Chapter 26 Brie
brIE
Before I can think, my hands fist his flannel, yanking him toward me. His mouth is soft and firm, his facial hair only adding to the deluge of sensations. When his hands find my hips, I bring mine up to his hair. The jacket that was draped over my shoulders falls to the floor.
I walk backward, turning us so he can sit on the bench I just vacated before straddling his lap. My mouth is level with his now, more even. I trail my fingers up the soft skin of his neck, satisfaction snaking through me when he shudders.
I shift, and he pulls his head back.
“Holy shit,” he says, “your sweater. It’s wet. You must be freez—”
He clamps his mouth shut when I reach for the hem and drag it over my head. His breaths come out hard. He looks at me in my cotton bra and mismatched, mangled underwear like he’s never seen anything better, like I’m exactly what he wished for.
I tug on the buttons of his shirt and pry the fabric off his toned shoulders. No undershirt, thank god. I attack his neck, my hands exploring every inch of his torso. His warm skin, the soft hair scattered over his pecs, the hard ridges of his abs that tighten at my touch.
His fingers flex and a groan tears through him when I graze my teeth over his neck. I rock my hips, wanting more. One hand grips me tighter, his other hand careful not to touch the bandage on that side.
Then it hits me. His hands haven’t moved from my hips.
He hasn’t kissed me.
I’m doused in cold shame. I pull back to look at him. He gazes back through drugged eyes.
He blinks. “What’s wrong?”
That’s what I’d like to know. I started this, I pushed him onto the bench, I climbed on top of him.
Frustration and embarrassment war inside me.
But I’m already here, there’s no going back from sitting on Sawyer’s lap in my bra and ripped panties.
How much bigger a fool could I possibly make myself by opening my mouth?
“Why won’t you touch me?” I breathe.
A muscle in his jaw ticks as his chest rises and falls. “Brie, you just told me exactly what you think of me. I’m not taking the reins here and giving you something else to hate me for. I need to know you want me to touch you.”
It’s a good point. Sawyer drives me crazy in more ways than one.
I don’t trust him, his actions confuse me, and I don’t understand him.
But this thing between us has been building since Day One, and there’s no better time to see it through than right now.
We’re in his secluded cabin, I’m in my underwear, and his cock is rock hard beneath me.
Heart thumping, I reach behind me and unclasp my bra. A dare.
His eyes stay fixed on mine, but the muscles in his throat protrude. His Adam’s apple moves with a heavy swallow. His hands squeeze me tight enough to bruise.
I lean forward, taking his bottom lip between my teeth, biting it hard enough to feel his groan, then sucking on it. My hands grip his shoulders as I nip at his neck, scattering wet little kisses all the way up, eliciting deep sounds from him.
My mouth presses to his ear. I don’t overthink it, and I don’t recognize my own throaty voice when I say, “Sawyer, I want your hands and mouth on me. Everywhere.” I drag my teeth over his lobe.
He lets out a desperate whimper that makes me almost feral for him.
“Please,” I say.
Then he cracks. His hands skate up my ribcage, cupping my breasts from underneath as his mouth meets my clavicle, kissing along my collarbone before finding the sensitive spot where my neck and shoulder meet, making me squirm.
Thumbs rub exploratory circles over my nipples, making me arch.
I whimper, and he bites me lightly. He does it again and again, pulling new sounds from me, noises I’ve never made before.
He pulls back, eyes bouncing between my face and my chest, like he can’t decide what he likes better. Then he kisses me full on. His mouth devours mine and his fingers rake over my bare thighs, up my stomach, down my arms, pulling all my nerves taut.
“Brie,” he rasps against my lips.
I shiver and buck my hips, pressing flush against where he’s impressively hard. He groans and hooks his fingers into the waistband of my underwear that’s still intact. He pulls up, dragging it against my clit. I gasp with pleasure. His eyes flash with satisfaction.
“Tell me what you want.” It’s a plea, not an order.
“I want that,” I say when he tugs on my panties again. They’re soaked.
He plants wet kisses along my jaw, then brings his mouth against my ear, hot breath making me moan. “I need to hear you say it. I need to know you want this as badly as I do.”
Heart pounding, I say, “I want you to rub my pussy. I want your fingers inside me.” I swallow. “I want your tongue on me.”
