Chapter 31
Brooke
The villa door slammed behind us, and Rav turned the lock. The house was silent—no voices, no footsteps—but I barely registered it, too consumed with the feeling of his hands on my waist.
“Screw the pleasantries,” I said, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the center of the house. “I’ve waited too long for this.”
His phone buzzed, and he paused. He pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and read me a text from Scarlett: “She says the team’s getting food after the club, they won’t be back for hours, and that we should enjoy the privacy.”
“That sounds like an order,” I said with a laugh, tossing his phone onto a small table near the base of the elevator. “So where were we?”
“Right about—”
I didn’t wait for him to finish the answer. I was already pushing him against the wall, my lips finding his with an urgency that surprised even me. The taste of whiskey lingered on his tongue as it slid against mine, sending heat pooling between my thighs.
“Upstairs,” he murmured against my mouth, his hands sliding down to cup my ass. “Now.”
“Too far,” I gasped as he caught my bottom lip between his teeth. “Here.”
His eyes darkened. “Are you sure?”
In response, I reached for the hem of my shirt and hauled it off, revealing my black bra and every inch of my scars. Five years ago, I might have hesitated, might have wanted the concealment of darkness. But not tonight.
Tonight I wanted him to see all of me.
“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he breathed, his gaze traveling over me without flinching, without the slightest hint of distaste.
The intensity in his eyes made my skin burn, and I reached for his ridiculous silk shirt, tearing at the buttons until I could push it off his shoulders.
More than anything, I wanted to see the scorpion wrapped around his bullet scars—a symbol of me, of us.
I traced it with my fingertips, feeling the slightly raised texture of the scar tissue beneath the ink.
“I never forgot you.” His voice was rough as he backed me toward the nearest flat surface—somehow we’d wound up in the kitchen, at the dining table. “You were always part of me.”
My ass hit the edge of the table, and he lifted me onto it, stepping between my legs.
His hands slid up my thighs until they reached the waistband of my jeans.
He made quick work of the button and zipper, freeing me from them.
I wrapped my bare legs around him, pulling him closer, grinding against his hardening cock, which was testing the strength of his pants’ zipper.
“Christ, Brooke,” he groaned, his fingers digging into my thighs. “I’ve thought about this every fucking day.”
“Less talking,” I demanded, reaching for his belt. “More fucking.”
His laugh was dark and promising as he captured my mouth again, his tongue mimicking what I desperately wanted elsewhere. I managed to get his belt undone and his zipper down, my hand slipping inside to slide down the length of his cock. He was so thick and hard.
“Goddamn,” I whispered, stroking him. “I forgot how big you are.”
He growled something incoherent and reached behind me to unhook my bra, exposing my breasts. For a heartbeat, I tensed, as much out of muscle memory as anything.
But then his mouth was on me. He urged me to let go of him and lie back, so his tongue could dance its way along my chest. My momentary self-consciousness dissolved into sharp, electric pleasure.
When his teeth grazed my scarred nipple, a jolt of almost unbearable pleasure shot through me, making me cry out.
“Too much?” he asked, pulling back slightly.
“No,” I gasped, threading my fingers through his hair to hold him in place. “Don’t you dare stop.”
He returned his lips to my breast with renewed vigor, his palm sliding between my legs to press against the damp fabric of my panties.
“You’re so fucking wet, Brooke,” he moaned. “Tell me you want me.”
My head fell back as he rubbed slow circles through the thin material, building pressure that made my thighs tremble.
“Inside,” I demanded. “I need you inside me.”
He hooked his fingers in the waistband of my panties, dragging them down my legs. He took his time sliding them off, his eyes never leaving mine, the corner of his mouth curved in a wicked smirk that had filled my imagination every time I’d touched myself.
“So impatient,” he said, dropping to his knees between my spread thighs.
Before I could respond, his mouth was on me, his tongue sliding through my folds in a long, deliberate stroke. My back arched off the table, a string of profanities escaping my lips as he found my clit.
