9. Brooks
NINE
Brooks
Brooks
Why am I standing under the spray of my shower when I know I’ve suds up? Why am I still trapped in here even though I’ve been done for at least five minutes?
Because as much as my body might be all squeaky clean, my mind damn well isn’t.
But ever since Darby had the insight to poke at me about Clover, my brain hasn’t been able to let it go. Worse, during dinner, she was her charming self and smelled so damn good fresh out of the shower—lilacs and vanilla.
This is bad, Brooks. This is real fucking stupid.
And yet, all I can see when I close my eyes—letting the water fall across my face in some unsuccessful attempt to wash the thoughts away—is her.
Those curves, the gentle lift of her mouth when she smirks at me, the way she laughs with her whole body, not shy about taking up space or being loud…
It’s all so different than most of the people here, so different from the last woman I tried to start something with. Hell, I had started it with Leah, she just picked when it ended.
You don’t like her. You don’t like her. You don’t like her.
It’s been playing in my mind on repeat like a broken record. And it’s doing fuckall to convince me that I don’t actually find Clover attractive— so attractive.
The water is still warm, and the house outside my bedroom is quiet. Everyone has turned in for the night, Darby asleep and Clover at least in the guest room where I’m safe from running into her.
So why haven’t I left this stupid shower? Why am I leaning against the wall with one hand as the other cast-ridden one hangs at my side, trying desperately not to move a particular one of them?
Don’t. Don’t do it, Brooks.
But my hand moves almost on its own, guided by thoughts of that strawberry blonde and the sleek shape she pours into her jeans. I can see her behind my lids, taunting me with that attitude.
That attitude that silently demands a firm hand.
I imagine Clover that night she came into the shed while I was working.
I imagine that this time, she wasn’t just wearing those leggings and a T-shirt. I picture Clover in the jean shorts she’s been choosing since she settled in, the way the frayed edges drift down across the backs of her legs…her thighs…her ass.
Remembering the bit of surprise on Clover’s face, I picture it shifting, becoming a look of something so much darker, so much hungrier. I can see her walking up to me as I turn to face her, still shirtless, but both hands are available to catch her as she jumps up into my arms.
My hand slips lower down my stomach until I find the base of my hard cock, squeezing until I groan. She’s wrapping her legs around my waist as she crashes her lips against mine, that fiery little Clover who drives me mad in every possible way.
God, she’d taste fucking fantastic, I bet—all sweet tea and sunshine.
I don’t stroke. Instead, I maintain that firm grip as I rock my hips back and forth, fucking into it as I imagine rubbing my cock against the smooth seam between Clover’s legs.
A groan escapes me as my breath becomes shallow, images of Clover undoing my belt and freeing my erection.
More follow it—Clover on her knees, sucking my cock right in the shed, pulling her up and yanking her shorts down, feasting on her incredible pussy as I lift one leg up onto the workbench, hoisting her tiny self up onto it and fucking her with everything I have, making the tools that hang on the shed wall bounce wildly.
Hot need burns through my veins as I pump into my fist. I grip so tight it hurts, and that pain swirls together with the ecstasy my mind is conjuring up.
I’ve never wanted anyone like this. It’s overwhelming and intoxicating.
Clover cries out silently in my head, and I’m desperate to know what those screams of pleasure would actually sound like. I’m desperate to know what she would feel like.
How would her tight pussy grip my cock? What would it be like to have her fluttering around me, coming for me like the good little girl I know I can make her be?
The thoughts are enough to send me reeling, and I thrust into my hand with abandon, losing my sense of reality as the need to come barrels through me like a wild bull. Sensations that I’ve denied myself for years build up more and more until I know I’m seconds from flying off that cliff.
But the one that rocks me over the edge is imagining Clover, her legs hoisted up as I drive myself into her up to the hilt, touching that needy clit of hers and begging for my come.
Please, Brooks. Please fill me up.
I lose it, shattering apart in a series of jerking thrusts. My release forces my eyes shut, squeezed as tight as my grip on my shaft.
Jets and jets of my spend launch from me, painting the shower wall. It goes on for ages, the climax I haven’t allowed myself now taking its time.
As my breathing calms, my heartbeat returning to its normal rhythm, I’m left in the shower alone. I feel slightly light-headed, and then comes the rush of guilt.
“Fucking hell.”
There’s no way around it. I just jerked off to my best friend’s daughter, my damn nanny. What the hell is wrong with me?
I’ve gone so long without needing this shit. Why is it so much harder to keep that city girl out of my head?
But I’ve got no answers to any of those questions or the dozen or so others that fill in the space behind them. I don’t know why Clover’s mere presence cuts to my heart like this.
