Chapter 10
10
J ude blinked the sweat out of his eyes and tried to breathe. Brynn was a dead weight on his chest, but even if he’d had the strength to move her, he wouldn’t have. He liked having her there.
Her hair was coming out of its ponytail, and he wanted to reach up and tug it free, but he wasn’t sure his arms would work. It had felt like that orgasm had been wrenched from his very bones, and the parts of him that weren’t numb were flat exhausted.
Except his penis. Still wedged inside her, it twitched and wiggled like it was willing to go another round.
“Are you doing that or am I?” she mumbled into his sternum.
“I honestly can’t tell anymore,” he confessed, and she lifted her head and looked at him.
Her bangs were plastered to her forehead, her eye makeup had smeared, and her hair that wasn’t still caught up in the ponytail was sticking out in a dozen directions. Her face was flushed the charmingest of pinks, and she wore the goofiest, dreamiest smile he’d ever seen.
“Feeling good?” he asked, amused.
“I feel fuck drunk,” she said, and she sounded it, too, her words just the slightest bit slurred.
“Lightweight,” he chided, but he had to concentrate to keep his own words crisp.
She just laughed, a husky trill of delight that made his dick twitch again, then rolled off him to sprawl, gracelessly, on the mattress beside him. That charming flush went all the way down. “Fuck, I needed that.”
His dick, now sadly bereft of her pussy, slapped against his thigh. He reached down to make sure the condom didn’t fall off. “Me, too.”
“No, I mean I really needed it.” She reached her arms up and pointed her toes in a long stretch, eyes closed, that same goofy smile on her face. “It’s been a while.”
Not wanting to lose track of the condom, he rolled to the side of the bed to peel it off. “How long is a while?”
“Mmm. Since before Covid.”
He almost hit the floor. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope,” she said, popping her lips on the p, and when he managed to turn back around her eyes were open and laughing.
“How…that’s…that’s years .”
“I know.”
“ Literal years.”
She gave that husky trill again. “I know.”
He propped himself up on his elbow beside her. “Well, now I know why you didn’t need foreplay.”
“Sorry about that.” She rolled toward him, mirroring his pose. Her eyes were heavy and still a little dazed, her mouth soft and plump and swollen. “I’ll make it up to you.”
“Deal.” He reached out to skim a finger along her nose ring. “Have I mentioned how sexy this is?”
Surprise lit her eyes. “Yeah?”
“Drives me wild,” he confessed.
Her smile bloomed. “I’ve been thinking of getting another one now that I have the money for it.”
“Really?”
She nodded. “A septum piercing.”
His gut tightened. “Shit, that’s hot. Can I do it?”
“What?”
“Not do it,” he amended quickly. “Buy it. Pay for it. Whatever.”
She blinked. “You want to buy me a septum piercing?”
“I really fucking do.” Unbearably turned on by the idea, he bent to take her mouth.
She hummed in surprised pleasure, her free hand lifting to his face, but she didn’t push him away. He kept the kiss soft and light, then shifted to brush his mouth along the long line of her throat. “Wow. Who knew nose piercings were your secret kink?”
“I think you’re my secret kink,” he murmured, smiling when her head fell back to give him room. Her skin was warm and damp, the faint tang of salt greeting his tongue when he skimmed it along her collarbone.
“When I said I’d make it up to you, I didn’t mean now.”
“Don’t worry. You don’t have to do a thing.”
“Oh. Okay,” she said dreamily, rolling to her back and closing her eyes.
He laughed silently into her sternum. “You’re not going to sleep on me, are you?”
“I guess that depends on you,” she murmured, then her eyes flew wide. “Whoa!”
He held her nipple in his teeth for a second more, just to drive the point home, then let go. “You were saying?”
“That was not nice,” she panted, and the flush across her chest had deepened a shade or two.
“No?”
She shook her head, eyes heavy and dark. “Do it again.”
He laughed, delighted with her, and took her nipple—so thick, so hard—in his teeth and slowly, carefully, bit down.
With his eyes trained on her face, he could see when pleasure edged toward pain, that moment where she couldn’t decide if it was too much or not enough. He let her hang there for a second, then eased back, lapping at the tortured little nub with his tongue before sucking it into his mouth.
And she went wild.
Twisting and writhing on the mattress, hips bucking so hard she nearly tossed him off. He pressed her back down, with hands at first then his body when his hands weren’t enough, listening carefully for the words “no” or “stop” or “enough” or anything else that meant she didn’t want him to do what he was doing.
But all he heard among the garbled moans and whimpers and cries was “please” and “more” and once “oh, sweet baby Jesus” so he kept going.
