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His erection presses against my center. It feels so, so good.
This feels right in a way it never has before. Maybe because we’re stone-cold sober? Or maybe because he’s different in every way imaginable from the guys I’ve been with in the past.
Whatever the case, I allow myself to let go. Not hard to get lost in the moment when Brooks is kissing me like a man desperate for air.
My air.
The feel of his hands on me—and the expression on his face when he saw the pretzels, the emotion I witnessed there—it’s all so beautiful.
Tragic too. The definition of bittersweet.
I wanna love up on him so the sweet outweighs the bitter, just like it does for me when I’m with Brooks. So I glide my fingers into the hair on the back of his neck and gently play with it, making him groan. I suck on his bottom lip, lick into his mouth. I hold his face in my other hand and draw my thumb across his stubble.
My heart thumps at the open display of tenderness. I’m putting myself out there. Usually what happens at this point is the guy mistakes my affection for eagerness, and he’ll either grab my hand and put it on his dick or try to rip my clothes off.
But Brooks gets it. He gently sucks on my tongue. His thumbs trace small circles on my naked thighs, goosebumps rippling across my skin from his slow, deliberate touch. The heat gathering in my pussy becomes almost too much to bear.
In addition to being a mathematical genius and an epic kisser, Brooks must also be a mind reader, because now he’s walking us over to the bed. He’s murmuring in my ear. I’m gonna put you down, okay? Hold on to my neck.
“This.” I put my palm between Brooks’s shoulder blades and pull up his sweater with my fingers. The fabric, probably some kind of laughably expensive cashmere, feels like buttery silk. “Off.”
“Gimme a minute.”
He lays me on the mattress. My shirt rides up, revealing my naked pelvis. I immediately move to cover myself back up, clamping my knees together, but Brooks catches my wrist. “No.”
“But—”
“I said no.” His eyes bore into mine. “I want to see what I’ve been thinking about all morning.”
My heart leaps. “You’ve been thinking about me?”
“Of course I have,” he says, his gaze flicking to my knees. “So you don’t wear panties to bed, then.”
“I don’t.”
“Open your legs. Let me see.”
“I didn’t think—I had no idea—I haven’t, like, shaved or—”
“I don’t care about that.”
“But—” Other guys do.
Brooks’s nostrils flare. “I don’t care, Greer. Now do as I say.”
My clit swells at his impatience. His supremely confident commands. My God it’s hot, being with someone who knows what he wants.
Especially when what he wants is you.
My pulse drumming in my ears, my knees fall apart. Brooks drops my wrist and straightens a little. His eyes rove down my body until they catch on my pussy. I’m not spread wide, but I’m definitely showing him everything.
For several beats he just stares, not touching me, a muscle in his jaw ticking. My face grows hot. My whole body is hot. It’s all I can do not to writhe beneath his scrutiny. His expression is dark now. Mouth set in a hard, almost angry line.
“Is it—am I—is everything okay?”
He blinks. Looks at me. His eyes shimmer with a wild glint. “That’s a bullshit question. ‘Okay’?” He scoffs. “Sweetheart, you’re so beyond okay I’m struggling not to fuck you every way I know how.”
Blood, white-hot and needy, pools between my legs. My heart leaps, and my brain goes haywire.
Sweetheart. Fuck you. Bullshit question.
I don’t know which one to dwell on first. They’re all exquisitely, arousingly delicious.
But Brooks is waiting for me to say something. Do something. He hovers over me expectantly. It hits me that he wants permission. Which, in a way, means he wants me to think about what I want.
What I need. And for the first time in my life, I know exactly what that is.
“So do it,” I breathe, stunned by my own boldness. “Fuck me every way you know how. But first, take off that sweater already. I want to see you.”
The demand—the tone—it’s a little salty for me. But Brooks doesn’t seem to mind.
In fact, it only seems to turn him on more.
His nostrils flare again. Wordlessly he reaches behind him to grab the back collar of his sweater. He yanks it off, revealing the white T-shirt he’s wearing underneath the sweater. That comes off too. The motion—the contraction and release of his naked abdominal muscles—the whorls of hair on his chest, darker than I’d imagined and far more erotic—
I can’t help it. I yank my shirt over my head and pluck at my nipple, sending a jolt of electricity straight to my pussy.
