Chapter 33. Brynn
brYNN
“Show me.”
Show him what? That I hate being a person who says one thing and does another? That I swore I wouldn’t catch feelings for him, yet here we are? Why did he have to catapult into my life now?
Cody was my first—my only. We were so crazy in love with each other. What if kissing Micah erases every kiss I shared with him? What if one day I won’t be able to remember my first love, only the man before me now? I don’t want to forget.
My body’s sure ready, though. My heart’s exploding like a firecracker just went off in my chest. Micah’s turned me on so much, I’m already more than halfway there. If I was home alone, I could get him out of my system without crossing that line.
Except.
I’ve already crossed it.
I stare at his lips and a primal aching overtakes me. My parched body can almost taste the release he’ll bring. I gather the side of my dress in my hand, sliding it up my leg. My thong’s drenched. I slide the fabric away, let my fingers continue up, and get lost in that delicious face of his.
He breathes through his mouth, watching me, eyes wide.
My eyes roll back; it feels so . . .
Charged currents run up my legs. I grasp his shoulder, crying out. My body quivers, my toes . . . go . . . numb.
He grabs hold of my hips.
I drop like a rag doll into his arms, panting.
He holds me longer.
I sigh a spent breath and tilt my face to his.
His Adam’s apple rolls along his throat. “You’re incredible.”
“I’ve never . . . no one’s ever . . . watched . . .” I feel my cheeks flame. I can’t look at him.
His tender hands lift my face, he kisses the tip of my nose. “You better run.”
I stall, my mouth flopped open. His words sink in. I take the staircase’s wide wooden planks two at a time.
He gives me a lead.
I hear him come after me, both of us laughing. My short legs can’t match his long strides.
When I reach the third floor, I follow his familiar woodsy scent into a bedroom painted the color of the sea.
Industrial pendant lighting hangs on either side of a gray tufted headboard with rustic wainscoting all around.
The unmade king-size bed faces another empty fireplace; the room’s gauzy drapes hang drawn.
He comes up behind me. “Great guess.”
I laugh a little at the clothes draped over the dresser, spilling out of drawers, and tossed to the ground. Notebooks similar to the one he carries at work lay strewn on the floor alongside empty water bottles, Starbucks cups, and torn pages filled with writing. “You’re a mess.”
He moves my hair off to the side and caresses my shoulders. “You have no idea.” His breath tickles my ear.
My back stiffens. A low buzzing sound fills the room. My hands tense, cold with sweat; my heart sprints inside my chest.
He kisses the back of my head, stroking my arms. “We can stop. Just say when.”
When. “Do you . . .”
His muscular arms encircle me. “Yes. In the drawer next to the bed.”
“Thought you didn’t—”
“I dreamt of one day asking you out.” His lips trail down the curve of my neck. “I bought them in case you couldn’t resist me.”
We burst out laughing.
My body relaxes into his. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath, slowly exhale. “Undress me, Mr. Irresistible.”
“Yessssss, ma’am.” He inches my sundress over my head, his fingers like feathers against my skin. Goose bumps rise. He sweeps his lips across my upper back. “What a gorgeous view.” He wraps his hands around my stomach.
I gasp and tighten it, flinching a little.
He holds me firmer, sucking the soft spots at the base of my neck and clavicle.
I squirm and giggle at the same time.
He rests his chin on my shoulder. “Let me look at you.”
I suck in my belly and turn in his embrace.
Our bodies press up against each other. His pelvis snug to my belly, I can feel his pulse. His khaki eyes burn into mine.
“Your turn.” My voice sounds throaty, unfamiliar to my own ears.
He yanks off his T-shirt and slides off his shorts in one sweeping motion. His lips crack into a smile.
About to comment on his Magic Mike skills, I get sidetracked by his ripped shoulders . . . abs . . . golden brown skin. My brain sputters to a stop.
He doesn’t let me gawk long. His strong fingers cup my shoulders under my bra.
My pulse quickens. With both hands, I haul his face down to mine, arching my back, the curves of our bodies joined as one.
He makes desperate noises, his breathing audible and erratic. “I wish . . . I want—”
“Show me,” I whisper.
