Chapter 13 Brooks
THIRTEEN
brOOKS
There are good ideas, and there are bad ideas. Then there is the irresistible pull of a beautiful, naked woman wanting to be touched. Lindsey is all three.
I should leave this room. The sun will be up soon and I’m pushing it already.
Holly has never slept this long straight through, but I can’t seem to pull myself from the warmth of this space next to her body.
I think it’s the view. She rolls on her back, stretching her arms toward the headboard while her head rolls to the side and her hazy-eyed gaze lands on me.
“Hi,” she whispers, biting her bottom lip to really sell the coy smile on her lips. She knows the blanket has slipped off her body. She knows exactly the effect it’s having on me, too. I can see it in her eyes.
“I should go,” I say, clearing not moving.
She sucks in her lips and hums, “Mmm hmm.”
She knows I’m not going to.
My eyes scan the length of her body, following the tendrils of hair that seem strategically draped over her shoulder and onto her breast. I glide my hand across her chest, taking the ribbon of hair between two fingers, then slowly drag it away from her nipple.
A tiny gasp parts her lips, and her back arches slightly.
Well, fuck.
I study her face for clues as my fingertips trace slow circles around her breast, each pass coming closer to the hard nipple I’m straining not to bite.
When my thumb finally grazes the pink skin, she hisses, closing her eyes tight as her back arches even more and she squeezes her thighs together. My cock flexes in response.
“Somebody is getting very wet,” I say, scooting close to taste a nipple.
I press my tongue against the one closest to me as I look up at her through my lashes.
She’s shading her eyes with both hands and biting her lip, and the look of anticipation on her face is so fucking adorable I almost want to pin her in this moment forever.
I breathe out a soft laugh that puckers her skin more, then smile, letting my bottom lip tickle the hard bud before I turn all my attention to it, drawing it into my mouth and suckling hard as my tongue swirls against the tip.
“Fuck me,” she whimpers, still careful to keep her voice low. These walls are thin, and the twins could come knocking on her door any minute. Holly could start to cry. But so far, we seem to be caught in a pause in time. And I plan on milking every last second of it.
I continue to punish her nipple with my mouth as my right palm glides along her ribcage, then her hip, until finally centering just below her belly button.
I nip at the hard peak of her breast before glancing up at her while my hand inches lower, until I slide my fingers against her soaking wet pussy.
I bite the tip of my tongue as I smile at her, but she’s frozen on the edge with her expression—lips parted, eyes locked on me, body teaming with anticipation.
She’s quivering, and it’s absolutely delicious.
“You want to come this morning, Lindsey?”
She gives me a tiny nod.
I suck her nipple one more time, then sink one finger inside her while my thumb presses against her swollen clit.
“Shit,” she says, grabbing the closest pillow and covering her face to dull her moans.
I glide my finger in and out a few times before adding a second, and her hips buck in response.
She’s so ready to come undone, and I want so badly to drag this out for her, to tease her endlessly and watch her fall apart on me over and over again.
But the room is now a golden glow, and we’re down to minutes of alone time.
I slide my finger out and she pulls the pillow from her face so I can see her puppy-dog eyes begging me not to stop.
I chuckle softly and get on my knees.
“I’d fuck you, baby, but there simply isn’t time. So you’re going to need to come on my mouth, okay?” I say, situating myself between her legs, then dropping my chin to the mattress between them.
My tongue flattens against her pussy, and I work it up and down in languid strokes at first, pausing to suck her swollen skin into my mouth while my tongue flicks against the most sensitive part.
Her hands suddenly dive into my hair, and she holds my head in place as my tongue continues to work her.
I slip a finger inside her when I feel her body begin to writhe, and when her pussy tightens and begins to pulse, I am relentless.
She squeezes her thighs around me, squirming as my finger fucks her and my mouth drinks her in.
I don’t stop until she’s completely limp and her legs fall open at my sides.
Even as I pull away, I leave her with the promise that I’ll be back, kissing her sweet cunt one last time before wiping my chin and standing at the foot of the bed.
“I’ll save my turn. It will be that much sweeter,” I say.
Her cheeks blush and she closes her legs, drawing her knees up to her body as she bites a fingernail on one hand.
It’s hard to pull myself away, and I let my gaze linger on her longer than I should.
Holly’s cry breaks the quiet of the house before I’m able to get my pants on, and about ten seconds later, there’s a thunder of child-like knocks on the other side of Lindsey’s door.
