Chapter 32
BODY POSITIONING: USING ANGLES AND STANCE TO BLOCK ACCESS TO THE PUCK
Brennan pulls the van to a stop outside my apartment building. The engine hums for a second before he turns it off. He leans in, his hand sliding to the back of my neck as his mouth finds mine.
Our kiss starts slow, before I sink into his warmth. His taste. I savor it, the way his thumb brushes my jaw, the way he exhales softly against my lips like he’s fighting himself not to rush me.
When our lips part, he rests his forehead against mine, breaths mingling.
That’s when I murmur, “Do you want to come up with me?”
Brennan’s eyes bore into mine. A half-second passes. Then a slow smile crosses his face that causes my insides to twist. He says, “There’s nothing I want more.”
He follows me upstairs, carrying the enormous Scooby Doo like it weighs nothing.
I fumble with my key likely due to Brennan crowding me. Invading my senses.
“Need help?” he asks, voice low next to my ear.
“No,” I lean back against him, giving him access to trail a kiss down my neck. Somehow, I finally manage to fit the key in the lock successfully.
It gives.
The living room is lit only by a single lamp and the flickering of a street light through my blinds. Brennan fills the entryway behind me. I feel the stuffed animal’s soft fur bump my arm. He sets the enormous toy gently on the floor. He’s magnificent. Always has been.
I kick off my shoes. “Do you want something to drink?”
“Only if you’re getting yourself something.”
He stands at the kitchen island while I fill glasses with water. Once I hand him his glass, he says, “I know you’re not supposed to toast with water, but…”
“But?” I echo.
“To…Scooby Snacks?” he ventures.
I can’t help it. I giggle at the ridiculousness of it.
Brennan gives me a look that incinerates me. Direct and heated, like he’s waiting for the moment for me to give him a sign I didn’t just invite him up for a drink. “I had a great time tonight. Did you?”
I’m grateful for his restraint. It eases the tension running just under my skin. I admit, “Best Halloween in years.”
Brennan takes another drink of his water before setting his glass down. He smirks before glancing over his shoulder at the enormous Scooby, looming expectantly from the doorway. “Want me to help carry that to your room?”
I scoff, but my voice is breathless. “You’re obsessed with that thing.”
He shrugs as he inches closer. “I’m obsessed with you.” He steps closer to me, causing the material of his pants to brush against the skin between my sock and skirt hem. The friction is electric.
The words are out of my mouth before I realize I’ve said them. “Do you want to spend the night?”
He presses his hands to the counter on either side of me.
He leans in deliberately. For a split second, I’m convinced we’re going to end up taking each other in the kitchen.
Instead, he trails a knuckle down my arm, gentle, reverent, almost too soft to be real.
The touch leaves burning flickers of flame in their wake.
His breath is so close, it’s impossible for me to think straight. “You sure?”
“Not at all,” I admit, truthfully. He moves to back away, until I yank him closer. “But I want you.”
The next second, his mouth is on mine. It’s scorching.
I lean so far into him, I practically lose my balance.
His hands find my waist, almost angry in their desperation.
I break for air, panting. My fake glasses that go along with my Velma costume knock against his nose.
I chuck them away before he lifts me in the air. “Where’s your room?”
I thumb at the door directly through the kitchen. He stalks toward it with intensity.
I’m about to combust. As Brennan slowly lets me slide down the front of his body, I feel his hands branding me. Through my clothes, against my skin. He takes his time, letting his fingers trail slowly up my thigh, pausing at the hem of my skirt.
I’m acutely aware of every brush of his fingertips. My knees threaten to give out. I clutch the bed frame for support.
"Can I just say how much I love this costume?” he murmurs, dropping to his knees and tugging gently at the elastic holding up my knee high socks. He takes his time, peeling them off before retracing his path and letting his fingers dance up my inner thigh—before pulling my lace panties off.
I feel my heart beating behind my eyelids as they drift closed. I never planned for Brennan to be someone I let back in. To chance getting my heart obliterated for a second time.
But he’s proven to me over and over, he’s worth the risk.
He stands and presses his forehead to mine. His hands find the zipper at the back of my waist. He hesitates, his palm warm and steady at the small of my back. “Are you sure?”
I nod. He pulls the zipper down. As I shimmy out of my skirt and rip off my sweater and bra, he’s shucking his clothes. There’s nothing left between us.
I can’t believe how right it feels, how the years collapse into nothing when he laughs beneath his breath and falls back onto my bed holding me. I end up sprawled along the length of his body in the crook of his arms.
In his eyes, I find more than desire.
There’s love.
His breath warms the hollow of my collarbone before he trails kisses across my constellation. Then, his lips move lower still.
He takes his time, devoting himself to me. Worshiping me.
His hands linger at my hips, not demanding but inviting my passion. Every time I brush up against his hardness is an unspoken question I answer by pressing in closer, seeking more.
Needing only him.