He cradles the back of my head, lifts me with his other arm, and presses me down onto the bed.
The heated weight of his nakedness sends a renewed throbbing between my legs. I run my fingers through his thick hair, at last.
He devours me inch by inch . . . gently sucking my lips, cheeks, and . . . ooh . . . up my jawline.
I need to see his face; I roll us onto our sides.
His eyes drink in the length of me like I’m a rare treasure.
My heart gives a kick. I climb on top, straddling him, and reach behind me to unhook my bra.
He cups my face, stopping me. “You’re beautiful, Brynn.”
I half smile. “You make me want to work out more.”
He moves strands of hair away from my eyes. “Your body would make a poet cry.”
I flash him a playful grin. “Know any?”
“I do.” He smiles, his eyes longing. “Come here.”
A glaze of sweat covers our faces and tangled limbs. We slide apart, breathless.
I pull the sheet around me.
He leaves his glistening chest exposed.
We lie nose to nose, on our sides. I smile a little and shiver, hesitant to speak and start dissecting everything.
“Cold?” He tugs the sheet higher, covering my shoulder with it.
I trace his face, discovering its nuances.
His broad nose bridge (great for singing) thins in the middle before widening again, similar to the one I saw on the Alexander the Great statue downstairs.
And the corners of his mouth curl up even when he’s not smiling—which he doesn’t do a lot, except for today.
He stares past me, transfixed by something.
I turn my head. “What?”
“Nothing.” He kisses my nose.
The intensity of being with him washes over me. I don’t know how we can reverse this. I’m not sure I want to. I feel different. Lighter. Lifted from the black vortex that’s been sucking me down since that night. The knot in my chest has come loose, letting me breathe again.
I nestle under his arm. The sudden silence pokes at me. I need to know what he’s thinking.
I peek over and find his eyes closed. Something inside of me deflates a little. I shake off the impulse to wake him and sink into his dreamy bed, his silver gray sheets made with a thread count I could never afford.
Watching the birds flutter in the trees through the blowing gossamer curtains, my eyelids grow heavy. I’ll rest for a minute, then go.
A bird squawks in the garden below. My eyes pop open. Micah. His arm and leg slung around me. His bedroom dark.
Oh, shit.
I inch and slide, inch and slide, traveling to the edge of the bed.
I pick up the nearest piece of clothing and tiptoe into the bathroom, which is a mausoleum of white marble walls and vessel sinks with fancy black handles.
I find my face in the frameless backlit mirror.
The windows to my soulless soul stare back.
I collapse in half, hands on my knees like I’ve been sucker punched.
How can you let them down like this? Sleeping with your boss when Cody’s been ripped from this world so cruelly? You’re the only one left—what is wrong with you?
A bigger knot reties in my belly. My nose runs. What is wrong with me? I’m not ready to hook up. What happened to no new friends?
I need to find my clothes and slip out of here.
The floor creaks on the other side of the door. Shoot.
I splash cool water on my face and feel around for the plush hand towel I spotted when I walked in. I blot my face and do a sloppy job of refolding it. Gathering my breath, I hover my hand over the knob, swing open the door, and step forward.
Right into Micah’s smooth chest.
I cup my nose.
His short shorts hang from his hips, revealing a V-shaped crease below his chiseled abs. I lift my jaw off the floor. My head is spinning. I need to sit down.
He folds me into his strong arms.
The heat from his bare chest melts my insides.
My legs become jelly. I sigh, relishing being this close to someone again.
Whatever this is between us, it feels grown up, not like some high school crush.
Micah’s different. I’m different. I can’t explain this pull toward him or why I’m tearing up again.
He lifts my chin. “Can I take you to dinner?”
“I didn’t exactly move the statue.” I smile, sniffling.
He runs a gentle thumb under my wet lashes. “You okay?”
Cody’s face flashes in my head. He and my parents died eight short months ago, and I’m acting like their lives meant nothing. I swallow the tightness in my throat.
“Dinner, um . . . sounds nice.” I rise on my tiptoes and miss his lips, land one on his neck instead.
We never make it outside.