Chapter 27
Jess
When I woke, coming up through layers of consciousness, a few things landed in my head making me cringe. Oh, God, had I been angry? Because the sex was so good?
There had been a definite undertone of vulnerability, because he’d reassured me that it was the same for him and I was sure it really wasn’t. But it was nice of him to say so. Brodie Montgomery was being nice. And thoughtful.
He’d taken care of me, literally, in the gazebo...before coming back here and taking care of me again. The man had given me multiple orgasms before he’d allowed himself to come.
The guys I’d gone out with since uni prided themselves on being card-carrying feminists. They were guys who cared about the world and community, and stuff like that. But as soon as we’d got naked, they’d been all about getting themselves off...and as quickly as possible.
Yet, here was an alpha male of the species – the very kind of guy I’d sworn off - and just the way he’d made love to me – no, not love, the way he’d sexed me – told me more eloquently than anything that Brodie was more of a feminist than they ever would be.
I’d felt worshipped.
I became aware that I was curled against Brodie, my back to his front. His arm was under mine and I was trapping it, and one hand was clamped around my breast.
Usually if I woke up with a guy in bed my first reaction would be to put space between us, but, right now, I had zero urge to move anywhere except closer. Why would I when his cock was hard again and pressing insistently against my bottom?
At that moment Brodie’s hand squeezed my breast and my insides curled in on themselves with pleasure. Pre-pleasure. I felt his mouth at the back of my neck and then his tongue flicked out to touch my skin.
I shivered.
His voice sounded, growly and very near my ear. ‘Are you cold?’
I shook my head and said a little breathlessly, ‘No...not cold.’
The air around us changed and became charged as we subtly moved against each other. Brodie’s hand roamed down from my breast, over my belly, making it contract, and to the space between my legs. His fingers explored where I was ready for him again. Slick. Hot.
‘You are so fucking sexy, you know that?’
I turned my head and met his mouth, tongues tangling. I moved my arm around his neck and he lifted my thigh so he could manoeuvre himself between my legs. He moved the head of his cock along my sex, tantalising me, slipping it in before taking it out again.
I whimpered. And then Brodie reached behind him for something and I released him. I heard foil ripping and he rolled a sheath onto his erection before resuming his position, and, this time, he didn’t just tease, he entered me on a hard thrust.
He fucked me like that, with my back to his front, one hand caressing my breasts and the other moving down to where our bodies were joined.
I had my hands on that arm, both pushing and pulling him when the sensation got too much.
We were so close, eyes locked, it should have felt claustrophobic but it didn’t.
Brodie’s finger found my clit and massaged it as he pounded into me.
I gave up trying to hold on to any sense of control.
I unravelled in a way that was becoming increasingly frequent, his mouth covering mine just in time to swallow my cry as I orgasmed around his cock, muscles contracting and pulsating, sending out shockwaves of pleasure so intense I bit down on his hand.
But he didn’t notice because his big body stiffened against mine and then he was falling too, his hips jerking against me as pleasure racked his body.
Some time later...time was losing any sense of realness for me here in this bed...my stomach let out a gurgle of hunger.
Brodie huffed a chuckle as I buried my face into his chest with embarrassment. He tipped my chin up with a finger. ‘Hungry?’
‘Apparently,’ I replied dryly.
‘OK, let’s see what we can find.’
He untangled our limbs and got out of bed. I watched with my head on my hand as he moved around the room, finding clothes, pulling them on. He had the utter unselfconsciousness that only people who’d been beautiful all their lives had. And it wasn’t a bad thing. It was just...amazing to watch.
He was wearing jeans, unbuttoned. They clung tantalisingly to his narrow hips. Bare chested. His hair was messy and his jaw was stubbled. My chest contracted. He looked at me. ‘What are you waiting for?’
I sat up and tried not to feel self-conscious, but Brodie’s gaze on me made me want to arch and preen and show off. He grinned at me. Jesus.
It hovered on the edge of my consciousness, the magnitude of what had just happened.
I had just had epic, earth-shattering sex with the enemy.
But for the life of me I couldn’t really recall when exactly Brodie had ceased being the enemy and had become something else.
..and I really didn’t want to think about it too much.
He reached for a robe on the back of a chair and brought it over. He tugged me up to standing and then, like a child, he fed my arms into the robe and pulled it closed and belted it. And it was that gesture that maybe melted me even more than any of the astounding sex.
Then he grabbed a T-shirt, pulled it on, and led me out of the bedroom and into the hushed corridor.
No one was around. It was dark. We went downstairs and after a couple of aborted attempts to find the kitchen – making me giggle when we opened a door into a broom cupboard – we finally found it.
There was a quiet humming from the appliances.
I let go of Brodie’s hand and said, ‘What do you fancy?’
‘You?’
I sent him a not amused look, but secretly I was fizzing inside.
Men never made me fizz. I found the ingredients I needed and got to work.
Brodie found some wine and glasses, and poured me a glass.
I took a sip and felt thoroughly decadent to be up in the middle of the night in a Georgian mansion with a man who had just fucked me senseless and who was looking at me now as if he wanted to gobble me up all over again.
After a few minutes I served up two plates of fluffy pancakes with some blueberries I’d found in a bowl, and honey and cream. ‘I would have added bacon, but I’m not sure the chef would appreciate me using their grill.’
Brodie took a bite. ‘This is more than enough,’ he said around a mouth full of pancake. ‘And this is amazing, Jess.’
It was delicious if I did say so myself, or was it just delicious because it was the middle of the night and illicit, and we’d essentially ducked out of social activities halfway through the dinner.
I wiped my mouth with a napkin. ‘Was it bad that we left the dinner?’
Brodie shrugged. ‘I don’t think so – it’ll just serve to add authenticity to our relationship.’
Oh, yes. That. I deflated a little. Had Brodie been conscious the whole time of how it had looked? As if we were actually a real couple who hadn’t been able to keep their hands off each other? Because I’d certainly forgotten.
‘Jess.’ I looked at him. He said, ‘It wasn’t calculated. I would have fucked you right there and then if we hadn’t left.’
Air puffed into my chest again. He leaned forward and rubbed something from my cheek, and then he surprised me by pressing a kiss to my mouth. It went right through me to between my legs.
When he pulled back, I said, ‘What was that for?’
He held up his finger and it was white. ‘Flour.’
I rubbed at my cheek. My gaze tracked to the scar on his face. I always noticed it – hard not to – but I’d actually begun to not notice it so much.
Seduced by the cocoon of a sleeping house around us and the post-coital langour still in my blood, I asked, ‘Your scar... Would you tell me how you got it?’
He went very still. I could almost see how he shut down. Avoiding my eyes, wiping his mouth with a napkin. There was a sudden chill in the air. Just when I was about to say don’t worry about it he looked at me and said, ‘Do you want to hear what I tell people or the truth?’