Chapter 7 Brady
brADY
“Make me remember.”
Fuck.
Something cracks inside me at her words. Not just the consent she’s giving, though in the shadowy world where I’ve been forced to live this last year, it’s something I need to be absolutely sure of. It’s what it hints at underneath.
She’s obviously insecure. Which is fucking insane to me. I don’t know exactly what her ex did, besides the cheating, to make her feel this way, but the vulnerability behind her strong facade is crystal clear when you look in her eyes.
When she said he was in the hall, I had a momentary, irrational urge to fling the door open and beat the shit out of him.
This woman is smart and funny, not to mention that even with half her face hidden behind her satin mask, she’s beautiful.
I hate some spineless jerk made her doubt it. And I fucking hate cheaters.
Maybe I should thank him. Because if he had realized how much she was worth, she wouldn’t be here with me tonight.
My hands slide back up her thighs, parting them wider around me, the silk of her dress bunched at her waist. I trail one hand up to her hip and grip tight, positioning her closer to the edge where I want her. She gasps and arches her back, her hands falling to her sides.
Her words about her ex always expecting her to make all the decisions tell me more than she realizes. This is a woman who walks through life in charge of and responsible for everything. Good thing I have no problem taking control.
The burn in my veins intensifies as I feel her relax under my hands, and an unfamiliar emotion curls through my chest at the knowledge that she’s trusting me to catch her when she finally lets go.
And I will. With unexpected fervor, I want to give this to her.
An experience where she doesn’t have to think, only feel.
I press a kiss to the inside of her knee, then another higher. Her skin is warm, smooth, and soft, and I have to take a breath to keep from rushing in like a neanderthal. I want to consume her.
“Keep quiet for me,” I murmur, when she whimpers, my breath teasing her already sensitive, glistening skin. I lower my head and hear her groan before she bites down on her lip.
The first swipe of my tongue makes her legs tremble, and her hands shoot out behind her, gripping the edge of the desk for balance.
“I’ve got you, baby,” I whisper against her, and her hips lift toward me. Anchoring her thighs in my hands, I take my time. In the back of my mind, I know I don’t have time for this, but after my first taste I know I’m going to savor her. This might be my only chance.
The soft undulations of her hips shift under my tongue to something more urgent, and when I slide two fingers inside to stroke, her entire body stiffens.
The sounds she’s making, muffled by her hand, are making my cock throb, and I realize that, for the first time since I was a teenager, there is a very real possibility I’m going to finish before she even touches me.
Worth it.
Her hands are in my hair, fingers tightening, and pulling at whatever she can reach. Her heels dig into my back as she grinds against me. She’s trembling, panting, on the edge.
But I want more. I want the sounds she’s swallowing. I want her screaming my name. For her to know who it is that is making her feel this way.
“Let go,” I growl against her, lightly biting her clit. “Come for me.”
Her body snaps taut, thighs shaking, her breath catching in a strangled scream.
I want to hear her. All of her. But I can’t. We can’t be caught in this room and certainly not together.
I rise slowly and pull her body until it’s flush against mine. She’s shaking in the aftermath of her orgasm, her light blue eyes wide behind the mask, lips red and swollen where she’s been biting them.
I can’t help myself, and my lips crash into hers. There’s nothing gentle about the way my mouth is claiming hers. The raw need to possess her is as startling as it is powerful, and it urges me on as I reach without success for the zipper of her dress.
“It doesn’t have one,” she pants against my lips. Her hands grip my jacket lapels, and she pushes me back a little.
I want to howl a denial. I need more of her. An almost unbearable desire to know if the skin of her breasts is as smooth as the delicious skin on her thighs. Fighting against primal need, I force myself to step back, still painfully hard.
I almost weep with relief when she rises from the desk, and slowly, without a word—pulls the black cocktail dress up and over her head.
I forget how to breathe.
She stands in front of me wearing nothing but a sheer black lace bra, a gold mask, and heels that make her legs look miles long. Her skin is still flushed with desire, her eyes dilated.
If I thought she was beautiful before…
This?
Someone should carve this image in stone and worship it.
“Fuck,” I mutter, voice rough with awe.
I shrug out of my jacket and then rip at the buttons on my shirt with shaking fingers, pulling it off and tossing it to the floor.
Her breath stutters when her eyes catch on the ink that sprawls across my left shoulder and snakes along my ribs.
Her pupils dilate to almost black behind the gold mask as she lingers on the edges of one piece in particular–the hand wrap tattoo I got after winning my first amateur title bout.
Her gaze tracks the lines and she licks her lips, like she wants to trace them with her tongue, making my cock jump.
I close the remaining distance between us until, her hard nipples burn into my chest. The thin layer of lace is the only barrier between us, as her hands slide over the images on my torso, causing heat to slam through me.
