6. Brady
brADY
I spend half the night pacing my cabin like a caged animal, replaying that kiss over and over until I want to punch something.
I can still taste her, the memory of her legs wrapped around my waist making my cock throb with want.
What the hell was I thinking?
She's a professional. She came here to do a job, to interview for a position that could change her life, and I... I mauled her on her porch like some desperate teenager.
Sunrise finds me hacking at a fallen log with all the subtlety of a chainsaw murder. Graham wanders by with a coffee mug full of steaming judgment, telling me I look like something Rourke will probably cough up this morning, and I wince before telling him to get lost.
But two hours of chopping firewood hasn’t done much but give me something to do while I think about her sexy mouth and her breathy “do it anyway” as it snarls through my skull.
The rational thing to do is stay away, let her finish her week here without me complicating it. But the thought of leaving things like this—with her thinking I ran because I didn't want her—makes my chest ache.
I have to apologize. Again. Face to face.
The walk to Imogen’s cabin feels longer than my first solo climb. My knock cracks the silence like dropped kindling.
"Who is it?" she calls.
“Brady,” I answer, my palms sweating.
She opens the door, wearing pajama pants and a Namaste in Bed T-shirt, pink hair sleep-mussed. She looks gorgeous .
"I wasn't sure you'd?—"
"I came to apologize," I interrupt, the words rushing out.
She opens the door wide and turns to walk back inside.
I close the door and follow her. "Last night was completely out of line. I took advantage of the situation, of your kindness, and I'm sorry."
She tilts her head, studying me. "Took advantage how?"
"You've been nothing but professional with me, and I..." I scrub my hands over my face. "I shouldn't have kissed you. It was wrong."
"Was it?" She moves closer to me. "Because I'm pretty sure I kissed you back."
"That's not the point?—"
"What is the point, Brady?" She asks, crossing her arms over her chest. "Because from where I'm standing, two consenting adults shared a kiss. Nothing wrong with that."
I shake my head. "You're here for work. I don't want to mess that up for you."
"You won't." She reaches out, her fingers brushing my forearm. "Look, I have a rule about not getting involved with clients. But since you're not technically paying me..."
My stomach drops. "I really shouldn't get massages from you anymore. It wouldn't be right."
“So you don’t want massages either? Why not?”
"Because…of what happened. Because I obviously have a hard time controlling myself around you and I can't promise it won't happen again."
Her lips curve into a small smile. "I don't want you to promise that."
The words confuse me. "What?”
She huffs. "Sure, it wouldn’t be right for you to give me a testimonial for the spa interview.
That’s not ethical. But there's no payment involved here, no professional conflict.
" She steps closer. "You were just starting to trust me, to let me help you.
I don't want you to lose that progress because you're overthinking this. "
"I'm not overthinking?—"
"You are." Her smile widens. "It's kind of adorable, actually."
I stare at her, stunned. "You're not upset?"
"About the kiss? Brady, that kiss was… mind-blowing . I can’t stop thinking about it.” Heat creeps up my neck as she continues. "I'm only upset that you ran away afterward."
"I didn't know what else to do."
"You don’t give yourself enough credit. Next time, stick around and see what happens." Her fingers trace along my forearm, and I shiver.
She said ‘next time.’
"So, do you want to skip today's session?” she asks. “Or can we be adults about this?"
I should probably say yes, skip it, and maintain some distance.
Instead, I hear myself asking, "What time?"
She grins. "Two o'clock?"
I nod, not trusting my voice.
* * *
When I arrive at her cabin later, I'm not prepared for Imogen answering the door in tiny cutoff sweat shorts that show off her toned legs and a baby tank that barely covers her sweet breasts.
"Hi," she says, stepping aside to let me in, and I try not to stare at the way those shorts cling to her plump little ass. Or how the thin fabric of her top does nothing to hide her stiff nipples.
"H-hey." My voice comes out rougher than intended.
The room's set up as usual—massage table, soft lighting, the scent of eucalyptus in the air. But something feels different. Maybe it’s how Imogen is eyeing me.
"Same routine," she says, as her eyes drag down my body slowly. “But leave the boxers off this time. Get comfortable."
Naked? I gulp.
I strip down and position myself face down on the table, pulling the sheet over my lower half.