Lindsey leaps from her bed, her sheets clutched around her body haphazardly, like she’s a zombie on the run.
“One second. Mom’s getting dressed,” she hollers.
“Holly needs something. I’ll go wake up Brooks,” Deacon says.
“I’m in here, buddy. I’ll get her,” I say, my brain clearly malfunctioning. My fuck-up becomes obvious to me the moment the words spill out, but the hard glare Lindsey shoots my way sets it in stone.
“Sorry,” I mouth.
She rolls her eyes.
“Why is Brooks helping you get dressed, Mommy?” Riggs asks.
I start hopping around the room, pulling my pants up while also wrangling my T-shirt right-side up.
“Uh, because Mommy is putting on a fancy dress. I have a—”
“A party,” I say when Lindsey looks at me for help.
“Party!” The boys start chanting in unison. I slap my palm on my forehead, seeing my fuck-up . . . again.
“Not that kind of party,” Lindsey says, her voice harried as she bellows over her shoulder while rifling through her closet.
“What kind of party?” Riggs asks.
“Your boys are goddamn persistent,” I whisper, finally getting my shirt on the right way.
“I taught them to be curious. What can I say? Now here, help me get this up.” Lindsey has stepped into a tight blue silk gown with a slit on one side. The back is mostly lace, and there’s a zipper, which is a pretty solid cover for my story.
“Remember that church I told you I got in trouble at when I was younger?” Lindsey says.
“Yeahhhh,” one of the twins drawls. I can’t tell which one, but we’re dressed now, so Lindsey opens the door and the boys come rushing in.
“Oooooh, pretty dress, Mommy,” Riggs says, immediately leaping onto his mom’s bed. He begins jumping, and I blink rapidly, trying to erase the fact that I just ate his mom out on those sheets.
“What’s at the church?” Deacon says, still locked in on the original lie.
“They want to say sorry for punishing me. It turns out that none of it was my fault when I was a kid,” Lindsey says.
I cup my mouth to hide the laugh I’m dying to let out.
“Really? Not even the fire in the trash can?” Deacon adds.
I shift my gaze to Lindsey, who left out that little item when her parents were tattling on her. I’m actually surprised her dad didn’t mention it. He seemed to get a kick out of embarrassing his daughter.
“Yep. Not even the fire,” Lindsey says, giving me a hard stare. “Anyhow, they’re going to formally shake my hand in apology, and they asked me to dress up. So, what do you think?”
She spins slowly with her hands out, and the boys jump to hold onto her arms.
“You’re so pretty!” Deacon shouts.
So far, neither of them has asked to join her for this made-up handshaking ceremony, and before they do, I need to get myself out of this room.
“Is your zipper good now?” I say, clearing my throat.
“Yes, thank you.” Lindsey says, pulling her arms free from her twins before walking me to her door.
I’m one step away from total freedom when Riggs calls me back inside.
“Why are your underwear on the floor?”
I spin on my heels and Lindsey does the same, just in time to see one of her boys lift my boxer briefs in the air over their head.
My jaw goes slack. I rarely got in trouble when I was a kid. Other than my parents snapping at me for irrational reasons like being too loud while they were getting high, I was never in trouble. Perfect attendance at school. Quiet in the classroom. Never late.
This is my equivalent of being hauled to the principal’s office, it seems. And at the helm, a four-year-old boy swinging my underwear around his head like a helicopter propellor.
“They’re mine,” Lindsey says, snagging them from her son and promptly tossing them in her dirty clothes hamper in her closet.
“You have boys’ underwear?” Deacon has a future in law.
“Well, if you must know . . . I stole them from your dad. When we were in the same house together. I didn’t have pajamas that were clean, and so I took a pair of his underwear.
I really like sleeping in them, so I simply never gave them back.
And that’s that.” She claps her hands together in such a way the boys seem to understand that this case, at least as far as they are concerned, is now closed.
I leave the room without my underwear. And now Lindsey is going to have to keep them forever and probably wear them from time to time.
I got out of the house relatively unscathed for a guy caught red-handed.
I even managed to get Holly fed and changed before I had to leave for the ballpark.
And according to Lindsey, she is currently driving all the kids to her parents’ house so they can watch them for an hour while she drives around the block and pretends to be getting an apology for setting a fire in the church when she was nine.