Chapter Seven #2
I reach out blindly, wanting to feel for myself. My hand closes around his dick through his slacks, his hips bucking.
"Keep that up, and I'll be coming in my pants," he growls, his eyes wild.
"Is this what you were fantasizing about last night?" I can't help but ask as I stroke him through his pants as best I can, gripping him tight. He's so fucking big, my hand barely closes around him, but that doesn't stop me.
"No. You were spread across my bed, naked," he snarls, slipping two fingers inside me. "You were greedy for it, sweetness."
I moan, rocking against his hand.
"I'm n-not sleeping with you," I remind him. I don't know why. His fucking fingers are inside me, making me see Jesus. I think it's pretty evident that I will, in fact, be sleeping with him.
"You will," he says confidently, slanting his mouth down over mine. "But not yet. Right now, you're going to come on my fingers as hard as you came on your own last night."
I choke on his name, already halfway there. Every time he curls his fingers, he just sends me careening closer to the edge. But I want him to go over with me, like he did last night.
I release his cock long enough to tug his zipper down before plunging my hand inside.
"Fuck!" he practically shouts, his head kicking back, the corded veins of his neck standing out stark against his skin. His hips buck and roll wildly. "Fuck, Tia. Just like that."
I stroke him hard, loving the way he feels against my palm. Loving the way his breath stutters and he gasps my name. Loving the way his body trembles. He's so fucking beautiful when he wants to come.
Apparently, he thinks the same thing about me, because he's a man on a mission now. His thumb runs circles around my clit, his fingers curling inside me again and again. I hear how wet I am every time he moves.
"That's it," he croons, his body shaking. "That's it, beautiful."
I come with a loud cry, unraveling around him. My body goes electric, and then supernova, blood rushing in my ears in a torrent of sound.
He grunts my name, and then I feel his hot, sticky seed spilling down my fingers. I keep working him, claiming every drop until he's trembling and gasping for breath above me, his eyes wild and dilated. He doesn't look away from me, not once.
I've never felt so seen, so wanted…so perfect.
"Goddamn," he rasps when smoke starts to fill the kitchen, pulling his fingers away with a groan. He strides across the kitchen, flipping off burners and moving pans aside, a look of chagrin on his face. "I think I burnt your breakfast."
I slide down from the island, my legs wobbling, and peer into the pan of bacon, shrugging. "I'll still eat it."
He looks at me sideways. "It's burnt."
"It's bacon, Briggs. Even burnt bacon is still delicious bacon."
His lips curve, his expression softening as I move to the sink to wash my hands. "And you called me a psychopath."
"I did no…" I trail off when he quirks a brow, daring me to finish that sentence. "Fine, maybe I insinuated that your MO was inspired by psychopaths."
He just chuckles, pressing a kiss to the side of my head before nudging me away from the sink to wash his hands. "Go sit. I'll make your plate."
"My plate?"
"Yeah, yours."
"You aren't eating?"
He shoots me another of those disarming smiles. "I ate hours ago, Tia. Besides, I have to be at the airport soon."
He ate hours ago?
I gape at him. "It's six in the morning."
"I'm aware, but I was up at four." My nose wrinkles, making him chuckle. "Don't look at me like that. I'm usually at the arena by five."
"And you think you aren't a psychopath," I mutter, deadpan.
He just laughs.
I grab my coffee mug and top it off before sliding onto a stool, watching while he arranges everything onto a plate. "When do you guys play again?"
"Tomorrow," he murmurs. "I'm going straight to the arena from the airport for practice."
"Do you need a ride to the airport?"
"Nah," he says over his shoulder, "I need to run to the hotel and grab my shit first. I called an Uber driver I met yesterday. He's already on the way."
"Oh," I say, a little disappointed. When he appeared in my office yesterday, I desperately wanted him to leave. Now, the thought makes my chest ache.
I think he hears the disappointment in my voice because he immediately turns to me, his eyes locking with mine.
"Don't think that means this is over between us, Tia," he says, his voice soft.
"This isn't me getting what I want from you and bowing out.
It just means I know you've got shit to do if you're going to be in Chicago by Monday.
I'm trying not to add more to your plate while you do it. "
"I didn't think that," I say.
"Liar." He scoops my plate up, sauntering across the kitchen toward me.
Once he reaches me, he sets it in front of me, then wraps my hair in his fist, craning my head back until it's at an angle, his eyes directly above mine.
"This thing between us is just starting, beautiful.
And once you're in Chicago, I'm not backing off until your heart is mine. "
I swallow convulsively, a tiny surge of panic shooting through me—not because he means it. But because I think it might already be too late for that.
God help me, but I think I'm already falling for him.
Judging by the heated look in his eyes, he knows it, too. And he's freaking thrilled about it.