Scot and Bothered

23. Then

23

THEN

Brooke and Jack left the pulsing music of the Caves , all but running through the streets, stopping to tug each other into darkened doorsteps for stolen kisses until they were in his stairwell, unlocking the door, stumbling through the shadowed hallway of Jack’s flat, kissing and bumping against the walls.

She didn’t need the light; Brooke could map him in her mind from the countless hours she’d spent cataloging the wide set of his cheekbones, the span of his stride.

She was tired of only looking; she wanted to touch him.

They made it to the end of the hall and into Jack’s room, where he closed the door and fumbled with the lock behind him as he kept kissing her, the soothing press of his lips catching her up. The taste of the malty, dark beer he’d been drinking infiltrated her senses like a contact high.

Jack unzipped her jacket with ruthless efficiency, pushing it off and trailing his hands over her shoulders. It was everything Brooke remembered from the day on the beach, only warmed up and slowed down, the same sense of urgency but no panic so she could savor his grip sliding down her arms until he cap tured her wrists and her coat slipped to the floor. Chills rippled up her spine.

Jack laced their fingers together, his mouth sinking against the exposed slope of her breasts above her black halter top, his tongue hot on her skin. She arched into his touch. “I would’ve worn this weeks ago if I’d known you’d react this way.”

Jack lifted his head and cupped Brooke’s neck, his grip rough. “Like you weren’t tormenting me enough,” he said on a low growl before crashing his lips against hers. She smiled against his mouth as the pads of his fingers curved behind her jaw, then sank into her hair, hot pressure points against her scalp that made her knees weak.

She had been taunting him, desperate to see him snap. Nothing had ever felt as good as watching his eyes darken to a dangerous black in the Caves, simmering with dirty promises. He hedged every touch, every word, under the guise of plausible deniability, but not tonight. Tonight he was unrestrained, uninhibited.

“Wait.” She pulled back. “You’re not drunk, are you?” Please don’t be drunk. Her heart hammered a death march, incapable of surviving the disappointment if he was.

Jack shook his head, his hands stilling on the curve of her neck. “No, are you?” he asked, his breath coming short and heavy.

“No.”

“Thank fuck.” He tipped her head back with one hand, trailed hot kisses along the side of her throat while his other hand popped the button on her jeans and pulled down the fly. Brooke’s eyelids fluttered closed, her multitasking abilities completely failing her, all wound up in the wet press of his lips and his fingers flirting with the open top of her jeans.

She reached for the smooth buttons on his pea coat, pressing them through and sliding the jacket from his shoulders. She needed to feel all of him. Her hands went to his waist, to the hot skin under his shirt, and pushed it up his flat stomach, the ridges of his abs and the curve of his pecs. He groaned in her ear, reaching behind his neck and tugging his shirt clean off.

“Damn,” she said, her voice breathy. She liked him buttoned up and polished, but she liked him even better like this. This side of him only she got to see.

Jack discarded his shirt before divesting Brooke of hers, pressing kisses between her breasts as he tugged down her jeans.

They crashed together again, the heat of his abs against her belly, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, hands tangled in his hair. An unbridled relief swept through her to be skin to skin, to finally be this close to him. For this admission that he felt the same way she did, swept away by this thing more potent than reason or consequences.

Jack walked her backward, arms locked around her waist, until she bumped into the edge of the bed. He laid her down on the rumpled blankets, cool against her back, and kissed her deeply before standing up to yank off his jeans.

He was beautiful. Propped up on her elbows, she took in the trim cut of his waist, the slope of his pecs, the strength in his shoulders. If she was writing him, she’d detail the sweep of his black hair over his forehead, the little crease between his brows as he struggled to kick off his jeans, his full bottom lip she wanted back against hers. She’d write about the way he made her feel noticed and important, rebellious and daring. And also safe.

He slid off his boxers and his erection sprung free. Brooke made a whimpering noise and his eyes snapped to hers, a fire she couldn’t exactly make out in the glow of the streetlight shining through the window, but felt all the same. Jack hooked his thumbs into the sides of her panties, sliding them down, his knuckles brushing along her thighs, her knees, her calves.

He discarded his glasses on the nightstand—a flick of the wrist, a click of plastic on metal as they knocked against his lamp—illuminated by the red numbers of his alarm clock. Brooke had been daydreaming about the glasses toss to the point of distraction, but she hadn’t pictured the hot look in Jack’s eyes turning her molten, the rumpled look of him, his hair mussed from her fingers. Hadn’t pictured his skin bathed in the lamplight from outside, shadows of the windowpane playing across the curve of his shoulder.

He kissed back up her inner thigh and her legs shook with every brush of his lips against her sensitive skin, his fingers following their path.

And just when she thought his mouth would land where she ached for him, he stopped. “Is this too fast? Shit, we can slow down,” he said, his hands spread wide across her thighs.

“It’s not too fast, Jack. I’ve been fantasizing about this since the first time I came in your room.”

He paused over her. “I’m going to need to know the minute details of those fantasies.”

“This is better,” she said, breathless. “And I have a great imagination.” Her fantasies hadn’t come close to the real thing, the heat coming off his skin or the tea tree smell of his sheets.

Jack kissed the inside of her knee and then rested his cheek there. “Show me,” he said, his breathing loud in the darkness. “What you like.”

Another wave of lust washed through Brooke at his words, his desire to know her, to make her feel good. And it was enough to override any insecurity or vulnerability she might not show someone else.

Brooke slipped her fingers between her legs. “Circles,” she said, having never talked about this with anyone before. “Slow at first, and then faster.”

Jack made a deep sound and nipped the soft skin by her knee while he watched her, his fingers gripping her thighs. “Fuck, Brooke. This is so hot.”

