Chapter 17
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
Audrey
Brooks sets our bags down in the entryway and shuts the door behind us.
“Oh, wow,” I say, slipping off my slides and then moseying through the bright lake house. “This is incredible. Look at how cute this place is.”
The living room is filled with light from an impressive bay window on one wall, giant skylights in the ceiling, and an open floor plan leading into a kitchen with an unobstructed view of the sparkling water below.
“Have you been here before?” I ask, passing a soft, overstuffed sofa that could easily hold five people.
“Nope. I’ve had this saved in my favorites for a while. Just waiting on a good time to use it.”
I glance at him over my shoulder. “I think you picked a great time to use it.”
We exchange a smile, one laced with heat and loaded with promise. It’s a dare—an electric and slightly dangerous guarantee that something is about to happen. That we’re at the tipping point and there’s no going back.
My pulse races as I absorb the message. And as much as I want to just hop on the wooden table and spread my legs for him, I enjoy the tension.
Brooks’s eyes follow me through the room, his lip clasped between his forefinger and thumb.
He adjusts himself, and part of me hopes he pounces.
But the other part of me loves seeing his desire for me painted so plainly.
He wants me as badly as I want him, and that makes me crazy.
I don’t know if that’ll remain once we’ve satisfied ourselves, and the thought of looking at him and not seeing him ready to devour me makes me want to extend this … for a few minutes, anyway.
I pull my gaze from his, feeling the sparks fly as if I’m disconnecting an electrical connection. My body hums as I slide open a door and step onto the back deck. I sense him a few steps behind me, but I don’t check to see if I’m right.
I’ve never really understood Gianna’s obsession with the chase, as she calls it. Before she met Drake, she’d go to parties where the whole objective was this—the pursuit. I think she got off on that more than the actual sex. Now, I can see why.
The sun is warm as it hovers over the trees in the distance, but the breeze has a bit of a bite to it, so I wrap my arms around my middle as I step to the railing.
The lake must be a football field or more from the back of the house and down a decent slope.
A hammock sways lazily between two trees by the water, and I can see myself stretched out with a book and a glass of lemonade.
Brooks’s arms extend around me, gripping the rail and boxing me in much like he did in Patsy’s. I’m flooded with the scent of his cologne and a warm muskiness that triggers my core to clench. I gasp for a small breath as his lips brush against the crook of my neck.
“You are,” he whispers, running his nose along the curve of my shoulder and up the side of my neck, “fucking gorgeous.”
If I wanted to play it cool, it’s too bad.
A chill rips through me from the ghost of his touch, sending an array of goose bumps across my skin.
I moan softly, leaning toward him, my lashes batting closed.
Being the center of his attention is like standing too close to a fire.
It’s too hot to be safe, but nearly impossible to step away because you know that as soon as you do, you’ll crave the heat again.
“I want you everywhere,” he says, the words dusting across the shell of my ear. “I want my dick in your tight little pussy.”
I tremble, rocking back against him. His cock is swollen, pressing against the small of my back. The evidence of him wanting me as badly as I want him is almost more than I can take.
“I want it down your throat.” The gravel in his tone scrapes my senses. “I want to lick every inch of you—feel you clench around me as you feel what it’s like to come on my cock.”
“Oh, my stars.”
He grabs my hips in one swift motion, his fingers biting into my hips, and jerks me into him. “You’re gonna be seeing stars.”
“Yes, please.”
His chuckle resonates through every cell inside me. “It’s too cold outside for you to be naked. Let’s go in.”
“Sounds good to me.”
He leads me into the house, closing the door behind me. His movements are filled with a controlled urgency. He scans the house and then reaches for my hand, locking our fingers together and guiding me down a hallway.
I follow with every breath shaking in my chest.
We pass two doors on our left and then enter through a doorway on the right. It, too, is filled with light. But now that the sun has started its final descent and swoops just above the treetops, it’s not so much bright but more of a warm, amber glow.
There’s a four-post, king-sized bed on one side of the room, facing a fireplace and a large television. A large, irregular-shaped brown rug is soft beneath my feet as I follow Brooks to a wide leather chair.
Tension—need—coils low in my stomach, wrapping around the butterflies fluttering about wildly.
Brooks faces me, his green eyes laser-focused on mine, and lets my hand go.
“This is the grown-up, R-rated version of Christmas morning,” he says, brushing my hair off my shoulder.
“Last year, I bought myself a car that I’ve always wanted and had it modded.
” His fingers slip beneath the hem of my shirt, his knuckles grazing my skin.
“I couldn’t justify just buying it for the hell of it, so I wrapped the keys in a little box and put it under the tree.
” Slowly, like he has all the time in the world, he drags the cotton up and over my head.
He takes a step back, adjusting his eyes as he rakes them over my chest. “My excitement was nothing compared to how excited I am about this. Fuck, Doc.”
My nipples bead, pushing against the light blue lace. I can barely control my breathing. My chest rises and falls, each movement causing the tiny silver heart that marries the two bra cups together to catch the light.
I hitch a gasp as he reaches for my waistband and deftly frees the button. The sound of the zipper scratches through the air as if it, too, has been waiting for this moment for days. Brooks swallows, his palms splaying against my hips as he shoves the denim down my legs.