“Ready,” I manage to croak out.
I hear her enter the room, warming oil in her hands. She settles her palms on my shoulders and begins those long, flowing strokes across my back. I immediately let out a breath. Damn, how did I already miss this?
“You okay?” she asks.
"I’m confused," I admit. "About last night. About this."
"What's confusing about it?"
Her thumbs swirl around a knot near my shoulder blade, and I groan. "Everything. I don't know how to do —whatever this is."
"Maybe you don't have to do anything." Her hands work down my spine. "Maybe you just let it happen."
"That's not how I work. I like to have a plan."
She laughs softly. "How's that working out for you right now?”
Despite everything, I smile. "Point taken."
She moves over the familiar territory of my back and shoulders, but her touch feels different—slower, softer. Every stroke lingers, and she’s using her nails over my skin, alighting my nerve-endings.
Oh god…
“Let’s talk more about this fear of yours," she says.
"About what fear?"
"About you being afraid to take what you want."
I blink, trying to understand what she’s saying. "I don’t…"
She sweeps down to my legs. "You want something, but you're convinced you don't deserve it. Or that you're too old, too inexperienced, too whatever."
The words hit closer to home than I'd like. “Okay.”
"You think your grandfather would want you to be hiding from life? That he’d want you to shy away from experiences…from people?"
"No," I say quietly. "He always said life was meant to be lived fully."
"Then maybe it's time you listened to him…and to your heart."
When she asks me to turn over, my heart hammers against my ribs. I flip onto my back, adjusting the sheet across my hips, and watch as she moves around the table.
Her nails skate over the sheet, dangerously close to my stiffening cock, and I gasp. “And you should definitely start listening to your body,” she says, climbing up onto the table and straddling my hips.
"What are you—" I begin, but the words die as she settles her weight on top of me, the heat of her body pressing against mine through the sheet.
My cock goes rock hard under her instantly.
"Working on your chest," she says innocently, but there's nothing innocent about the way she sinks down onto my groin, or the way her hands press against my pectorals.
"Imogen..."
"Just relax." Her fingers trace the lines of my tattoos, following the curves of dragons and waves across my chest.
Her touch is firm but teasing, working the muscles of my chest with slow, deliberate strokes. When her thumbs brush across my nipples, I gasp, my hips jerking.
"Sensitive," she murmurs, doing it again, and I bite back a groan.
"This isn't—" I swallow hard as she circles my nipples with her fingers then drags her nails over them. " Fuck ….this isn't therapeutic massage." I’m writhing, it feels so good.
"No," she agrees, leaning down until her breath is hot against my ear. "It's not."
Before I can respond, she sits back and pulls her tank top over her head, revealing perfect, round breasts with dusky nipples.
My mouth waters.
"Touch me," she whispers, guiding my hands to her breasts.
They fill my palms like heaven, soft and warm, and when I brush my thumbs across her nipples, she arches into my touch with a soft moan that makes my trapped cock throb against her molten lava center.
"You're so beautiful," I breathe, stroking her sweet curves and velvety skin as she gasps.
She lifts up and I immediately miss her heat. She moves lower on the table, her hands sliding down my abs.
"Can I touch you here?" She trails a finger along my hips at the edge of the sheet, making my skin flutter.
“Yes, please…” I nod enthusiastically, and she pulls the sheet away, exposing me completely. My cock is already so hard and desperate.
She just stares for a moment, her lips parting.
"God, your cock is magnificent,” she breathes, then wraps her oil-slicked hand around me.
"Holy shit," I gasp, my entire body jolting at the contact. Nothing— nothing —has ever felt like this.
"Wow," she purrs, her grip firm but gentle as she explores me. "I love how you react to my touch."
I have to get up onto my elbows to watch. Her thumb swipes across the swollen head, collecting the bead of moisture there, and my toes actually curl. A shudder racks my entire body as she spreads the slickness around the sensitive crown. My head goes back with a loud groan.
"Mmm, you like that," she whispers, her voice husky. "Leaking for me already."
“I won’t last,” I rasp, as she strokes down to the base, then back up, her fingers learning every ridge and vein.
“I’m aware,” she replies, as she bites her lower lip.
She works me over with agonizing patience, my body riding a fine, maddening edge.
