11. Berkley
Fucking Look At You
Brent crawled up, moving so he hovered above me. He’d discarded his suit jacket when we’d entered the room, leaving him in slacks and a light grey button up. Without asking for permission, or offering any words at all, I reached up and slowly undid the buttons on his shirt. As he sat back on his heels, I rose with him and pushed it off his shoulders, exposing his bare chest and those sexy sleeves of tattoos down his arms.
Years of playing hockey had turned Brent into the most perfect example of male athleticism I’d ever seen. He was broad in the shoulders, his chest tapering into a slightly more narrow waist. He had abs I wanted to lick and pectorals lightly dusted with dark hair.
Brent pulled me onto his lap and kissed me, his lips soft and warm against my own. Lightly, I scraped my fingernails up his stomach, making him sigh against my mouth. When he ran his tongue along the seam of my lips, I opened for him. Our tongues danced together, breaths coming shorter and shorter as our urgency increased. I pulled away, leaning down to press open-mouthed kisses to the side of his neck, trailing my nose across his throat and repeating the process on the other side. The glimpse of dark ink trailing across his left pec had me shifting on his lap, desperate for my first full, in-person view of the massive eagle in flight.
Over the years, I’d seen plenty of pictures of him in t-shirts that hinted at the designs inked across his skin, and one day I’d know the stories behind them all, but my attention was solely focused on the majestic bird at the moment.
The head and body rested on his deltoid while its wings spread wide across his chest and back. Its claws were outstretched, eyes narrowed, beak open as if at any moment it would emit a menacing call and swoop down, grasping some unsuspecting prey in its clutches and dragging it away. The artist had done an incredible job, the details of the bird so lifelike that I half expected to feel soft feathers instead of Brent’s smooth skin when I ran my fingers over the lines.
I could tell by the tension in his body that Brent was barely leashed, so I moved to straddle him, my dress riding up around my waist. I leaned forward to press my lips to his clavicle, where the tip of the eagle’s wing brushed against the bone. Brent inhaled sharply and reached behind me, pulling the zipper on my dress. It fell off my shoulders, pooling at my waist, revealing my red lace bra and stomach.
I ran my hands down his arms, marveling at the smooth skin stretched over hard muscle.
Lifting my gaze, I looked into his eyes and said, “You’re beautiful.”
Brent didn’t speak, simply bent and pressed open-mouth kisses to my chest. When his nose dipped between my breasts, I sat back, giving him easier access.
“Let me take care of you,” he said against my skin. “Just…god, Berk. I need to touch you.”
Rising off his lap, I stood and peeled the dress the rest of the way down my body until it puddled at my feet. Brent’s chest rapidly rose and fell as he watched me, looking his fill when I was half naked.
“Fuck.”
I waved a hand in his direction. “I mean…same.”
Brent chuckled, then rose to stand in front of me, raising his hands and tracing them up my sides until they came to rest in the middle of my back—right over the clasp of my bra.
“May I?”
“Please.”
A breath later, the hooks were free, and he brushed the straps from my shoulders. Cool air bit at my nipples, tightening them into peaks. Brent lifted his hands and cupped each breast.
“Fuck.”
“You keep saying that.”
“You are perfect,” he whispered.
Instead of speaking—honestly, I was out of words—I leaned forward and flicked my tongue over one of his nipples like I’d been wanting to do since I unbuttoned his shirt. My hands flew to his belt, deftly undoing it, unzipping his pants, and pushing them to his ankles.
Even still wearing boxers—holy hell. I was beginning to understand why all he could manage to say was “fuck” because…same.
“You’re ridiculous,” I said, huffing out a little laugh.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, rubbing his thumbs over my nipples, causing me to arch into his touch, desperate for more.
“I know you’re a professional athlete and everything but…fucking look at you.”
“The feeling is mutual,” he growled, pulling me flush against his body. I’d seen the way his cock tented the front of his boxers, but having every hard inch of him pressed against my stomach with barely anything between us was an entirely different experience. “Do you see what you do to me?”
In response, I grabbed his hand, tilted my hips, and brought his fingers to my center. Even without touching it myself, I knew my panties were utterly drenched. I was fucking soaked for him.
“The feeling is mutual,” I quipped, shooting his words back at him.
I watched his eyes as the leash on his control snapped, as they darkened from clear blue to stormy. Before I could blink, I was flat on my back on the fluffy down comforter.
A heartbeat later, Brent surprised me by positioning himself not between my legs, but at my side, an elbow propping him up. His eyes never strayed from mine as he pushed my panties aside and slipped a finger into my pussy without warning.
“Oh, fuck,” I moaned, back arching at the intrusion. I wasn’t prepared other than being wetter than I’d ever been in my life, but I didn’t mind in the slightest. I’d envisioned this a thousand times, and having him touch me now was better than a dream.
Brent lazily pumped that finger in and out as I circled my hips, silently begging him to hit the spots I needed him to.
“I need…more,” I breathed. “I’ve never…not like this. Hardly ever period.”
My disjointed words made no sense, yet somehow, Brent understood me perfectly.
“You mean you’ve never come from someone finger fucking you? And that you’ve hardly ever come at all? Is that what you’re telling me, Blondie?”
