Chapter 31
Lark
I step onto the deck and shuffle my feet in the fluffy slippers I found in the closet. By the time I’d changed my clothes and freshened up, not only had Brody brought up our luggage but he’d also managed to change his clothes and head down.
The steam rising from the hot tub is enticing.
Though the man whose face and shoulders I can see above the bubbles is even more so.
He’s spread his sculpted arms over the rim of the hot tub.
The bulges of his biceps and the length of his thick fingers do funny things to my insides. His thick hair ruffles in the breeze.
Goosebumps pepper my skin. It must be because I’m cold. It has nothing to do with how turned on I am by the sight of my gorgeous and very handsome husband waiting for me in the hot tub.
"You coming in? Or are you going to stand there staring at me?" He smirks.
The sight of his naked torso disappearing into the water affects me.
I bet I can affect him, too.
Chin up in the air, I head toward the opposite side from him. Then, placing my phone down on the deck chair, I untie the belt of my robe. It gapes at the lapels revealing my cleavage.
He stills. Arrested by the sight of my skin, his gaze rapt.
I raise one shoulder, and it slips down my arm. Then I straighten both arms, and it slithers down first one arm, then the other. The robe stops, arrested by my elbows.
He swallows. I swear, I can see the pulse at the base of his throat beat harder.
Then, with a whisper, the robe slides to the floor and pools around my ankles.
His fingers tighten around the raised lip of the hot tub. Good. And when I kick aside my fluffy slippers and step forward, his chest rises and falls. Yes! He’s told me that he finds me attractive. But to see him as affected by the sight of my body as I am by his feels inevitable.
He watches me with a predatory gaze that turns my blood to lava.
My heart feels like a hummingbird trapped inside my rib cage.
I approach the hot tub and step inside. The hot water instantly pulses heat under my skin, and when I sink down under the bubbles, my entire being feels light.
My muscles unwind. Even as I’m so conscious that his gaze is fixed on my chest.
"Take off your bikini top."
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me." He leans back with that lazy stance of a lion watching his prey.
He’s going to strike, but only after he’s played with me a while.
"Off. With. It."
His voice brooks instant compliance. Which is why I find myself reaching up to undo the knot around my neck. The straps fall to the sides, held up by the curves of my breasts.
"Don’t stop." His voice is gritty and strained, revealing how turned on he is. It also gives me the courage to reach behind myself with trembling fingers and flick the hooks holding the top up.
My bikini top falls into the water.
I’m bared. My breasts exposed and, likely, bobbing on the surface.
"Squeeze your nipples," he growls.
Oh my God. That’s so hot. Why do I find it hot?
His biceps bulge. The tendons on his neck stand out in relief. Sweat pops on my brow. It’s not just the heat of the water but also that being generated between us. As if in a dream, I reach for my nipple and pluck on it. A moan spills from my lips. It feels filthy to my ears.
"Now the other one." His jaw tightens.
I raise my other hand, tending to my other nipple.
Electric currents shoot out from the point of contact.
I stretch my neck, leaning my head back against the edge of the hot tub.
Closing my eyes, I continue to squeeze and massage my breasts.
The pinpricks of pleasure build into waves which lap against my subconscious mind.
I’m sinking into a quagmire of need. Of want.
The emptiness yawns between my legs. I begin to squeeze my thighs together; only thick, callused fingers wrap themselves about the tops of my thighs.
I snap my eyelids open and find he’s right in front of me.
His hold on me stops me from pressing my legs together.
"Fuck, you’re beautiful." His gravelly voice pinches my nerve endings. The way he drags his gaze over my features and down my breasts makes me feel like the most desired woman in the world.
He slides his hands over the curves of my butt cheeks and squeezes. I tremble. The heat from his palms burns through the material of my bathing suit. It feels like it’s branding me.
With a flick of his wrist, he loosens the ties of my bikini bottoms. They float away.
He hitches me up, pressing me into the side of the tub. I lock my ankles behind his waist, very aware that my core is nestled against the tent at his crotch.
"Feel what you do to me, baby?"
I swallow and squirm against him. The heat of his body, and the steam from the hot tub clashing with the cool air that hits my bare shoulders, is a tapestry of opposing sensations which makes me feel like I’m high on an aphrodisiac.
He seems to grow bigger, his length stabbing against my core. He fits me over that thick column so I can feel him throb.
"I want to be inside of you, Lark." He holds my gaze. "Tell me you want me inside of you."
"I want you inside of me," I pant.
"Tell me you want me to fuck you."
"I want you to fuck me," I groan.
"Tell me you want me to kiss you."
"Yes!" I writhe in his grasp. "Yes. I want you. Please. I want you to kiss me. Now will you shut up and—"
He closes his mouth over mine. He kisses me so deeply, I feel the sensations all the way to the tips of my toes.
My eyelids flutter shut. He squeezes my hips and begins to rub me up against his length.
Jesus. The heat generated by the friction oozes through my bloodstream.
My clit throbs. My pussy trembles. Oh God, this feels so good.
How can he feel this amazing, this right, this everything as he leans his weight further into mine?
"Open your eyes," he commands.
I flicker my heavy eyelids open and stare into those glorious, piercing eyes of his.
And when he continues to slide me up and down the ridge of his cock, through his swimming trunks, it feels like I’m going to explode.
My belly clenches. My scalp tingles. I dig my fingers into his shoulders. "Brody, I’m so close."