When she draws her fingers into a twist at the top, focusing on the spot just beneath the head, I buck.
"Oh Christ," I groan, my hands clawing at the vinyl table.
"That's the spot, isn't it?" She does it again, her smile wicked as she watches me fall apart. "Right here on your sensitive cock?"
Her other hand cups my balls, rolling them gently as she continues that electrifying twist of her oiled fingers. The sensation makes my vision blur.
"Imogen, I can't—" My voice breaks as she varies her rhythm, sometimes stroking slow and deep, sometimes quick and light across the head.
"Can't what, baby?" she teases, using both hands now—one working my shaft while the other focuses on the swollen tip. "Can't handle how good this feels? Can't believe someone's touching you this way?"
She’s destroying me. Every nerve ending is on fire, every muscle taut with pleasure I never knew existed.
"You're shaking," she observes with obvious delight. "Your whole body's trembling for me. I bet you never imagined it could feel like this.”
She's right—I'm shaking like a leaf, my hips bucking helplessly into her touch as she works me with devastating prowess. When she leans down to kiss the tip, her lips glistening with my precum, I nearly black out.
"That's it," she murmurs, stroking me with slow, firm pressure. "Let it happen, Brady."
I groan. "I’ve never…been touched like this."
She presses a soft kiss to my lips. "I'm honored to be your first."
The tenderness in her voice, combined with the exquisite torture of her hand on my throbbing cock, has me ready to blow.
“I’m going to—” I start, then she circles her fingertip on that spot and I’m suddenly coming. “Fuck!” I shout, my release painting my stomach as pleasure crashes over me.
“Yes…feel it everywhere,” she whispers, as she works me through it. I jerk and convulse, unable to control myself. But moreover, not wanting to control it.
When I can finally breathe again, I realize she's watching me with something like awe, her slick touch soothing me through the aftershocks.
"Watching you climax is so special.” She grabs a wet cloth near the table, and begins cleaning me up with gentle care. “I can’t wait to do that again..."
“Oh god…” I breathe, struggling for words.
I sit up, pulling her into my arms, and capture her mouth in a kiss that's hungry and full of hope. She melts against me, her hands fisting in my hair as I devour her mouth.
I'm not done. Not even close. If this is happening—if she's giving me this gift—then I want to give her something in return.
"I want to taste you," I growl against her lips, maneuvering her so that she’s now laying back on the table.
I kiss down her body, sucking on her sweet nipples, savoring the flavor of her skin, nipping at her stomach as she moans under me.
“Tell me if I do anything wrong,” I rasp.
“You won’t…but I understand,” she says, tugging at my hair as I peel off her shorts. She’s completely bare underneath, all smooth skin, soft curves, and delicate folds like petals of a flower.
I press wet kisses to her inner thighs, working my way higher. When I drag my tongue through her glistening pussy, she moans. She's a mix of tang and salty musk, and the sound she makes when my tongue rolls over her tender flesh makes my spent cock ache.
I explore her with my mouth, kissing, licking, and suckling, feeding off her gasps, and growling when she arches off the table.
"Yes, Brady, Oh god…yes," she pants, and I find the bundle of nerves that makes her whole body shudder.
I groan, working her with everything I have until she's trembling and chanting my name.
“You’re going to make me come, baby,” she breathes.
Those words are music to my ears.
“Yes,” I rumble against her pussy, not stopping. She arches with a yell, her hips grinding upward, her release flooding my mouth.
I lap her up, feeling like I’ve conquered a redwood.
She pulls me up and I give her all of me in our kiss.
When he finally break apart, she's breathing hard, her eyes glazed with satisfaction.
“How…that was amazing. You didn’t need my direction at all.”
I smile, proud.
"I had a lot of years to study," I tease, and she laughs.
"Just wow." She traces one of my tattoos with her fingertip. "I have my interview tomorrow morning, but then I want to watch your climbing demo in the afternoon."
"Yeah?" …is all I can manage, as I lay there.
"Yeah." She presses a soft kiss to my lips. "I want to see you in action."
I arch a brow at her.
“A different kind of action,” she clarifies, chuckling.
As I hold her against me, skin to skin, I’m content. Whole.
I’m experiencing life to the fullest.
And hell, I'm falling in love as I do it.