I nodded. “At least not with someone else.”
“Ahh, so you can get yourself off just fine.”
Another nod.
“So let me guess. Now you think you can’t come like this.” With that final word, he pushed another finger inside.
I could only nod once more, too keyed up to speak, squirming against the mattress, bearing down on his hand in desperation for more friction.
“Well,” he said, withdrawing his fingers—much to my dismay—and holding them in front of his face. “You’ve never been with me.” His eyes met mine, and the absolute arrogance and complete confidence with which he spoke his next words had another wave of desire crashing over me. “I’m going to learn every inch of this body, Berk, and what exactly it takes to make you come. And then I’m going to do it over and over and over. With my tongue. With my cock. But tonight, we’ll start with my hand.”
Anticipation and the absolute filthiness of his words had my toes and fingers curling against the comforter, my clit throbbing from need.
And then to make matters worse—or better—Brent brought his fingers to his mouth and licked them clean.
“Mmm, you taste incredible. One day, I’m going to lap your sweetness right from your pretty pussy.”
I’d read enough romance novels that featured guys who talked dirty in bed, and I’d seen my fair share of porn. I didn’t think I’d be into it.
Leave it to Brent Jean to change my mind.
“Would you like that, baby?” he asked when I didn’t respond, bending to press a kiss to my lips. I tasted myself there, and it only heightened my desire. “Would you like me to make you come all over my fingers?”
“Please,” I whimpered.
Brent smirked. “Told you I’d have you begging for it.”
And then he drove those fingers back into me, twisting and curling them, pumping in and out methodically until I was clawing at his arm, truly begging for that push over the edge.
“You think I should let you come?” he asked. “But your pussy feels so good around my fingers. I could do this all night, Blondie. You’re making me so hard. I can only imagine what you’ll feel like around my cock.”
His eyes darkened further, the irises nearly swallowing his pupils. Even in my sex-addled haze, I couldn’t help but wonder how he was doing it—how he was holding back from touching himself, or asking me to do it for him.
The man’s self-control was impressive.
He stilled, staring at me expectantly, and I realized I hadn’t answered his initial question.
“Yes,” I answered at last. “Yes, let me come.”
“What’s the magic word?”
“Please, Brent. Please.”
A wicked grin tipped up his mouth, and his hand moved again, though at a leisurely pace, nowhere near the pressure and speed I needed.
I nearly screamed in frustration as he said, “I have a question for you first.”
“I don’t really think now is the time for conversation,” I ground out, wiggling my hips.
“It’s the perfect time.”
“Brent!”
“I love it when you scream my name,” he said with a chuckle, and I dug my nails harder into his arm, pressing deep crescents into his skin. “Fine, fine. I was just thinking we should define our relationship.”
“Now?” I asked, incredulous and frustrated. I removed my hand from his arm and moved it to my clit, but before I could apply any pressure, he shifted, grabbed my wrist, and held it over my head. I thought about going for it with the other, but I knew he’d thwart that attempt, too.
“This is my pussy right now, Berk. You don’t get to touch it.”
I should’ve been afraid of the way he loomed over me, but the pure power in his body, and the possessiveness in his eyes, in his words…fuck I wanted him to look at me and speak to me like that all the time.
“Yes, now,” he growled.
“Get to the point before I explode,” I demanded. “You’re fucking wicked, and I’m going to get you back for this.”
“I look forward to it,” he said with a chuckle. Then, finally, “Will you be my girlfriend?”
“You…” I was already out of my mind, but something about those five words, so simple yet so monumental, somehow heightened my arousal. “God, yes. Now will you please make me come?”
“Well, since you asked so nicely.”
I briefly considered strangling him, but his hand picked up the pace again, his bicep bunching, the ink waving like a flag as he worked his fingers in and out, faster and faster. And right when I thought I’d simply cease to exist if I didn’t come, he pressed his thumb to my clit.
I went off like a bomb, writhing beneath him, moaning unintelligible words at the ceiling while he murmured how beautiful I was, how sexy I was, how fucking hot I was when I came. How tightly my pussy gripped his fingers, and how he couldn’t wait for the day I was milking his cock instead of his hand.
The spasms and aftershocks lasted longer than any orgasm I’d ever experienced, and I was covered in sweat when I stilled at last, though my heart remained thumping loudly in my chest. I opened my eyes to once again find Brent licking his fingers clean.
“How was that?” he asked, his smirk telling me he already knew the answer.
“Unbelievable.” On shaky arms, I rose to sitting, gripping his chin in my hand. “But make no mistake, Brent Jean. I will pay you back for toying with me.”
“I look forward to it,” he said, kissing me softly before rising from the bed. I threw myself backward onto the pillows, snuggling into the soft sheets.
A moment later, a zipper being pulled sliced through the silence, and I mumbled, “What are you doing?”
“Getting you a shirt to sleep in,” he said, tossing me a blue tee.
Though I was dead tired, my legs and arms deliciously wrung out in that way only a really phenomenal orgasm could accomplish, I sat up again and tugged it on.
Brent disappeared into the bathroom, and by the time he returned, I was already asleep.