23. Dustin
Dustin
My condo is absolutely sparkling, it's so spotless. I rented a carpet steamer. I don't have carpet, but I do have upholstered furniture. That's pretty much the same thing. As I walk through every room, I inspect the floors for any errant dust bunnies. There are none, of course.
I'm handling my leave perfectly fine, thank you very much. And—progress—I only had Brooke on my mind during every other thought, instead of every single thought. I'm totally fine. I'm great, even. This is what thriving looks like. Does it not look like I'm thriving? Well, you're wrong. I'm so thriving I'm gonna write a book about it.
I mean, probably not. But I could.
Alicia and the kids are supposed to come by tomorrow to cheer me up. I protested on the phone with her earlier, but she could tell my heart wasn't in it. I still need to give them their souvenirs. Or soup-in-ears, as Orion calls them. Huffing out a chuckle, I smile. He's a good kid. They're both good kids. I bet they'd make excellent older cousins for any future… offspring… I might have.
Preferably with Brooke. Dammit, there I go again. That might be a record since I got back, actually. I had a whole separate line of thought going before it all went back to her. All roads lead to Brooke, I guess.
My phone vibrates loudly against the solid wood of my guest room side table. Brooke's face lights up the screen. Holy shit. It's her. It's her? Brooke is calling me?
"Oh my god, what do I do?" I whisper to myself and frantically shuffle back and forth. We're not supposed to talk. We're not supposed to have any contact. I could get fired. She could get fired. What if she's already been fired, and that's why she's calling? What if something happened? What if she's laid up in the hospital, and her dying wish is to speak with me?
The vibrations stop, and my phone screen goes dark. "Shit!"
Don't panic. Don't panic. Don't panic. Except I do, and I hate it. My hands tremble as I reach for the phone, and it takes me three attempts to unlock it. Should I call her back? What if she's in jail, and that was her one call? What if she's dying? What if she's already dead?
Her face appears again—she's calling me back! I almost drop the phone as I swipe to answer.
"Hello? Brooke? "
"Dustin?" Her voice sounds muffled, and there's a lot of background noise. I can't make it out, but it sounds like a train station, maybe? "Where do you live?"
I rattle off my address without thinking. "Wait, why? Where are you? Why is it so loud?"
"Nothing. No reason. I love you! Bye!"
Click .
She loves me. Oh my god, she still loves me. Relief floods through me, and I nearly weep in the middle of my guest room. God, that can keep me going for weeks. I can handle the uncertainty of my job with the knowledge that Brooke—my beautiful woman, my brave girl—loves me.
I practically float through my condo before settling down on my sofa. You know what? I don't even care if they do fire me. I can handle that. I can deal with anything now. Jobs come and jobs go, but Brooke is forever. Hell, I might even call up Kenton St. Clair—the bastard—and tell him I quit before they can fire me.
Well, maybe I won't go that far.
As I look around my immaculate condo, I realize the dirtiest thing here is me. I've been in a cleaning frenzy for the past three days, and I honestly don't remember the last time I showered. Maybe when I got home from the airport? That can't be good. Maybe it's time to get myself freshened up and use that new squeegee I bought for the glass shower door. Hard water stains are brutal to remove when they've been left alone, but armed with my new cleaning tool? They'll never get the chance to stain.
The rushing water of the shower drowns out all other thoughts. I soap myself up and stare into space. Predictably, my mind drifts back to Brooke. Did I get to shower with her? Not since college, I'm pretty sure. I wonder how much those fancy hotels with in-room hot tubs cost? Probably a lot, but for her? Nothing is too much.
I'd go broke making her happy if that's what it took. But I know her, and she wouldn't allow that to happen. She would want to spoil me back just as much, if not more. God, I'm so lucky she loves me. I miss her. I can't believe she called me. I didn't get to talk to her, not really, but she said she loves me.
Does she know what that did to me? Does she know what she does to me?
The water runs cold as I continue to ponder Brooke and all of her facets. When I start to shiver, I force myself to turn off the tap and wipe down the walls (and shower door) with my new squeegee. It does a good job, but all I want to do is trace Brooke's name in the condensation instead of wiping it away.
A muffled pounding noise echoes down the hall as I crack open the bathroom door. Confusion creases my brow, and I wrap my towel around my waist. Did I order food and forget? I don't think so, but without my phone, I can't really check. I don't remember where I put it. I know I talked to Brooke in the guest room….
The pounding is more insistent. I hear a woman yelling out my name. Shit, that's got to be for me. I scamper to the door and wrench it open. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry—I forgot I ordered anything; I was in the shower."
Brooke. Brooke? My heart leaps in my chest as I take in the sight of Brooke—my girlfriend, the love of my life—standing at my doorstep. Her cheeks are rosy, and her eyes are filled with tears.
