18. Lizzy
“…this one wall, right?”
Huh?
What did he just say?
“I’m sorry. What?”
Brodie pauses, swiveling his body so he can look at me. “I asked if you only wanted this one wall painted.”
Oh.
“Yeah, just this one wall—don’t you think?”
Everything we’ve done has been by hand, with brushes—no rollers—his long brushstrokes have been a lifesaver, and I can’t imagine having to do it myself.
I’d make a giant mess
I’d get bored
I probably wouldn’t finish.
With Brodie here, we’ve gotten most of the accent wall complete—and by we, I mean he.
Ha!
“Then we’re almost done.” His deep voice has been sending shock waves to my core since the second he stepped over my threshold, and thank god he hasn’t been able to look at me ’cause I’ve done nothing but gawk at him since he picked up his paintbrush.
It”s warm enough outside to open the window, the slight breeze circulating the air in the room and drying the walls.
It’s also warm enough that I’m wearing shorts and a tank top—but I’m not so savage I’m braless this time.
A pity, really.
“Thanks for taping off the room before I got here,” he says, his broad back to me, shoulder muscles flexing as he works the brush back and forth across the wall.
He’s wearing a tank top too—a bro tank, one that’s looser fitting and shows off the sides of his pecs, giving me a generous peek of his smooth chest.
“No, thank you for helping.” I brush a strand of hair that’s fallen in my eyes, painfully aware that there is pink paint in among my ponytail hairs.
Ugh.
“It’s the least I could do.”
I’m standing with one hand on my hip when he turns, his eyes doing a slow, steady climb—beginning at my toes, they stroll up. And up.
Over my legs, which I shaved to an inch of their lives.
My short shorts.
Belly.
Boobs.
Neck, face, and hair.
His expression remains neutral, but I shiver nonetheless, letting him look.
He’s so intense.
So serious.
“Are we done?” I ask him dumbly, not wanting him to say yes but knowing we have no more paint, and no more wall to fill.
“Yup.” He steps down off the ladder he barely needed. He was tall enough to reach most of the high spots.
I feel my shoulders sag.
He folds up the ladder, resting it against my dresser, and together, we begin folding up the drop cloth, tearing down the tape, and collecting the brushes.
“I’ll go put these in the sink quick so they don’t dry,” I tell him, taking the brush from his hand with a smile.
Wordlessly, he hands it to me.
“Be right back.”
I slip away, heart beating wildly as I head to the kitchen where Jill has been waiting impatiently.
“Jesus,” she hisses. “That literally took, like, forever.”
“Tell me about it,” I whisper. “And he was so polite, too. It’s starting to drive me nuts.”
“So. Nothing?”
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
“He really is huge,” Jill whispers when I set the cup of brushes into the sink and immerse them in the running water. “I caught a glimpse of him through a crack in the door, but I didn’t want to be weird and barge in.”
“Thanks.” I laugh. “He wouldn’t have minded. He’s so nice.”
“I’m sure he’d love that if he heard you. Every guy likes to be called nice.” She rolls her eyes.
“You know what I meant.” I turn the faucet off and leave the brushes to soak.
“Yeah. I knew what you meant.” She grins cheekily. “I bet he could bench press you.”
I sigh. “I bet he could.”
She leans in, whispering conspiratorily. “What are you going to do?”
“I have no idea. This guy is stone cold.” I take a bowl of chips off the counter to bring them back to my bedroom for Brodie to snack on while we pick up the remaining mess.
“Please. He wouldn’t be here if he was indifferent. It’s not like he’s bored.”
“You think so?”
“I know so.” Jill takes the bowl out of my hands. “Get back in there and flirt. And take that ponytail out of your hair.”
Jill shoves me toward my bedroom as I’m pulling the rubber band from my hair, letting it flow down my back.
Fluff it one last time before walking into my bedroom, cool as a damn cucumber, acting as if I wasn’t primping for him.
Brodie glances up.
Goes still.
He turns away from me, occupying himself with shoving the tape into a plastic garbage bag.
“Did I show you the patch job the landlord did?” I go to the closet and pull back the curtain.
Brodie puts the bag down and joins me, shoulder brushing mine as he inches forward so he too can stare at my closet wall.
I move the clothes aside so he can get a better look, and he reaches forward, running his palm over the plaster.
“Guess they did a decent enough job,” he grumbles. “I wonder if they filled the hole with something before they repaired it so Mister squirrel doesn’t try again.”
I shrug. “Guess we’ll never know.”
It’s dark in here—not so dark that I can’t see his face and we can’t see the squirrel damage—but dark enough that we’re speaking in whispers.