“You like ink?”
Her eyes flash to mine, and she nods once. “Apparently more than I thought.” She slips her hand over my erection and squeezes. “Any more I can’t see?”
“A few.”
She steps back and sits on the desk again, spreading her knees.
Jesus.
I’m not sure I’m going to survive this night.
Unhooking her bra, I let the lace slide down her arms. Her breasts are high and full, tipped in dusky pink, and I lean in without thinking, dragging my tongue over one taut nipple.
She moans, arching into me, and I suck it into my mouth, gentle and then harder, letting my teeth graze just enough to make her moan.
Her fingers tangle in my hair again, pulling tight.
“Please,” she begs.
I take a step closer, her thighs still spread for me where she’s seated on the desk. Her breath catches, and I can see the exact moment her pulse kicks up under the soft skin of her throat.
I kiss down her torso, pausing at her hipbone, and that’s when I see her own tattoo.
A tiny bug tucked low beside the curve of her pelvis.
“What is it?” I murmur, brushing it with my thumb.
“A lightning bug.” She lets out a low, throaty chuckle that damn near undoes me. “You’d probably call it a firefly, though.”
I hum in response, letting the vibration settle into her skin. Then, I press my mouth to the ink and trace the shape with my tongue.
“It’s cute. Does it mean something?”
My fingers slide lower, parting her gently. She gasps, and her thighs tighten against my shoulders when my finger dips inside before retreating.
“Don’t worry about it,” she mutters, but she gasps when I press a kiss just below the tattoo. “It’s not important.”
I hover, my mouth and fingers inches from where she’s wet and wanting. But I don’t move closer.
Not yet.
Her hips lift toward me, pleading without words.
I chuckle, letting the warm air graze her. “Not until you tell me.”
She moans, frustrated. The sound is intoxicating, and again I wish we had more time. That my life wasn’t a complete clusterfuck right now.
“I was young. I thought it was meaningful at the time.” Her voice is strained, almost defensive. “Back when I thought I would set the world on fire.”
“Mmm,” I murmur, pressing my lips to the spot again. “I like that.”
She’s trembling under my hands.
“More like barely a spark now,” she mumbles. “It’s pretty much extinguished.”
I go still. Then look up at her.
Her eyes are shadowed behind the mask, but there’s no mistaking the emotion in her voice. That sharp edge of fatigue and vulnerability.
“You still burn,” I insist. “From the second you walked in, I couldn’t look away from your light.”
She shakes her head, lashes lowering. “Burning all the time is exhausting.” Her voice cracks, and I feel it in my chest.
“I think I’d be happy to flicker, like a firefly,” she says, barely above a whisper. “Be a happy little light, but blaze when needed.”
I press a kiss on the inside of her thigh. “Well, Firefly…” My voice is rougher now, throat tight. “I think another quick burn would be okay.”
She whimpers when I finally lower my mouth and taste her again, one hand gripping the back of her thigh to keep her steady, the other spreading her wider. When she comes the second time, I wrap my arm around her waist to keep her from sliding off.
I stand, heart pounding. I need her. Now.
I reach into my back pocket and pull out the foil square, and she exhales in relief as I tear it open.
Shoving down my pants and boxer briefs, I roll it on fast, and when I look up, she’s staring at me again—cheeks flushed, lips parted.
“Take it off,” she says.
My brow furrows. “What?”
“Your mask,” she says softly. “I want to see your face.”
I freeze.
This wasn’t part of the plan. I’m not supposed to let people know I’m here. Not yet.
The need for her to see me rises up raw and ugly. I want her to know exactly who’s touching her like this. Want her to know who is sharing this night with her. To be myself after so long pretending to be someone else.
Reaching behind my head, I pull the knot loose, letting the mask fall away.
She sucks in a small breath, eyes raking over every inch of me like she’s memorizing what she finds.
“There you are,” she whispers.
And I’m completely undone.
Gripping her hips, I nudge her back until her ass is perched on the edge of the desk, her thighs open for me.
She wraps her arms around my neck, legs trembling as I slide inside her with one steady thrust.
She gasps, body tightening around me, as if she was made for me.
“So good,” she whispers against my ear. “Don’t stop.”
“Not a fucking chance,” I growl, grinding deeper.
I brace her with one hand in her hair, the other under her thigh as I thrust. The hitch of her breath, and the low, needy sounds she tries to swallow are all mine.
And I want to stay buried inside this moment forever.
I press my forehead to hers, our eyes locked together as we chase our release, panting against her lips.
As it crashes over us, we hold each other’s gaze—like if we break eye contact, it’ll mean this wasn’t real.
In this moment, lost in her blue eyes, it feels like the only true thing in my life.
Whatever happens after this, I don’t care.
Not right now.
Because in this room she’s not a stranger.
She’s mine.