door back to the closed position before stepping away.
Holy shit, I thought she’d be done by now.
I even walked two miles and stayed on the phone with Mo while she told me about the most painfully boring dinner shift at the restaurant for twenty whole minutes to ensure that Brooke would be done by now.
What do I do? I don’t know what to do.
I turn to leave, but something at the edge of the sidewalk stops me. A squirrel lurks on a nearby tree, and suddenly I’m faced with the impossible decision to expose my position by slamming the latch on the door so it stays shut or leave Brooke to an uncertain squirrel fate.
I juke back and forth from the toes of my front foot to the heel of my back, and I’m apparently acting so manic, I’ve caught the attention of the small group hanging out in the square. They stare unabashedly, and I try to calm my movements by running a hand through my hair and considering my options.
Maybe I can just sort of, like, hang out and guard the door without actually shutting the door, so that the squirrel doesn’t approach but Brooke doesn’t know I’m here either?
I hear another one of Brooke’s moans through the small crack in the unlatched door, and every rational thought I’ve ever had ceases to exist. Dear God, what have I done to deserve this?
“Oh fuck.” The pitch of her voice is getting higher and the tempo is getting faster as she approaches what I’m absolutely positive is going to be an earth-shattering orgasm. The hair at the back of my neck stands on end, and so does the appendage between my thighs.
Brooke’s the kind of woman who’s sexy without trying. She is a refreshing—addictive-as-hell—contrast to my ex. Hell, to any woman I’ve ever been with. She doesn’t flaunt her body or flash her tits or try to make a seductive act out of anything. She’s low-key awkward most of the time, but she’s also absolutely adorable in her own skin. Her glasses frame her face and highlight her intelligence, and her wittiness has never missed a meal. I swear she can turn even the simplest thing into a pun or a joke.
She is multifaceted. A mindfuck combination of all the things that turn me on and endear her to my core. She’s the most fun I’ve ever experienced, and I haven’t even touched her.
“Oh yes,” she whimpers. “Yes.”
Gahhh, focus, Chase. FOCUS. Now is not the time to get distracted by all the things you like about this woman. Now is the time to get the hell out of dodge before you get in a whole world of trouble.
Because as much as Brooke is a catch and a half, I know that’s not the real reason I’m imagining her starring opposite me in the next big porno.
It’s the book. It has to be the book. Right?
Clive and River’s chemistry is off the charts, and the resulting hot scenes are akin to human wildfires. There’s intimacy and passion and seriously performative sex, and for a visual reader like me, it can make you believe you’re there and that it’s happening to you.
Not to mention it’s been over six months since I had sex with anyone other than myself, and this kind of drought is not lending a helpful hand in my current situation.
Talking in detail, about a scene where River spreads herself out on Clive’s kitchen counter so he can lick her pussy until it makes her eyes roll in the back of her head, at dinner tonight is bound to get a guy feeling like he’s on a hair trigger for arousal. Add in cute, sweet, unbelievably kind Brooke Baker moaning like she was born to in the shower just adjacent from my current location, and you’ve got a recipe for disaster.