“How was your game last night?” I blurt out, not sure what to say now that we’re in this space. Neither of us in any rush to pull away and go back into the bedroom , where it’s bright and pink and breezy.
“Good. We won.”
I turn to face him—his shoulder, anyway—go up on my tippy-toes to reach him, and bless you,sweet baby Jesus, the man turns at the same moment I do so I can ease my hands around his neck and hug him.
“Congratulations!” I enthuse as if he’s won free Starbucks for life or gotten an A on an important exam or gone viral on social media. “I’m so happy for you!”
Brodie hesitates.
I feel every muscle in his body stiffen as my tits press against his chest.
Then.
He relaxes, bringing his arms around my waist to hug me back.
So strong.
So hard, but warm at the same time.
“Thanks.”
I feel his chest rumble and press my body closer, wanting to feel it rumble again.
“You’re such a good hugger,” I purr.
“Am I?”
He doesn’t let go.
I don’t let go.
“Mmm,” I hum.
I move my hands higher on his neck and play with the hair at his nape, nails skimming along his hairline, fingers toying with the cotton neckline of his tank.
So strong.
So hard…
I lean up, running my nose along the column of his neck, letting my breath warm his skin.
Fingers in his hair.
Little hums. Quiet, soft moans as Brodie squeezes me, hands slowly beginning to caress my back, gaining confidence little by little.
His hands roam up my spine.
Down my spine.
Yes…
We’re behind the curtain of my closet now. No one would see us if they walked through my door, not that anyone would.
His hands are big, spanning my waist and moving downward.
Tentatively.
Cautiously.
I kiss the side of his neck.
Below his ear.
Inhale when his hands move over my ass and pull me into him, pulling me into his hard cock. It strains against the fabric of his athletic shorts, pressing against my belly button, causing me to moan out loud.
Oh god…
I kiss his chin.
The side of his jaw.
The corner of his mouth.
His bottom lip.
All the while, his hands cup my backside, desperate to lift me—to fit me with his body—but resisting.
Another kiss to the corner of his mouth, and he tilts his head, moving it down, lips gingerly pressing against mine.
He pulls back, hesitating.
Then he moves forward again, his mouth covering my mouth, our lips warm and hot. I know those are two of the same things, but I can’t exactly form a thought at the moment, okay?
My hands roam his shoulders, gliding over his flesh. My thumbs tease the side of his pec muscles and search for his nipples.
I see stars when his mouth opens, and my mouth opens, and our tongues touch. Like a liquid drug, it’s the perfect mix of wet and sucking and exploring and heat.
Everything inside me is on fire.
My toes, my legs, my belly.
My vagina literally quivers along with my limbs.
Brodie’s large hands go to my waist, hoisting me up, setting me on top of the dresser in my closet, and I part my thighs so he can step between them, his hands cupping my face so he can kiss me some more.
Good God almighty, he’s good at this.
What the actual hell?
His thumbs stroke my jawline, and I can feel the callouses. I love the way they feel on my delicate skin.
His hands move to my neck, palms splaying over my shoulders, his mouth never leaving mine.
My chest heaves, breasts moving up and down as my heart races within my body.
Hot.
So fucking hot.
I hold my breath when his thumbs brush my side boob, my body begging him to touch me there, either purposely or accidentally, it doesn’t matter, and I sigh into his mouth when his hands cup my breasts, wishing like hell I hadn’t worn this dumb bra.
At least it’s not padded.
I can feel everything.
“You’re so fucking pretty,” he murmurs into my mouth. His hands are on my hips now, and he pulls me forward, lining us up so we can match. Again, I can feel how hard he is.
“I feel so fucking pretty,” I tease, tipping back my head so he can suck on my skin. On my neck.
“I want to go down on you so bad,” he says into my hair, fingers tense against my hips. His hands move, caressing the top of my thighs with his rough, calloused palms as if he can’t get enough of my smooth, freshly shaved legs.
“I want you to go down on me so bad.” You should go down on me, is what I want to say.
Sounds like a fabulously orgasmic idea.
I feel his head shake. “Your roommates are home.”
And my door is ajar, and it doesn’t have a lock, and…and…
His are idiots. And it seems as if he doesn’t have a moment of peace, or a moment to himself, unless he’s in the shower and that doesn’t seem likely, either.
“I feel like if I went down on you, the squirrel would decide to come back.” Brodie’s hands are back on my neck, practically nested in my hair.
“He definitely would.” I lift my face. “Kiss me again.”
These kisses aren’t the same as the other ones.
These are sweet.
Full lips, but sweeter.
Soft.
No tongue but just as intense.
I feel these kisses in my vagina, too.
I won’t forget this first kiss—not as long as I draw breath.