Her hands came up to tangle in his hair, not to pull him away but to clutch him close, tugging and shoving until his scalp sang. When he gentled the suction, easing back, she made the same sound she’d made during orgasm.
And then he switched to her other breast and did it all over again.
By the time he lifted his head she was a vibrating puddle beneath him, and while he was almost sure she hadn’t actually come, he thought he’d better be sure. “Did you come?”
She looked at him through dazed and hazy eyes. “Just now?”
“Yeah.”
“No. Why?”
“Just checking. You really like having your nipples sucked.”
She was panting so hard that her nipples, little red buttons on her teacup titties, were shaking. “Noticed that, did you?”
“Hard to miss.”
Her hands, still caught in his hair, gave a frustrated yank. “Then why did you stop?”
He grinned, feeling about ten feet tall. “Because I have other things I want to do.”
“Don’t I get a vote?”
“Sure. Do you want me to keep sucking your nipples or eat your pussy till you come screaming?”
She spread her legs so fast she nearly knocked him off the bed.
He laughed even as his dick, already set to jump in the game, gave a warning throb. “Is that a vote for option B?”
She was nodding frantically and using her grip on his hair to try to shove his head down. “God, yes. Option B. Pussy. Eat. Please.”
Still laughing, he reached up to tug her fingers out of his hair. “Option B it is. But first…”
“No, no first! Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dol—what are you doing? That’s my belly, not my pussy.”
“I know,” he said into her belly button. “But it’s cute, and I haven’t kissed it yet.”
She tried to yank her hands free, but he held them fast. “Listen, this whole body worship thing is really sweet, and I appreciate it, really I do.”
“Uh-huh,” he said, nibbling his way around to her hip.
“But it’s not necessary,” she said, her voice going up an octave when he nuzzled his nose into the crease between her hip and thigh.
“I think it is,” he said, and tracing the delightful lower curve of her belly with his tongue, wound his way to her other hip.
“You’re killing me,” she groaned.
“Welcome to my world,” he murmured. He worked his way down, down to where her pubic hair covered her mound, the dark blonde curls damp and matted and smelling of the two of them. It was such a primal scent, so visceral and rich that something rose up inside him. Following it, he opened his mouth wide and bit through hair and into flesh.
He kept it just this side of savage—gentle enough not to cross the line from pleasure into pain, firm enough to hold her still when she jerked in reaction. Her taste flooded his mouth, salty and musky, elemental as the tides, and suddenly he was the one who couldn’t wait any longer.
Keeping his mouth open, he slid down over skin and hair until he met wet, hot pussy. Then he braced his hands, still tangled with hers, on her slick, trembling thighs and dove in.
And he feasted.
He licked, he sucked, he nibbled, listening to the cadence of her cries to discover what she liked best. When he nibbled and sucked at her labia, she panted and wiggled. When he shoved his tongue deep into her tight little hole, she arched and purred like a cat. But when he dragged the flat of his tongue over her clit, she tried to levitate off the bed, and her thighs rose to clamp around his head.
He tried to nudge them back, but she hooked her knees over his shoulders and dug her heels into his back, and he wasn’t getting untangled from that without some major repositioning. Since she was panting and moaning and chanting “yes, there, more, there, yes yes yes” he figured she was close, so if he concentrated he could probably get her off before he passed out from lack of air.
And if he died, well, at least it would be for a worthy cause.
Sucking in a breath of humid, pussy scented air—and God, wasn’t that just the best?—he redoubled his efforts, working her clit with single-minded intensity. He tried to listen for cues that he was in the right spot, but her thighs were blocking out most of the sound now, so instead he focused on the non-verbal ones. Like when he hit the top of her clit her hips jerked, and when he circled it her thighs shook, and when he sucked it into his mouth and flicked it with his tongue her heels drummed into his spine like hammers and she let out a scream that he could hear even with her thighs plastered to his head like sweaty earmuffs.
So he kept at it, and since his fingers were out of commission—still entwined with hers and currently squished between her thighs and his head—he jutted out his lower jaw to try to get his chin in the right spot to give the rest of her pussy some friction. He was trying to figure out how to use his mustache, too—having never had a mustache before when eating a woman out, he was eager to see if he could use it to his advantage—but he’d forgotten about it until now, and the construction of the human skull made it impossible to use his chin and his mustache at the same time. He was trying to decide which one he should go with when she arched off the bed so hard she would’ve thrown him off if not for the vice grip of her thighs, let out a wail that could probably be heard in Windsor, and nearly drowned him in pussy juice.
Then her thighs went slack, and he could breathe again.