She just…does.
Pulling down the shower head, I rinse my shame from the wall, running the stream over my hand and my softening dick until I feel at least slightly more “clean.”
When I step out of the shower and grab the towel that hangs on the bar built into the door, I wrap it around my waist, unable to bring myself to meet my eyes in my reflection.
I shake my head at myself, walking to the sink to snag my phone. I was in that fucking shower way longer than I thought. Of course, now my stomach is particularly empty and demanding more food.
I’ll just grab a beer. Maybe a bite of some cheese. Then my ass is hitting the sack.
As I step out of the bedroom to head down to the kitchen, I’m still dripping water, but I don’t give a fuck. This is just a quick in and out.
I pad down the stairs toward the kitchen, but the moment I round the corner to head to the fridge, I run smack dab into another body. Stumbling backward after the collision, I hold my hand out, gripping one shoulder in an attempt to steady both of us.
“Brooks?”
Shaking my head, I blink, realizing that Clover is standing in front of me and that I’ve got a hold of her with my good arm. I drop my hand immediately before quickly discovering they’re not the only thing that’s fallen.
The towel.
Clover’s wide eyes blink once before the innate gesture to figure out what happened has them tracking downward. In seconds, her stare flares even wider, and Clover turns beet red like she fell asleep outside and came in with a wicked sunburn.
I have to imagine that I’m no fucking better with the way my face is on fire.
Shiiit.
Fumbling, I stoop to grab the towel again, and I wrap that thing back around my hips like it’s a damn contest. The damage is already done, of course. I’m standing there like a moron, and Clover’s eyes have yet to go back into her sockets.
“I…” what the hell am I supposed to say in a situation like this? “…I wanted a drink.”
After a moment, Clover refocuses and nods. “Right, yeah, umm, me too. A drink.”
Silence hangs, both of us unable to look at each other now. Then, Clover is the first to ask the obvious question.
“What, umm, are you doing up so late? I don’t usually see you down here when I can’t sleep.”
“Right, yeah. Can’t say I’ve noticed that about you, so…” I bob my head, any chance at nonchalance utterly destroyed. “I couldn’t sleep either. Lot on my mind.”
“Sure, sure.” Clover nods like I did, this damn bobblehead act that’s fooling absolutely no one. “Is it your arm? The work around the ranch?”
The comment is so insightful that I’m taken aback for a moment. While that’s certainly been on my mind, I can’t say that’s what was behind tonight’s little late-night mistake.
“Umm, mostly, yeah. And you? Having trouble sleeping? Why?”
And why is my voice so high-pitched right now? Oh, and that white-knuckle grip I have on the towel? Ignore that.
Clover meets my eyes, rolling her lips between her teeth, and I have to remind myself not to stare at them.
“Oh, umm, lots of stuff. You know that stressful job I left in the city is still there, so…I worry about what I’ll be in for when I get back.”
Her mood shifts, dropping down, and I swear I hear her mumble, “If I get back.”
It’s also a bit of a sight to see her try to stick her hands in her pockets and then abruptly realize that she has no pockets because she’s wearing pajamas.
You know, the kind that consists of shorts that barely cover her ass and a matching crop top. Jesus fuck, it’s like the world has it out for me .
“Well, I hope that you’re able to get some rest, Lucky.”
Scoffing, Clover eyes me, folding her arms, which unfortunately draws my attention to the v-neck cut of her pj top, the mint green fabric bunched up in the center by a string that seems to tighten it.
“Oh, so it’s Lucky now? I’ve been here a week, and I’ve managed to drum up a country girl nickname.”
I cock a brow. “Pardon?”
“It’s such a thing around here. Everyone has a little nickname that everyone uses instead of a person’s given name. I assumed it must be a country thing.”
I can’t help the laugh or the shiver that reminds me I’m still standing in front of Clover, basically naked, with a thin towel as the only thing keeping her from gawking at me again.
The only thing concealing the rapidly growing erection that I really thought I’d dealt with.
“You’re not wrong. Folks like ‘em round here. It’s a token of appreciation if you’ve earned one.”
“Oh,” Clover raises her brows, “so you’re showing your appreciation?”
“It was a stroke of luck on both our parts to have you wind up in Red Lodge, and…your name is Clover. So.”
“So.” She nods. “Well, I’m heading to bed then. I’ll see you in the morning… Ace .”
She turns before I can ask where she heard that one, but I have to assume it was Rosie. Still, I’m smiling as I watch her go upstairs, and I can’t for the life of me remember why I came down here in the first place.
And I don’t know if it was bad or good luck that I ran into Clover when I did.