The air is thick with our shared urgency.
He mutters, “God, I missed you,” into the crook of my neck before rolls to his back, letting me set the pace.
My hair spills between us, probably tickling his face, but he doesn’t notice.
Desperation is written all over his face, like a man who’s tasted water for the first time in forever.
I let my body respond, letting my feelings for him guide my movements. My hands roam everywhere, mapping the broad planes of his chest, the line of his jaw, relearning him by touch like it’s a homework assignment I’m determined to ace.
He kisses me until the taste of him is all I know, and everything I ever resented about this man, everything I am supposed to be protecting, falls away.
I swivel my hips impatiently. He holds me still while he reaches over the side of the bed for his pants. Finding his wallet, he tosses it within reach of the nightstand. I lean forward and pin him, my palms on his chest, feeling his heart gallop beneath my hands.
His eyes are wild, but he waits for me to make the next move. I surprise him by sliding down his torso, kissing the trail of freckles that start at his clavicle and wander in mosaic patterns down his chest. Then I bite him—not hard, but sharp enough to write this moment into his skin.
He grabs my wrist and tugs me back up to crash his lips against mine with barely restrained hunger. I run both hands up his arms, savoring every cut and tendon, greedy for the feel of them.
He rolls us again, slow and careful, looming above me, haloed by the lamp’s glow. Breathing hard, he makes a feral, hungry sound. Then he shifts down, his mouth finding the inside of my knee, then the softest part of my thigh.
I gasp. My body is thrumming, every cell straining for more.
His hands knead and splay, reverent and greedy. My body’s natural essence turns into a flood when his tongue finds me.
I tug at his hair with both hands, needing skin to skin, pressure or friction. Anything to keep from floating up and away.
My bedroom now smells like us—mingled sweat and arousal, and the faint remnants of Brennan’s aftershave. He crawls back up my body before asking in a whisper, “Okay?”
I nod, not trusting my voice.
My skin vibrates where he touches. It’s so much. It’s not enough. I arch against him, every part of me louder and less apologetic than I meant to be.
Brennan’s hands and lips resume their slow, reverent exploration. Any lingering hesitation I had about us dissolves. I love him. I trust him. I want him from now until the end of time.
His lips brush my temple, my jaw, the joint between my shoulder and neck. With each shift of his body, every light touch, I feel cherished even as my voice calls out in wanting, “More!”
He growls in response.
Brennan’s hand slides over my hip, palm scorching. I look up at him, pushing the hair away from his face. He’s gazing at me like I’m the only one he ever let himself dream of.
He reaches for his wallet and flips it open, quickly sheathing himself. I wait for him to protect us while I absorb the weight of him on top of me, the warmth and hunger between us.
My breath stutters when the head of his cock positions against my entrance. Touching his lips to the hollow beneath my ear, he whispers, “Still sure?”
The only thing I can do is wrap my leg over his back and nod, frantic and needy.
He murmurs, “All I want is you, Amy.” Reaching down, he eases himself inside me. I’m wet and waiting, every cell blazing.
All I want is Brennan.
He grips my hip for the slow press of him and freezes. Our eyes connect, him holding still until he knows for certain I’m with him. I give a tiny nod and Brennan slides home in one devastating stretch. My body clamps down around him. I arch and a moan escapes.
He buries his face in my hair, breath ragged. My thighs tremble, toes curling into his thighs, arms locked around his neck.
He starts to move, bracing himself so his weight doesn’t crush me, but I don’t care about that, and dig my heels into his thighs, urging him deeper.
“Faster.”
He complies. I chase him, matching every thrust, drowning in the sensation, the closeness, the sweetness of being wanted. His jaw grinds against my cheekbone. I relish it, greedy for everything about him.
He sucks in a breath, buries a moan in my throat. When he does, I shatter around him, body convulsing so hard I know I’ll feel it for days.
Brennan follows me over, a helpless, drawn-out moan that makes my heart stutter.
He slumps over me, but instead of rolling away, he clutches me to him, breathing so hard my hair stirs in the exhale.
He stays there, heart pounding against my chest, until our pulses slow enough to blend, indistinguishable.
We lay tangled, sticky and shaking. Even with sweat cooling on my skin I don’t want to move. I slide my hand up his spine, feeling the ridges of each vertebra. He sighs, nestling in close, nuzzling my hair.
I’m in such a haze, I’m barely aware of him reaching for the box of tissues on my nightstand. Of him disposing of the condom in the trash. Once he’s done, he lays back down and pulls me into him. That’s when I hear him murmur, “Don’t ask me to go.”
“I won’t if you don’t want me to.” There’s a charged silence, before his hand finds mine and drags it onto his chest, pressing my palm to his racing heart.
“I never want to leave you.”
Even as sleep pulls me under, I’m aware of the way his arm tightens around my waist—not desperate, not demanding.
Just certain.
As if letting me go isn’t something he intends to do again.