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“You. You know what’s up.” And then he’s giving me a messy, chocolate-y kiss, my entire body rising into his caress.
I grab the front of his shirt, smearing chocolate everywhere. He grabs my ass and presses his erection into me. My blood leaps. I suck on his bottom lip. He makes that growly sound that sends my body skidding and starts backing me toward the bedroom. Mouth hot on mine.
I unbutton his shirt as we go. He guides my tee up my belly and over my head, dropping it on the floor. Immediately takes my breasts in his hands, cupping them through the lace of my bralette.
“So good,” I breathe. “Being with you—”
“I know.” He kisses my neck. “I know.” Guides my bra over my head too. “Sweetheart, I know.”
His dirty shirt comes off. Undershirt too. Shoes.
Then we’re in the bedroom. We’re both fumbling with his belt buckle as I’m stepping out of my pants. His eyes go feral when he sees I’m not wearing underwear. He lifts me up and tosses me on the bed. Laughing, I reach for him, but instead he parts my knees and ducks his head and gives my pussy one hot, hard stroke of his tongue. I cry out, bones melting as he sucks on my nipples, my neck. He climbs over me, blocking out everything except the sound of his hands roving over every inch of my skin.
“Already wet,” he says.
“How could I not be?” His naked belly settles against mine. I bracket his hips with my knees and feel his dick nudge against the inside of my thigh.
“No,” he grunts, pulling back his hips. He hangs his head and takes several deep, angry breaths through his nose. “That’s—fire. Playing with fire. Precum. Just . . . fuck, I left the condoms in the kitchen. Stay still.”
He pushes off the bed and disappears through the door. My skin puckers at the rush of cool air that greets me in his absence. My arms fall onto the mattress, and I gather the bed linens in my hands, trying to get a grip on . . . everything. My body. My heart.
It’s all running away from me, and I’m scared out of my mind.
Brooks strides back into the room. He’s rolling a condom onto his length, tossing the foil packet onto the floor beside my bra and pants.
“We’re making such a mess of your place,” I say. “Everything was so neat—”
“Fuck that.” He climbs over me and slants his mouth over mine. “Are you still sore?”
“No, I’m okay—”
“Good.” He lines himself up at my entrance and sinks inside me in a single, vicious thrust.
He shudders. I gasp, the pleasure—tinged with the slightest bit of pain—overwhelming.
“All day,” I whisper, digging my fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. “I’ve been waiting for this all day.”
Brooks rests his forehead against mine and begins to move. Ardent thrusts. Deep. Steady. Slow. When he reaches between us and plays with my clit, using his thumb, my body unfurls. Pressure builds. Worries fade.
His tongue licks into my mouth. He pulls at my lips, making me tip my chin to meet him stroke for stroke. I lose myself in the kiss, my mind blank, my body singing with the need for release.
It comes like a crack of lightning, startling us both with its intensity. My legs shake and I cling to Brooks for dear life as the wave hits. And hits. And hits, egged on by the way he swivels his hips at the crest of every thrust. I hold him close, one arm looped under his, the other curled around his neck as I drown.
When I finally come up for air, I’m still shaking.
Brooks soothes me with kisses to my forehead, cheeks, lips. His movements become deeper, harder. His breath catches.
“Greer.”
I put my hand on the small of his back and press him deeper into me. Kiss his throat.
He goes still and empties himself inside me.
We stay like that for a long beat, both of us breathing hard. We’re covered in a sheen of sweat.
My heart rate won’t come down.
“I’m sorry.” Brooks buries his head in my neck. “I didn’t mean to go so fast. I should’ve . . . I wanted to take our time.”
“I didn’t.”
A beat. Brooks rocks his hips.
“You hang here. I’ll clean us up,” he says, and carefully pulls out of me.
I feel . . . something new between my legs. A liquid rush. Reaching down, I touch something sticky that’s running down the inside of my thigh.
My stomach drops. “Brooks?”
“Yeah?” He’s already standing beside the bed, looking at me over his shoulder.
I hold up my hand, panic rising. “There’s something leaking—”
“Shit.” He glances down at his torso. “Shit.” His eyes are wide when they find mine again. “The condom broke.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
BROOKS
Greer starts to cry.