Before I can say more, his mouth covers mine again as a deep, tortured rumble emanates from his chest.
He breaks the kiss and watches his hand roam down my chest with hooded eyes. His finger hooks the crotch of my panties, moving them to the side.
“Fuck, Brie. You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
His thumb presses delicately against my clit, a button being pushed, and I make a ragged, anguished sound that no one on Earth has ever heard except Sawyer Strong.
He arches his eyebrows and looks at me as he does it again, then circles his thumb until I’m grinding into the movement.
My experience with sex up til now was always . . . basic. I could take it or leave it most of the time. It was never great, but it was rarely bad.
This is different. There’s a need building I’ve never felt. I’m feral for Sawyer, reduced to my basest desires. I’ve never been so intimate with someone before. Never had someone play with me and study me and devour me like this.
His middle finger caresses my entrance, and he makes a disbelieving sound in the back of his throat.
“Honey, you’re dripping.” His other hand comes up to cup my chin before sucking my lip into his mouth as his thumb continues to drive me crazy.
He eases one finger in, just to his first knuckle, and I whimper, fisting his hair and circling my hips.
The weight of his gaze is heavy as he watches me.
When he adds a second finger, shallow like the first, I weep out another whimper.
Slowly, so fucking slowly, he inches deeper.
Tapping, circling, rubbing me from the inside.
“Tell me when it feels good,” he says.
“It feels good!”
He brings his forehead to rest against mine, chuckling. “No. Tell me when it feels really good.”
I shake my head, not understanding. It all feels good. Almost too good. Maddeningly good. No one’s ever made me feel this good.
Then he hits a spot. One magical spot that has me careening into him and gasping loudly.
“Ohmyfuckingfuck.”
“Will you look at me, honey?” His voice is husky.
My eyes flick open—I didn’t realize I’d squeezed them shut—and there he is.
Mouth tight in concentration, eyes fervid.
Somehow, through the fog of desire and pleasure and pure unadulterated need for this man, I realize it’s Sawyer.
My stomach flips and the sensation in my core doubles, but that realization nags at me.
He’s going to go cold again, I have to protect myself.
Nothing in the world could possibly give me the strength to stop what’s happening now, but I have just enough in me to breathe, “Just once. We do this one time.”
Eyes dimming, he nods once. “I’ll take it.”
Then he stands up. His fingers are still in me, other hand cradling my ass. I gasp at the change in angle and hang on for dear life.
“Where are we going?”
He walks us the few feet to his couch and lays me down, kneeling on one knee with one foot planted on the floor. He eases his fingers out. I grunt a sound of protest.
His answering smirk has me clenching around where his fingers should be. He takes his shirt off the rest of the way, and he’s beautiful. Thick and muscular as he looks down at me.
“God, Brie. You’re so pretty. So fucking pretty.”
He kneels between my legs, delicate hands caressing the outsides of my thighs in a ticklish tease.
His fingers ghost over the bandage on my hip. “Does it hurt?”
“Not even a little.” The only thing I feel right now is my ferocious need for him, the tight pulse of desire, anticipation for what’s coming.
He peels off my torn panties. “If this is just once,” he says, kissing the inside of my knee, moving his mouth higher with each word, “then I need to taste you.” He ends the sentence with one languid lick, from slit to clit.
“Sawyer.” It’s a slow, throaty plea.
His eyes shine, and he does it again before kissing up my lips and around my clit. He teases me with light pecks until I finally reach for his head and angle his face where I need him. He laughs against me, giving me little vibrations, and I can’t help laughing back.
“I’m not going to rush this,” he says.
Untangling my hands from his head, he holds my wrists with one hand on my stomach as the fingers of his other hand go back to that magical spot he discovered.
My eyes roll to the back of my head. “So good.”
“I agree,” he says before covering my clit with his mouth.
He climbs me higher and higher. Sucking on my clit while his fingers make wet sounds as he thrusts them over and over. When my hips grind against him, seeking more, he makes a low sound of approval. My eyes snap open to find him watching me.
“Fuck,” he says against me before flattening his tongue on my clit. “You’re shattering every fantasy, Brie.” Lick. “Every.” Lick. “Single.” Lick. “One.” Lick.
My knees start to wobble first. The sensation moves down to my toes, curling them.
My core begins to quiver, and my walls clamp tight around his fingers.
