Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Both our pants were still on, but he rocked the hard length of his cock against my clit over and over and over again while he kissed me.
The friction of our jeans between us just ratcheted up the sensation.
In what felt like seconds, he had me right on the edge, ready to fall over.
I broke our kiss and gasped. "Oh, fuck, I'm gonna come. "
He stared straight into my eyes, into my fucking soul, as he continued thrusting against me. On the third press of his hips against mine, I exploded, screaming his name. His mouth fell open as he watched me ride out the pleasure, slowing his movements with each passing second.
Never in my life had I gotten off so quickly. Shit.
"Why you look so mad, viper?" he whispered against my lips before kissing me. "Aren't orgasms 'sposed to release some kinda happy hormones?"
I smiled. Couldn't help it. He was so fucking endearing. The fact that I couldn't help my smile was the part that infuriated me.
"Maybe I just need a few more of those happy hormones to counteract my grumpiness."
A cocky smirk spread across his stupidly smug and handsome face.
"Think I can make that happen."
He rose to his knees. I looked down to once again see the head of his dick poking out.
I licked my lips.
"Hey." He pointed a finger at my face. "Knock that off. You need at least"—he squinted up at the ceiling—"two more orgasms before you even think of putting my cock in your mouth."
I pouted and he laughed. He hooked his fingers into the waist of my pants and underwear and slid them down past my hips, past my knees, his hands running the length of my legs before returning my bare feet to the tarped floor.
When I was completely bare beneath him, he sat back on his haunches. His eyes swept over me, head to pussy—pausing on my breasts—and back again. "Fuckin' perfect," he mumbled. "Don't know where to start."
"May I make a suggestion?" I pressed my tits together.
Brody groaned before diving headfirst into my chest. One of his hands stayed planted next to my shoulder while he sucked my nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue.
His other hand covered mine, still cupping my breast, as his thumb stroked the sensitive skin surrounding my nipple without ever touching it.
It was hard and begging for attention, so I inched my hand up, interrupting his motions so I could pinch it myself.
His mouth released my breast. "Need a little attention over here, huh?
" He kissed his way across my chest, adjusting to brace himself with the opposite hand.
This time, his hand didn't return to torturing my breast. As his masterful mouth continued to lick and suck and bite, his rough palm slid up my waist, over my breast and grazing my nipple, then further still up my chest until he gently wrapped his hand around my throat.
I moaned because, fuck, it felt good to have him own my body that way.
"Like that, baby?" He squeezed a little tighter.
"Yes," I hissed.
A flash of another hand around my throat tried to push its way to the surface.
It wasn't the same. That hand was cruel. This one was worshipping.
Just as quick as the flash had come, Brody removed his hand from my neck, bringing me back to myself.
"Shh, I've got you." Brody kissed me soft before pulling back to look into my eyes. "You okay?"
I don't know what he felt, what he saw. But it was something. Something made him stop and switch tactics.
But… shit, I wanted his hand back around my throat.
"Can I eat this pretty pussy again?" He reached between us and palmed my mound, fingers teasing my entrance. "Been craving it for weeks."
"Yes," I whispered. The only word I had left in my vocabulary.
Brody kissed my lips. Then my chin. My neck. He kissed and sucked and nipped his way down my body as I squirmed beneath him. My hands were in his wild blonde hair when he finally made it to my pussy.
"Don't come," he said quietly.
"What?"
"Shit." He looked up at me from between my legs and took a deep inhale. "Didn't mean to say that out loud. Pep talk for my dick. You can come. You should definitely come."
I grinned down at him and he returned it before his face turned serious.
That shift—from goofy to intense in the space of a single breath—was so incredibly Brody.
Bright light, big heart. He dipped down and ran his tongue from my dripping pussy up to my clit, never breaking eye contact.
I shuddered out the breath I'd been holding while I savored the sensation of having his tongue where I needed it most.
He didn't tease. Not this time.
His mouth closed over my clit and I stopped thinking entirely.
My back arched off the tarp and my fingers tightened in his hair, nails dragging against his scalp.
He groaned against me like he was the one being worshipped, the vibration sending a fresh wave of heat rolling through my core.
One large hand pressed flat against my lower stomach, holding me in place when my hips tried to roll up into him.