I’ve been this naked in front of him before, but this time it’s intentional. There’s nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. Not that I would want to do either, but the forced proximity only thickens the tension between us.
He takes my pants from around my feet and tosses them casually to the side.
Controlled. Casual. Deliberate.
So sexy.
I try not to squirm. I’m sure the women he’s usually with are used to being with men like him and have no problems standing in their skivvies for his pleasure. Again, I must fake the confidence until I own it. Practice makes perfect.
He backs away from me until he reaches the chair.
He makes short work of losing his shirt and sending it through the air to join my pants somewhere out of sight.
His body is beautiful—lean, strong, and defined, with sharp exterior obliques.
It’s as if the creator stood back, evaluated his work, and decided it was so perfect that everyone should take notice.
So, he cut arrows into his side and aimed them at his cock.
Instead of removing his pants, he sits on the chair. Knees spread. Thumb grazing his lip.
“You are literal perfection,” he says as if he’s in awe. My cheeks flush, and I want to look away from him, but can’t. He holds my attention like he’s taken over. My body now does what he says. “If I didn’t want to fuck you so bad, I could just sit here and stare at you.”
“That’s very nice of you to say, but I’m thankful that staring at me isn’t the plan.”
He smirks. “Are you wet for me?”
“Obviously.”
“It’s not obvious to me.” He shrugs, his eyes darkening. “Show me.”
I flinch. “I … I don’t know what you mean.”
“Show me how wet you are for me.” He refuses to let me look away. “Touch yourself.”
“What?”
“Take your finger,” he says calmly, like we’re talking about how to thread a needle. “And swipe it through your pussy. Show me how wet you are.”
If I was blushing before, I’m bright red now.
“What do you have to be embarrassed about?” he asks. “That you’re a genius? Kind? Funny? Does it embarrass you that you’re wildly beautiful and crazy sexy and the combination of those two things mixed with the rest of you blows my motherfucking mind?”
Woah. I swallow, focusing on his words. I’ve never heard a man say something like that to a woman, let alone to me. It almost feels like he’s playing me, but he’s not.
He really believes that.
“You, a PhD in philosophy, chose to hang out with a fucking fighter and give him the privilege of eating your pussy,” he says, smirking again. “How could you ever be embarrassed around me?”
Something deep inside me steadies, and I expel a breath. My shoulders square as I stand taller. There’s a quiet voice in the back of my mind, spewing every flaw, every reason that I don’t do this.
But, for the first time in my life, I shut it down.
Maybe this is something I do. Maybe I’m not quite all the things that Brooks said, but if he believes it, even part of it, then why shouldn’t I?
If hesitation gets you hit, then maybe quick decisions give you the win.
I hear air rushing through my nose as I lower my hand between my legs.
A blast of heat hits my fingers as they reach my inner thighs.
They’re sticky, coated with my need for him, and I could probably use that to prove how wet I am for him.
But he’s watching, not missing a beat, and seeing how turned on he is from me touching myself is unreal.
My ego will never be the same after this.
I slide my finger through my swollen flesh, shaking as the tip touches my clit. The contact, the briefest flick, nearly sends me over the edge.
“See?” I say, holding my finger in the air. “I’m soaked.”
“Come here.”
I take a few steps toward him. My heart flounders erratically, pounding so hard that I could pass out.
He raises up and snatches my hand out of the air.
No, he’s not. He grins as if to say, Oh, yes, I am.
He draws my finger into his mouth, his lips wrapping around it tightly. I hiss a breath, my knees wobbling as his eyes flash in wicked amusement.
“Ooh.” I half mumble, half moan as he releases it.
“I wanted a taste before I bury my face in your pussy tonight and eat the shit out of you.”
“Brooks …”
His cheekiness is another dose of gasoline on an already smoking ember. My core aches, begging for him to make me come. I’m trembling without being touched. I can’t imagine what it will finally feel like to lose myself completely with him. On him.
“Turn around for me,” he says, the words not a request. But I don’t even care. More importantly, I don’t question it. I’m riding a high that I never knew existed—experiencing a power that could get me in trouble.
A confidence.
I step back, forgetting all about the scar on my hip that I hate so much. He devours me with his eyes. I’m pinned in place, not for an appraisal, but for an appreciation. And, oh, how those are different.
Slowly, I turn. The weight of his attention traces every movement. I feel him taking me in, piece by piece, deliciously and deliberately. Once my back is to him, he hisses, sucking in a breath so hard that I swear it scrapes my skin. It’s heady and intoxicating, and the best feeling in the world.
I arch my back, popping my behind out for him since he seems to enjoy the view. The chair crackles behind me, the sound breaking the air. Gathering my hair, I hold it on top of my head, standing on my tiptoes to elongate my legs, and pivot another few degrees.
“And she says she doesn’t flirt,” he says, chuckling to himself. “I can’t decide if you’re a ticket to hell or a fucking angel.”
Facing him again, I drop my hair. It falls around my shoulders and frames my face.
Bolstered by my newfound courage, I look up at him through my lashes. “Well, there’s one way to find out.”
His smirk says it all.
Game on.