“Fuck, Rav,” I moaned, my hands fisting in his hair. “Right there.”
He hummed against me, the vibration adding to the sensation as his tongue circled and flicked. One hand gripped my thigh, spreading me wider, while the other slid up to cup my breast, his thumb brushing over my nipple in time with the movements of his tongue.
It had been so long—too long—since anyone had touched me like this. Since I’d let anyone touch me like this. The pleasure built rapidly, coiling tight in my core until I was right at the edge, my body trembling with the need for release.
“I’m close,” I warned, my voice breaking. “So fucking close.”
He redoubled his efforts, sliding two fingers inside me while his tongue continued its relentless assault on my clit. The dual stimulation was too much, and I came with a shout, my body convulsing around his fingers, my thighs clamping around his head.
As the aftershocks rippled through me, he stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes dark with desire. I reached for him, tugging him down for a kiss, tasting myself on his tongue.
“I need more,” I breathed against his lips. “Now.”
He stepped back just long enough to shove his pants down and kick them aside. His cock sprang free, heavy and ready. I reached for him, guiding him to my entrance.
“Wait,” he said suddenly. “I have to find some condoms.”
I’d been on birth control for years, more out of habit than necessity. “I’m clean. And covered. Are you—”
“Clean,” he confirmed.
That was all I needed to hear. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him toward me. “Then what are you waiting for?”
He thrust forward in one smooth motion, burying himself to the hilt inside me. We both froze, overwhelmed by the sensation of being joined after so many years apart.
“Fuck,” he groaned, his eyes fluttering closed. “You feel even better than I remembered.”
I clenched around him deliberately, loving the way I affected this huge, gorgeous man. “Now move.”
He obeyed, withdrawing almost completely before driving back in with a force that rattled the table beneath us. I dug my nails into his forearms, urging him on, meeting each thrust with a roll of my hips.
The angle was perfect, hitting spots inside me that made my vision blur. His hands gripped my hips hard enough to bruise, anchoring me as he set a punishing rhythm that had the table scraping against the floor.
“Harder,” I demanded, needing more, needing everything he could give me.
He complied, one hand sliding up to tease my nipple, and I gasped at the assault. His cock driving into me was the most awe-inspiring pleasure.
“You’re so tight, Brooke. So perfect.”
The pressure was building again, faster this time, my body already primed from my first orgasm. I reached for his hand on my breast, forcing him to cup it rather than play with it, squeezing in time with his thrusts.
“That’s it,” he encouraged, watching my hand move. “Make yourself come on my cock.”
His words pushed me closer to the edge, his demands sending a thrill through me. I’d forgotten how much I loved it when he talked to me like this.
“I’m going to come again,” I rasped. “Don’t stop.”
“Never,” he promised, increasing his pace, the sound of skin slapping against skin almost drowning out the table screeching across the floor.
The orgasm hit me like a freight train, radiating outward from my core in waves that made me scream his name. “Rav! Oh my god, Rav!”
He followed moments later, his rhythm faltering as he emptied himself inside me with a guttural groan. He leaned forward, hovering just above me, until he let his forehead roll forward.
For a long moment, we stayed like that, joined and panting, his forehead pressed against mine. My legs were still clamped around his waist, unwilling to let him go just yet.
“Fuck,” I finally managed.
He chuckled, the sound and movement vibrating through me. “That was—”
“Just the beginning,” I finished for him, pushing at his chest. “Upstairs. Bed. Now.”
He withdrew from me with a satisfied sigh. “Stay there.”
“I said—”
“Patience.” He plucked a napkin from the counter and returned to me. He placed it between my legs, and he helped me slide off the table, ensuring we didn’t have any extra clean-up to do later. My legs wobbled when I stood, and he grinned.
“Shut up,” I said, smacking his chest lightly.
“I didn’t say a word.”
“Your face said it all.” I gathered my discarded clothes, not bothering to put them on. “Are you coming?”
He watched me with hungry eyes as I walked backward toward the stairs, completely naked and unapologetic. “Absolument, madame.”