When my hips start to buck, he lets go of my hands to hold my hips down with his forearm.
My fingers tangle in his hair and I arch my back as I let out a strangled cry and euphoria sweeps through me.
He keeps licking, keeps driving his fingers into me, seeing me through an orgasm that eclipses all others, extending it for long moments.
When I start to come down, his movements slow, meeting me where I am as my clit becomes too sensitive to bear anymore.
My breaths are ragged. He’s still pinning me down.
His fingers still inside me, giving me soothing caresses.
He plants one light kiss on my clit, and I think we should be done with this. On to the next thing.
But he kisses the seam of my thigh. Then up my stomach, and down to my other thigh again. His stubble adds delicious friction to my sensitive skin. His fingers pick up some power, igniting a searing heat in me all over again.
“Wha-what’re you doing to me?” I moan.
His eyes shine with excited purpose. “I figure it still counts as one time” —he kisses my clit, and it isn’t nearly as sensitive anymore— “as long as I don’t stop.
” He looks down to where his fingers are buried inside me, stoking the fire in my belly, before meeting my eyes again.
“You’re the best thing I’ve ever seen, Brie. ”
“This is the best thing,” I breathe.
He leans forward, taking my mouth with his.
I taste myself on him, but I also taste him.
And I can’t get enough of it, I want more.
When he ends the kiss, I arch my back, chasing him.
The corner of his mouth ticks up, and he indulges me with another mind-bending kiss.
When he retreats again, he’s different. His earlier uncertainty over what I want is replaced by his usual cocksure enthusiasm, and I want this version of Sawyer too.
“You’re going to give me another good one,” he says. “Aren’t you.”
I’ve never come twice in a row. I’ve never had a partner who tried it, and I never tried to do it on my own before. I don’t even know if it’s possible.
But watching Sawyer’s need play out on his face—not need for his own release, but a need to see me come undone again, a need for him to be my undoing—I know it’s not just possible. It’s inevitable.
I nod. “Yes.”
“Tell me,” he says, a smirk growing on his face. “Use your words, Brie.”
Even as my pussy squeezes his fingers at his dark tone, on instinct I say, “You’re the worst.”
His smile broadens like this is his favorite game. “Those were the wrong words,” he says, slowing his pace.
“That’s not going to make me come again,” I whine.
“Is that what you want?” He sucks the seam of my thigh, so close to where I need him. A promise and a threat at the same time.
“Sawyer,” I say, writhing beneath him, trying to close the distance. “Sawyer, please make me come.”
His mouth covers my clit, wrenching a moan out of me.
This time, his movements are sloppy. Frenzied.
His lips mold against me as his skilled tongue remembers all the moves I like.
God, the sounds we make together as he works me.
It takes more pressure to get me there, and he delivers, watching my reactions, giving me more of everything as his hips thrust against the couch.
I’m not as quiet this time, either. I chant his name, tell him when I’m close, tell him how much I need this.
When I’m on the precipice, I breathe, “You’re going to make me come. Sawyer. You’re making me come.”
He groans against me and bucks hard enough that the couch moves several inches back as I come apart, quivering and moaning. I gradually turn into a whimpering, pulsating, melted mess, breathing hard on the askew couch, unable to get a grip on reality.
When Sawyer eases his fingers out of me, a shiver, cold and unwelcome, runs through me, but I’m too beat, too defeated, too utterly and overwhelmingly fucked to do anything about it.
The adrenaline from earlier when I thought I was stranded and had to run through a blizzard, the relief when Sawyer found me, the frustration when it was clear he had to bring me here, then the insanity that just took place—it all culminates into absolute exhaustion. My eyelids begin to droop.
“Brie,” Sawyer says softly.
Is there a hint of anxiety in his voice?
“Hm?”
“Brie, are you okay?”
“Mm-hm.” I blink up at him through hooded, sleepy eyes. He’s still breathing heavy, mouth wet, cheeks tinged pink. If I weren’t about to be comatose, I’d need him again right now. My eyelids close on his image, too leaden to stay open.
His voice is in my ear. “Are you hungry?”
All I can do is shake my head one time. One motion from left to right.
His chuckle vibrates against my side as his arms snake beneath me. He picks me up and carries me somewhere even softer than the couch, draping a comforter over me.
He places a soft kiss on my temple. “So lucky I found you.”