"Good." He takes a deep breath and drops under the water.
"What the—" I cry out as he fixes his mouth on my pussy.
I grab at his hair, and moan, feeling him flick his tongue in and out of my channel.
He squeezes my butt cheeks, forcing me to push my pussy up further into his mouth.
He licks up my pussy lips, curling his tongue around my clit.
My entire body shudders. "Brody, please," I cry out.
He continues to eat me out, and when he slides his fingers between my butt cheeks to play with my forbidden entrance, I’m so shocked and turned on, I instantly climax.
A low keening cry emerges from my lips. That tension at the base of my spine releases.
It feels like rockets shooting up my spine to shatter into tiny pieces behind my eyes. And still, he doesn’t stop.
He continues to lick and suck on my pussy until, when I finally slump, he rises up, draws a deep breath, then kisses me again. I taste myself on his mouth, and it’s so erotic and intimate. My entire body feels like it’s turned to a puddle of satisfaction.
Then, he rises to his feet with me in his arms. Without a flinch. Without any straining. And this is the second time he’s done it.
Of course, when I feel the ungiving strength of his biceps under my neck, the sculpted musculature of his abs, and the brick-like formation of his pecs, it tells me I shouldn't be surprised. Man’s a freakin' tower of strength.
He cradles me in his arms like I weigh nothing. It makes me feel small and delicate, and very feminine.
I reach up to cup his cheek. He turns his head and kisses my palm. My heart melts a little. It’s such a romantic gesture. As is him carrying me bridal style again.
"I shouldn’t like this so much," I murmur.
"Shouldn’t like what?" He walks across the patio and shoulders open the door to the house.
"You. Me. You, carrying me."
He smirks. "I’m strong enough to take your weight."
“Are you calling me fat?” I huff.
He pauses inside the house, then eyes me, with an are-you-crazy? expression on his face. “I love your curves. They’ve haunted my dreams from the moment I saw you. Besides, I’m not missing the opportunity to have you in my arms."
My cheeks heat. His words make me feel like the most beautiful woman in the entire world. They confirm to me that I’m desirable.
As confident as I am in my professional life, I’m as insecure in my personal. My ex’s cheating hurt me. His telling Brody that I wasn’t good in bed eroded my shaky confidence in myself.
And my husband’s words praising me seem to quieten the churning emotions in me. They make me feel seen in a way that’s almost overwhelming.
Hoping to conceal my emotions from him, I dip my chin. "We’re tracking water all over the house."
"It’ll dry." He reaches the landing and walks down the hallway. Entering the bedroom, he makes for the bed. "Oh no, we need to dry off first." I struggle in his grasp. "Please, we can’t make the bed wet."
"You’re right, I’d rather make you wet."
I flush. And chuckle. "Your dirty talking might be one of your more standout traits."
"What are the others?" He lowers me to my feet but keeps a hold of my hips.
More like, what aren’t? "It might be the orgasm you gave me. Or how you agreed to Christmas decorations in the office. Or how you trusted me enough to chair the board meeting."
He eyes me with curiosity. "You want to talk about work now?" He cups my breast, then squeezes my nipple.
I shiver.
"Not particularly."
"Good. Because I need to taste you again." He picks me up bodily and throws me on the bed.
I bounce once. And when he grabs my ankles and pulls me to the edge of the bed, I yelp. "We didn’t dry… Oh!" All thoughts empty from my head. For he’s on his knees, between my legs, with his hands holding my thighs apart.
"Look at that pretty pussy," he growls.
I look down to find him staring at the triangle of flesh.
Instantly, I flush from my toes to the tips of my hair. My nipples tighten. My core throbs. It’s like all my attention is centered on the space he’s staring at.
"Brody," I whine.
"You going to be a good girl and come for me again?"
The curl of his lips, the challenge in his eyes, the hard edge in his voice… All of it pushes me to the edge. I ache to reach out and touch him. Ache to do anything to please him.
"Yesss," I hiss.
He stuffs two fingers inside my melting channel, and my eyes roll back in my head. He adds a third finger, stretching me, and the pressure on my inner walls feels so good. Incoherent sounds emerge from my mouth.
He circles my clit with his fingers.
I squirm, pushing up my pelvis, trying to get him to touch me there. Needing more, so much more. That emptiness, once again, yawns in my core. My fingertips twitch.
I dig them into the fabric of the duvet, trying to hold on while he touches me like I'm a blank sheet of paper, and his fingers are the pen he’s using to write a poem into my skin.
He inspires me to be creative. He makes me dare to hope that anything is possible. Being with him sets me free in a way I could never have dreamed of.
Sparks shiver up my spine. My entire body seems to be on fire. He continues to relentlessly finger fuck me, curling his fingers inside so they brush up against that hidden part deep inside of me. That’s when I stop breathing. I’m going to come. I’m going to come.
I only realize I’ve said it aloud when he suddenly pulls away from me. Cool air flows over my exposed center. What the—? I sit up and my gaze clashes with his.
It’s like sticking my finger into an electrical socket.
As much as his touch arouses me, it’s the connection when our eyes meet, when I can’t look away, and neither can he.
When the very air between us spikes with chemistry, and static buzzes over my skin, lifting the hair at the nape of my neck.
It’s a euphoric feeling. One that sinks into my blood and ratchets up the anticipation in every cell in my body.
I read the intent in the way he tips up one side of his mouth.
Then, without any other forewarning, he slaps my pussy.