Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
brIAR
I should have told him no.
Should have pushed him back, turned away.
He would have stopped.
I know he would have.
But some sick part of me, some pathetic and weak part wanted to be right here—his mouth on mine, his hands on my skin, his body pressed close.
So, I don’t stop him.
I don’t push him away.
And when his lips touch mine…I give in.
My mouth opens, my moan is soft as it glides from my tongue to his, and—
He groans, tightens his hold, the kiss intensifying. But it’s not deep, not a tangle of lips and tongues, our hands moving to remove clothes and stoke desire. It’s…sweet.
So beyond sweet my eyes prickle with tears and my heart rolls over in my chest, and I can’t help but be sweet back. I trail my hands along his back and bring them forward, resting them on his pecs, feeling the strength of him, the warmth of him, the way his pulse pounds as rapidly as mine.
There’s need in the rigid control of his body, but he doesn’t release it.
Instead, he keeps the kiss gentle, reminding me of all the soft times, the easy times—stolen embraces in the garden, raindrops pattering on our heads when we got carried away and didn’t see the weather change.
Brushes of lips when he woke me in the morning, when we passed each other in the hall, when I came into his office to see him in the middle of the day, or when we stole down to the kitchen for a midnight snack.
So many memories.
So much good.
That’s why it hurt.
And I don’t want to hurt, not right now.
I don’t want to think, don’t want to miss and need and ache.
I just…want.
So freaking much.
And…hell, it’s like just thinking that has everything I’ve been feeling exploding out from behind that shield I erected, the barrier that’s continued to erode with each and every minute I’ve spent in his presence.
My nails dig into his chest and I press closer, loving the way his arms band tighter, his groan rumbles from his throat and into mine.
The kiss…oh God, this kiss isn’t sweet.
It’s deep and it’s wet and—
“Oh!” I gasp as he rises to his feet, spinning and moving to the bed. He drops me on the mattress and comes over the top of me.
“Fuck.” His lips trail along my jaw. “You are so damned beautiful.”
I shiver, but that ice inside me has broken open and I’m feeling…so damned much.
The soft silk of his hair, the strength of his body, the heat of his skin, the slightly roughened tips of his fingers as he dips them under the hem of my shirt and trails them along my side.
“I’m different.” My head drops back to the mattress, a moan tumbling from my lips as he kisses a sensitive part of my throat.
“But you’re still you.”
I shudder as the words vibrate through me, as they heal some wound deep inside me.
Then his fingers slide lower, slipping beneath the waistband of my pants, skating over my skin. Sensation explodes through me and instinct takes over.
Pleasure.
This man has given me pleasure, so much pleasure my body takes over, knows exactly what to do.
I part my legs, give him room to work.
And, God, he works.
Lightly drifting his fingers down, cupping me over my underwear and that big, hot hand has a moan tumbling from my lips, my hips arching, pressing more firmly against his palm. My need gathers, growing slick and damp, and his wolfish smile tells me what he’s thinking, even before he says it.
“See? You’re still you.”
And, as he pushes my underwear aside, his fingers immediately finding that sensitive spot that never fails to make me moan, I’m inclined to agree with him.
To think that he might still be him too.
“Oh, God,” I moan as he traces the folds of my labia, as he circles my clit, as he slides one thick finger inside, stroking it in and out, in and out, exactly as I like.
In the precise way that makes me crazy.
“I—”
He bends and slants his mouth over mine, kissing me long and deep, leaving me with lungs working in overdrive and a pulse thundering through my veins.
“Relax, baby,” he murmurs. “Relax and let me make you feel good.”
Impossible.
It’s impossible to relax—mostly because he’s playing my body like it’s his instrument.
And maybe it is.
Because I can feel the pleasure swirling around my body, can feel it rolling through my cells, my nerves.
More. More. More.
Implosion.
“Brooks!” I cry, arching against his hand, fingers clawing at his shoulders.
Pleasure burns through me, leaving me limp and satiated and…in another lifetime.
He kisses me slowly and gently, coaxes me down, holding me close until my heartbeat settles and I manage to open my eyes.
“The time has passed?” he asks, humor in his tone even though his eyes are hot enough to scald.
I can barely lift my head, let alone process the words. “What are you talking about?”
“Nothing,” he says, helping me sit up.
“Brooks,” I begin again. “What—”
He straightens my clothes, brushes my hair back from my face. “Nothing.”
“I—”
“Come on.” He takes my hand, hauling me up from the bed.
“Brooks!”
“You need to eat.”
Eat?
When he just gave me an orgasm that melted my bones and turned my head to mush?
When he’s…
My eyes flick down.
When he’s…that.
Hard, the fabric of his slacks cupping the rigid length of his erection, making me feel jealous.
I want to be the one doing the cupping.
He groans softly and my eyes shoot back to his, the sexy smile he’s wearing stroking me between my legs. “Don’t look at me like that, baby.”
I want to do so much more than just cupping. “Why?”
Another groan. But this time, he snags my hand. “Come on, Trouble.”
And as the impact of that—of another time, another life…or maybe, maybe it could be this life—he drags me out into the hall.