"Oh, my god." She drops her bags and throws her arms around me. I melt into a puddle and forget about the stupid towel around my waist. I pull her even closer, like I could get her under my skin; I need her with an intensity I didn't know I possessed.
Brooke snakes a hand up to the back of my head and pulls me down, kissing me with ferocity. Her teeth nip at my lips, and I gasp—her tongue invades my mouth. A symphony swells in my mind, and I get a little lightheaded. My heart pounds a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I can't get close enough. I need more .
A tiny moan slips out between her searing kisses. She is the symphony. She is the sun peeking out from behind the clouds on a sunny day. She is the cool side of the pillow. She is the handwritten note in a lunch box. She is the extra dollop of whipped cream on top of a rich mug of hot chocolate .
She's everything. And she's mine.
"I missed you so much, baby," I murmur into her hair as we break for air. She lets out a strangled sob and squeezes me tighter.
"I missed you, too. God, I'm so happy to see you—you're in a towel." Brooke releases her hold and steps back, looking me up and down.
With a dark chuckle, I snake my arms back around her waist and haul her inside my condo, kicking the door shut behind us. She squeals happily and yanks the towel away. I love watching her eyes brighten as she sees me—all of me.
"Oh, I really missed you."
The husky breath to her voice immediately has blood rushing to my cock, and she watches awestruck. She has too many clothes on. She seems a bit starstruck, if you can consider me a star—which I don't—so I grab the luggage from her hands and drop it to the floor. The movement kickstarts Brooke, and she attacks me again,
Her hands are everywhere all at once—she shoves me against the wall of my entryway, rattling the little table next to me. And she still has too many clothes on. I frantically kiss her back and try to unzip her coat, try to remove any barriers between us. My mind blanks out when she tangles her hand in my hair and pulls—ever so gently, but the unexpectedly pleasurable pressure turns my cock from steel to diamond.
My god, I love her .
"Wait," I gasp out. "Bedroom. Clothes off. Please."
Brooke traps my lower lip between her teeth and lets out a growly moan. Quicker than I can react, she pulls back and strips herself nude. Her fingers are so nimble that I never would have been able to unzip and unbutton with the speed she has. Not with my brain offline, anyway.
My girlfriend, the love of my life, stands before me like a Rubenesque goddess. Her green hair has faded to a soft pastel mint and the pink blush of her cheeks makes her look like a fairy queen. She's something out of mythical lore, and I'm about to become a historian. I'm going to relearn everything about her and use it as my bible. She's my religion now.
Dropping to my knees, I worship the pillowy expanse of her thighs. My hands find her glorious ass, kneading and pulling and squeezing, while my nose finds its way to the delightfully soft hang of her belly.
My god, I love her more than anything, ever.
"You're heaven, baby. You're pure fucking heaven," I mumble between kisses to her soft flesh.
"Show me, Dustin. Show me how much you love it." She looks down at me with a hungry gaze.
Yes, ma'am.
I gently pry her thighs apart and nearly melt at the sight of her pussy. I'm a drowning man, and she's the lifeboat. Lowering myself on my knees and heels, I pull her closer and tip my head back, burying my face between her legs. At the first swipe of my tongue, she shivers and groans. At the second, her hands rush to my hair, and she anchors herself above me.
I could die like this, I think. I would die the happiest man in the world.
With one hand, I reach around her thighs and latch onto her ass. With the other, I pull her lips apart and wrap my lips around her clit. She quakes under my touch and gasps with every gentle flick of my tongue. The desperate sound forces a buzz of energy down my spine, and my cock weeps precum. I'm aching to be inside her, but I want to take care of her. I'll always take care of her.
I slip one finger between her lips and curl it back, pressing on the spongy flesh within. She lets out a gasping moan and yanks on my hair—my eyes roll back in my head. Fuck, I'm dead, I'm dead and in heaven; this is heaven. This is Valhalla. This is paradise.
She is paradise.
As I work my tongue and finger, I feel her tense up around me. She's strung tighter than a guitar, close to bursting, and I keep my movements steady. Slow. Working. Exactly how she likes it. Exactly how she needs it. Unintelligible pleas and promises fall from her lips as she grinds on my face. I'm her toy, I'm her dedicated vibrator, and I'll do this job until I die.
I hum around her clit, and she detonates from the soft vibrations. Her walls clamp down on my finger, and her thighs tremble around my head. The most beautiful moan in the world echoes around my condo, and I want to record it. I want that to be my wake-up alarm. I want to pipe it directly into my headphones and listen to it on repeat.
Brooke releases my hair, panting with flushed cheeks and chest, looking down at me. She cocks me a hazy smile. "Your turn."