“Shit,” he gasped, his cheek on her thigh. It was wet, but so was his face, so he didn’t figure it mattered much. “That nearly killed me.”
“Me, too,” she wheezed in a voice that was more air than sound. “Thanks.”
“My pleasure.” He didn’t move. He had a great view—her pussy, red and swollen and wet, the labia spread wide so the deep pink of her vagina was visible. He could even see the faint teeth marks beneath her matted, tangled bush.
“Sorry,” she said after several moments. A hand landed on his head, heavy and limp, in an awkward pat. “About the almost dying.”
“S’ok.” He felt oddly content, in spite of the erection that was hard enough to drive nails. “We all gotta go sometime.”
“That’s so…romantic.”
He grinned, then froze when something wet hit the bottom of his foot. “Um, Brynn?”
“Yeah?”
“Is the dog licking my foot?”
“Hang on.” Her thigh shifted under his cheek when she sat up. “Yes.”
His breath whooshed out in relief, and she giggled. “That tickles.”
“Sorry.” He tipped his head back to look up, over the curve of her belly, the crease of her waist, past firm breasts—the nipples were soft now, but still red from his mouth, the tidy little mounds pink with whisker burn—to her face. “Wow. You’re kind of a wreck.”
“What the hell happened to romantic?” she grumbled, but she was smiling that dopey, goofy, fuck drunk smile again.
He sat up and reached out, plucking out the ponytail holder—now holding almost nothing—and tossing it aside. It landed on the floor, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Tilly circle the bed to give it a sniff. Ignoring the dog, he brushed Brynn’s hair away from her face, biting his lip to keep from grinning when it stuck straight up. “Hi.”
“Hi,” she replied, still smiling. Still fuck drunk. “I need a shower.”
Considering all the bodily fluids floating around… “Me, too.”
“Can I take it in your bathroom? You have a better showerhead.”
His hopes for shower sex wilted, along with his erection. “Sure.”
“Wanna take one with me?”
He and his erection perked back up. “I thought you’d never ask.”
She giggled and climbed off the bed, wobbling a little as she gained her feet. The back of her hair was even worse than the front, and her ass was a work of art, round and thick with a jiggle that reminded him of those old Jell-O commercials, and for a moment he just sat there, watching, wondering if he was dreaming.
“When I was doing the housekeeping, I used to fantasize about sucking you off in the shower.”
That dragged his attention from her ass. “You did?”
She reached up to run her fingers through her hair and gave him that fuck drunk smile again.
“Uh-huh. It helped pass the time when I was scrubbing the tile.”
“Most people put on music or a podcast,” he offered feebly, staring at her mouth. It was swollen from his kisses and curved in that goofy smile, and picturing it wrapped around his dick drained whatever blood was left in his brain.
She dropped her arms, making her boobs shake, and looked as though she were considering that. “I like sucking dick better,” she decided and turned to walk toward the bathroom.
He stared after her, watching her butt bounce until she disappeared into the bathroom. Then he and his very eager erection leaped off the bed to follow, remembering at the last second to close the door to keep the dog out.
After demonstrating her dick-sucking skills to the satisfaction of all involved, Brynn left a weak-kneed Jude in the shower, nudged Tilly off the mattress—she had no idea how the stump-legged hound had managed to hoist herself up there without help—and stripped the bed.
They’d been in too big a rush to pull the duvet back, so she stripped it off, then gathered the sheets Tilly had shed all over and carried it all to the laundry room behind the kitchen. She started the wash, then went back to the kitchen to look for something to eat and very deliberately tried not to think about the repercussions of what she’d just done.
“It’s not a crime,” she told Tilly, who’d pushed between her feet to nose into the refrigerator. “We’re consenting adults. If we want to sleep together, we can. We don’t need anyone’s permission.”
Tilly tried to grab an artichoke from the lowest shelf. Brynn snatched it before the dog could and put it in the crisper drawer. “Forget it. I’m not cleaning up any more dog diarrhea. Oh, here we go.” Spotting the package of steaks, she plucked it off the shelf, used her foot to scoot the dog back, and shut the refrigerator door.
“It’s not like we’re cheating,” she said as she seasoned the steaks with salt and pepper. “He’s single, I’m single. And we like each other, so where’s the harm?”
Tilly, her eyes firmly on the steaks, licked her lips.
“It’s the boss/assistant thing,” Brynn continued, digging a cast iron skillet out of a lower cupboard and setting it on the range. “It’s problematic.”
She turned the flame on under the skillet and reached for the butter. She dropped a chunk of butter in the pan to sizzle, and Tilly abandoned the steaks to sit next to the stove.