He made her feel confident and bold and sexy. She reached for his hand, brought him to where she wanted his touch, moved their hands together where she ached for him. When he followed her rhythm, she dropped her hand, fell back against the bed, sank into the sensation of his fingers and his tongue trailing swirling kisses up her leg.

This need built inside her, swelling until she was about to fall over the edge, but she wanted more of him, to feel his weight on her, his skin against hers.

She moved up the bed until she sank into the plush pillows, Jack following on his hands and knees.

“Was that okay?” he asked at her retreat and she pulled his mouth to hers.

“It was perfect.” She kissed along his jaw and reveled in the rush of breath he released. “But I need you.”

His mouth met hers again in a frenzy as he reached behind her to unhook her bra. The clasp popped and he dragged the straps off her shoulders, tossing it to the floor. Jack’s fingers caressed the curve of her breasts, teasing her as her nipples tightened into hard peaks. Brooke arched into his touch, clinging to his shoulders, until he circled her nipples with his thumb, pinched them until she moaned.

She kissed Jack, rushed and sloppy and breathless while he reached blindly for a condom in the drawer. He rolled it on and settled his weight over her. She shifted underneath him to line them up better, to bring him against the ache between her legs. To finally have a reprieve from all this yearning.

He cupped her face and kissed her deeply while he nudged at her entrance. She rolled her hips up to meet him, welcoming the pressure, needing the release from the insane buildup over the past weeks.

His hand skated along her thigh, guided her knee to hook around his waist while he pushed into her, clenching his jaw and breathing out with a low groan. Brooke clung to Jack’s shoulders, wrapped her legs around him, arched into him as he thrust, his lips coming back to claim hers.

She rocked against him, pushing the tempo faster, delirious from the friction between them. Needing to trace the muscles bunching in his shoulders, the dip of his triceps, to wrap herself up in him like this could be forever.

His lips met her throat and kissed up her flushed skin. “I won’t last like this, B. You’re driving me out of my mind.”

“We’ll go slow next time,” she said and tugged his face back to hers. He groaned against her lips when she arched, grinding against him, needing more.

“Touch me again?” she asked and Jack braced his weight on one arm while his other hand slipped between her legs and he drew tight circles with his thumb. Brooke whimpered as she rocked against him, clung to his neck, tracked her hand down his chest.

“Fuck. Yes,” she said as pressure swelled inside her, fueled by his fingers and his thrusts deep inside her.

Jack dropped his head to the crook of her shoulder. “Christ, I love the sounds you make,” he said on a low breath.

She felt out of control and needy, too big for her body, expanding into a painful peak, like she might flame out any minute. She gripped Jack’s wrist. “Lighter,” she breathed and he applied the perfect pressure.

“Like that?”

“Mmm-hmm,” she managed to say, barely able to focus on anything but the ache deep in her core, the slide of Jack’s skin against hers. “I’m so close. Keep doing that.”

He brushed kisses along her lips, kept the pace steady, just what she needed. She tightened around him and he groaned deep and low, sending tingles across her skin. Another roll of his hips and Brooke fell over the edge, waves of pleasure ricocheting through her. Jack let out a deep groan and thrust faster.

She pushed his hand away when the sensation became too much, riding out the waves as he orgasmed. He dropped to both forearms above her head and she kissed his neck, the curve of his jaw, the soft center of his cheek, as he shook above her.

Brooke breathed through her nose, fast and shallow, with no hope of ever recovering her breath or coming back down to earth.

Jack rolled her to her side, cradling her against him, his nose in her hair.

“I guess we found something else you’re good at,” she said and Jack’s loud laugh filled the room, rumbling through her.

“What can I say? You bring out the best in me, B.” He nuzzled against her ear, and an overwhelming peace wrapped around her, as snug as his arms. She sank into the feeling, the overarching rightness of being with him.

“Jackie!” Rohan called and Jack jolted up as Brooke squeaked and pulled the blankets up and over her head. Rohan jiggled the doorknob and the knock sounded again, three sharp raps on the wooden door that matched the intensity of Brooke’s pounding heart. “Why’s the door locked?”

Brooke blew out a breath. Thank god Jack had remembered.

Jack grunted. “Piss off, Rohan.”

“Who’s in there with you?”

“No one.”

Brooke stiffened at the words. Jack reached under the blanket, found her hand where she gripped them above her head, squeezed like he was comforting her. Like he didn’t mean them.

“Go away,” Jack ground out. “I’m sleeping.”

“Wanker,” Rohan called out, and they waited for his footsteps to fade down the hall. Brooke took a deep breath, trying to slow her heartbeat, but it wasn’t going to even out, not with reality crashing in around them.

Jack lifted the edge of the blanket and slipped down under it, holding it above their heads like a tent, like they could stay in their little world just awhile longer. “I shouldn’t have said ‘no one.’ Brooke, you’re everything,” he whispered. He placed a kiss against her lips, soft and gentle.

She hummed against him and kissed him deeper, the sheet brushing against the top of her forehead as they moved. “You are, too,” she said, but she couldn’t disguise the worry in her voice. What would’ve happened if Rohan had walked in? Would he freak out? Would he say something?

“Hey.” Jack cupped her cheek. “Are you regretting this?”

“No.” Even though she hated the heaviness settling around her at the idea of getting caught, she didn’t regret it. She wanted Jack and she’d make the same choice again. She shifted, her hand flat against his chest, and tucked in under his chin, hiding her face while she asked, “Are you?”

“Not at all.” Jack wrapped his arm around her tighter, kissed her hair. “We’ll be safer. It’ll be okay.”

Brooke pressed kisses along his collarbone, nodded against his shoulder. “I trust you.”