"Stay still," he murmured against my pussy. The words buzzed straight through me.
"Then don't stop," I gritted out.
He didn't.
He worked me with a patience that made my thighs tremble—not rushing, not performing.
Just learning. Like he was cataloguing every sound I made, every involuntary twitch, and filing them away for later use.
Two fingers pressed at my entrance, slow and deliberate, and I exhaled a shaky breath as he curled them just right.
"Brody."
"Found it," he said against me, smug as hell.
I would have told him to shut up but then he did that thing with his tongue again and the words dissolved entirely.
The orgasm built differently this time. Not the quick, sharp thing from earlier. This was deeper, slower, winding through me like it had roots. I felt it in my thighs, in my chest, behind my eyes. I felt it in the place I didn't let people get close enough to touch.
"Don't stop," I breathed. Then, before I could think better of it, "please."
Brody made a low, broken sound against me. Like that word from my mouth undid something in him.
Then he took me apart so thoroughly I forgot my own last name.
When I came back down, my chest was heaving and my fingers had gone slack in his hair. Brody pressed a single, soft kiss to the inside of my thigh and then looked up at me with an expression I absolutely was not prepared for.
Not smug. Not triumphant.
Just warm.
"You're gonna be the death of me," I said to the ceiling.
He laughed, low and rough, and kissed his way back up my stomach, my ribs, the curve of my breast. His body settled over mine, and I felt the evidence of how badly he wanted me pressed against my hip.
"Still with me?" he asked against my throat.
"Barely." I turned my head and caught his jaw in my hand, tilting his face toward mine. In the strange phone-flashlight glow of this half-built house, he looked almost golden. Like he'd been made specifically to ruin women who thought they had it all figured out. "Come here."
He kissed me soft, then not soft at all. My hands went to his jeans and he groaned against my mouth.
"Finally," I muttered.
He huffed a laugh and helped me, lifting his hips long enough to shove them down his legs and kick them off somewhere into the dark. When he settled back over me with nothing between us, we both went still for a beat.
"Better," I managed.
"Much," he agreed.
I reached between us and wrapped my hand around him and he made a sharp, punched-out sound against my mouth.
"Calvin."
"Yeah." I stroked him slowly, watching his jaw go tight. "I know."
"I need—" He broke off. Swallowed. "Condom."
He was already moving, fishing through the dark for his discarded jeans.
I heard the soft thud of denim, the snap of a wallet, and then he was back, kneeling between my thighs and tearing the wrapper with his teeth.
I propped myself up on my elbows and watched him, something hot and private pooling low in my stomach.
He caught me looking. Raised an eyebrow.
"You gonna supervise or you gonna help?"
I sat up and took it from his hands. His breath hissed in through his teeth as I rolled it on, taking my sweet time about it.
"Christ, woman."
"Patience."
"I have been patient," he said through his teeth. "So fucking patient."
He pressed me back down gently, one hand behind my head, one bracketing my hip, and settled between my thighs. For a moment he just looked at me. The kind of looking that felt like more than looking. The kind I usually deflected with a joke or a smirk.
I let him look anyway.
"Okay," I said quietly.
He pressed forward, slow and careful, watching my face the whole time.
I'd known he was big. I'd had my hands and my mouth on him, had tried and failed to take him that first night.
But knowing and feeling were two different things entirely.
My lips parted on a sharp exhale. My fingers dug into his shoulders.
He paused, giving me a beat to adjust, then pressed deeper, and I had to consciously remind myself to breathe.
"Okay?" The restraint in his voice was tight and deliberate, like it was costing him.
"Keep going," I breathed.
He did. Until he stilled, fully seated. We were both holding our breath.
Then he exhaled. And I exhaled. And something that had been wound tight in my chest for years loosened its grip just slightly.
"You good?"
"More than." I shifted my hips and watched his eyes flutter shut. "Brody?"
"Yeah?" His eyes opened and met mine again.
"Move."
He swallowed, then did as I asked.
He moved slow. Torturously, devastatingly slow.
Like he had all the time in the world and intended to use every second of it.
I was used to fast. Fast was safe. Fast didn't leave room for eye contact or the kind of quiet that made you say things you couldn't take back. Fast meant bodies, not people.
This wasn't fast.