“I know how it looks,” Brynn went on, swirling the butter around the pan. With the butter melted and foaming, she dug out a pair of barbeque tongs and dropped the first steak in, then the second. “It looks icky.”
She looked down at Tilly, who was doing her imitation of a dripping faucet as the scent of cooking meat filled the air. “But it doesn’t feel icky, Tills. It feels…”
She trailed off, searching for the right word.
“It feels what?” Jude asked, and she turned.
He was standing in the bedroom doorway, his hair still damp from his shower. Dark with wet, it was almost the same shade as his mustache—a mustache she still hadn’t yet made full use of. Savoring the curl of heat in her belly at the thought—and wasn’t it nice to be able to savor instead of having to ignore?—she soaked in the rest of him.
His chest was bare, but he’d pulled on loose cotton pants, this pair in a rich navy blue that made his eyes look even bluer, and how that worked when they were nowhere near his eyes she didn’t know, but it did. They hung low on his hips, exposing the deep V of muscle separating waist from hip that she’d traced with her tongue in the shower. He’d tasted salty and musky, like his sweat and her pussy, and after that she’d forgotten about tracing things with her tongue and concentrated on gobbling things with her mouth.
She sighed at the memory, and he chuckled. “What are you thinking?”
“I was thinking about how you taste,” she said, still thinking about it.
“Well, that explains why your face went red,” he said, amused, and pushed off the door jam.
She grimaced. “I’m not a redhead, but somehow I ended up with the complexion of one,” she complained.
He came around the counter and stood in front of her, the dog between them at her feet. “I like it.”
He smelled like soap and shampoo. It made her want to stink him up again. “That makes one of us.”
He just grinned and dropped a kiss on her nose. “Is one of those steaks for me?”
She nodded, trying not to sigh. Nobody had ever kissed her nose before, and she liked it. She liked it a lot. “How do you like it?”
“Rare, or medium rare.” He reached into the fridge for a bottle of water. “I can live with medium if I have to.”
She nodded. “Rare it is.”
His grin flashed again as he leaned back against the counter and opened the water. After drinking half of it down, he set it aside. “So?”
She was staring at a tiny droplet of water clinging to the edge of his mustache, wondering if he’d think she was weird if she licked it off. “So, what?”
“If it doesn’t feel icky, what does it feel?”
“Oh.” Jerked back to reality by embarrassment, she turned to fuss over the steaks. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”
“Should I pretend I didn’t?”
She almost said yes, but since she’d just been declaring herself a grown adult, it seemed ridiculous. She flipped the steaks, setting off a fresh round of sizzling, and metaphorically pulled up her big-girl panties. “Of course not.”
“Okay. Are you going to answer me?”
“I’m not sure how,” she confessed and with her cheeks burning, glanced back. “I was trying to come up with the right word.”
“Un-icky?” he suggested, a smile lurking under his mustache.
She snorted out a laugh. “Gee, why didn’t I think of that?”
He set his water down. “How about I come up with a word?”
Her heart was suddenly in her throat. He was still smiling, so that was good, but it felt like she was at the top of the roller coaster again. “Um. Okay.”
“Right.”
“Right, what?” she asked.
“That’s how it feels,” he elaborated, his smile broadening. But it was soft and somehow sweet, and it made her knees go boneless. “Right.”
“Oh,” she breathed, clutching the tongs to her chest. “I think that’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
His smile took on an impish edge. “More romantic than ‘we all gotta go sometime’?”
“That one was pretty good,” she admitted, remembering. “Maybe it’s a tie.”
“I had a voicemail from Grant.”
She sighed, her romantic little bubble bursting. “Well, we knew that was coming.”
“He’s flying in tonight.”
She winced. “That can’t be good.”
“He’s got meetings here next week with lawyers about this embezzlement mess. Something about taxes.”
“The IRS?” She shuddered. “I almost feel sorry for him.”
“He wants to meet me for lunch tomorrow.”
To give herself something to do, she turned to check the steaks. “These are almost done. Will you get a couple of plates?”
He reached for the shelf next to her. “Do you want to come with me?”
“To lunch with Grant?” She spooned butter over the steaks then placed them on the plates. “Sure. I also want a boil on my taint.”
He snorted. “So that’s a no, then?”
“That’s a no,” she confirmed, turning off the burner. “There’s a bag of salad in there if you want some.”
“Sure.”
She opened the fridge to get it. “We have Italian dressing and Thousand Island.”
“Italian.”
“Got it.” She grabbed the dressing and a bottle of water for herself, then nudged the fridge door shut with her hip and carried everything to the counter. He’d laid out silverware, so she dumped salad on each plate, then zipped the bag closed and returned it to the fridge.
She circled the counter, sidestepping Tilly—who was wedging herself between the stools to maximize her chances of catching falling scraps—and climbed onto the stool next to him.
“You’re not going to ask?”
She glanced at him. “Ask what?”
“What I’m going to say to Grant when he tells me to stop seeing you.”
It wasn’t unexpected, but hearing him say it had her stomach dropping to her knees. “I suppose it’s too much to hope for that ‘fuck off’ is a possibility?”
Jude’s grin was quick and fierce. “Only as a last resort.”
“He’s going to be pissed,” Brynn predicted.
“He’ll get over it,” Jude said, humor fading as determination darkened his gaze.
Brynn stared down at her steak, not really seeing it. “Your career is important.”
“Yes.”
“So is mine,” she continued.
“Also yes.”
With doubts spinning through her mind like tumbleweeds covered in razor wire, she looked back up. “Do you really think we can do this without screwing either one up?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted, and the hint of vulnerability in his eyes when they met hers made her heart skip a beat. “But I know I want to be with you.”
The sting of tears pricked her eyes, blurring her vision. “I want to be with you, too.”
He reached out, catching an escaping tear with his thumb. “So these are happy tears?”
“They must be.” She tried to sniff them back. “I’m not usually this drippy. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”
“It’s all the romance,” he said soberly and startled a watery laugh out of her.
“That must be it,” she said and wiped her eyes.
“Don’t worry about Grant,” he said, his hand cradling her cheek. “He’s going to piss and whine because that’s his job, but he doesn’t run my life.”
“Does he know that?” she asked drily.
“I’ll remind him,” Jude promised.
The sudden urge to smile took her by surprise. “I kind of wish I could see that.”
“You’re welcome to join me.”
“I don’t want to see it that much.”
He laughed and, with a last stroke of his thumb across her cheekbone, dropped his hand. “Okay, new topic. I also had a message from Tommy.”
Happy to shift gears, Brynn reached for her water. “How’s the baby doing?”
“She’s the most beautiful baby in the universe,” Jude said. “That’s a direct quote.”
“Aw, that’s sweet.”
“He wanted to know if we want to come see her.”
She frowned. “Isn’t it kind of soon?”
“You know Tommy. He’s never happier than in a crowd.”
“Yeah, but will Kara want us there? She’s the one who just gave birth.”
“I asked him that.” Jude reached for the bottle of Italian dressing and gave it a shake. “He said she’s happy to have visitors as long as we wash our hands, don’t kiss the baby, and when she says get out, we get out.”
“Sounds reasonable.”
“Why aren’t we supposed to kiss the baby?” Jude wondered.
“So we don’t get her sick,” Brynn said and picked up her knife and fork. Her appetite was back now that they weren’t talking about Grant, and her steak had rested long enough.
“But we’re not sick,” he pointed out and dumped dressing over his greens.
“Newborns don’t have much of an immune system,” she pointed out, cutting into her steak. It was the perfect shade of pink inside, pleasing her. “She hasn’t had all her vaccinations yet, and she’s fragile. It’s a precaution.”
Jude picked up his fork. “Like how you’re not supposed to take a puppy to a dog park until it’s had all its shots?”
She paused, her fork halfway to her mouth, to gape at him. “Yes, Jude,” she finally said. “It’s like that. Only maybe don’t phrase it that way if you’re talking to Kara.”
He just grinned. “Believe me, I would never. That woman is scary.”
“She gave birth in the back of a car with no medical help and zero pain relief,” Brynn reminded him. “She’s a fucking badass.”
He grunted in agreement and cut into his steak. “He said we should bring Tilly.”
“Really?” Brynn leaned back to look at the dog hunkered down between their stools, hoping for falling food.
“He says Kara okayed it.”
“Do we believe him?”
Jude shrugged, chewing steak. “It could go either way. We’ll walk her first. She’s good with people.”
“It’s on you and Tommy if it goes south,” she warned him.
“It’s on Tommy,” he corrected.
Resigned, Brynn refocused on her food. “We should stop on the way and pick up a baby gift. It feels rude to show up empty-handed, especially if we’re bringing a smelly hound dog with us.”
“I already got them something off their registry, but sure. And she doesn’t smell that bad.”
Tilly chose that moment to fart. “You were saying?”
Jude aimed a disappointed look at the hopeful dog. “Work with me here, kid.”
She laughed. “I’m buying a Tiger’s onesie,” she said just to see him roll his eyes.
He didn’t disappoint, and she laughed again, delighted and terrified because she was right back up at the top of the roller coaster again.
She wondered what would happen when she fell.