Chapter 12
Breezy
The house is quiet when I slip out.
Bennett and Norah are asleep, and Autumn is tucked cozily in her bed with her curls spread over her princess pillow. The whole place hums with domestic peace, and I step into the night like I’m a teenage girl breaking my parents’ rules.
It’s close to midnight, and it’s snowing again. Small flakes drift lazily down from the sky, catching silver in the light of the high, bright moon. My boots crunch on the old ice underneath as I cross the yard on quick feet, and my heart beats faster with every step toward Tad Hanson’s house.
I should feel ridiculous. Or guilty. Or at least hesitant. But instead, I am excited. Thrill and passion and impulsivity commingle in newness, challenging me to explore a different side of the woman I’ve always been.
For the first time in years, I’m not the girl with the 4.0 GPA, the gallery director who gave up her twenties and almost all of her thirties to keep her family’s empire afloat, and I’m not the Bishop who got erased in the end anyway.
I’m not thinking about responsibilities or legacy or how my life looks on paper. I’m taking action, reveling in instant gratification, and toying with the idea that I could be someone entirely different if I wanted to be.
Knuckles poised at Tad’s wooden door, I startle when it swings open before I make contact.
Tad’s barefoot, wearing jeans and a t-shirt, and his slightly damp hair curls a little at the edges.
He grins at me like I’m both expected and surprising, which only makes my pulse race faster.
“Well,” he says, leaning a shoulder against the doorframe and crossing his legs at the ankles. “And here I thought I’d be spending the night alone.”
I smirk, brushing past him into the warmth of the house, turning my neck to taunt him over my shoulder. “That’s funny because I came over to fix that problem for you.”
“Generous,” he drawls, shutting the door behind me.
“Don’t get cocky.” I shrug off my coat, tossing it over the back of a chair. “You just so happen to be conveniently located.”
“Conveniently located?” His laugh is low and amused. “Careful, baby, it’s counterproductive to shoot a man’s horse before you expect him to gallop.”
I glance at him, at the way his shirt clings to his shoulders and the way he’s watching me like I’m the only thing in the room worth noticing. “Fine. You’ve also met certain performance qualifications. But don’t read too much into it.”
He steps closer, slow and steady, until the air hums with quickly dwindling space. His eyes lock on mine, and his easy smile tilts sharper. “See, that’s where you’ve got it backward, Breezy. I plan on reading every damn inch of you.”
My pulse trips, betraying the cool girl I’m trying to project.
When his hand brushes up my neck, his grip on my chin firm and sexy in a way that shows he wants to be in control, my whole body tenses. “And I know you want it. Because you came here,” he murmurs. “Not the other way around.”
“And?” I don’t break eye contact. “You’d rather be spending the night alone?”
“Not even a little bit.” He dances his fingers along my jaw, and his grin softens into something hungrier.
And then, his mouth is on mine.
His lips take and claim, and for once, I don’t want to be the one in charge; I want him to make me feel something.
The kiss steals my breath, not because it’s rough but because it’s certain. He’s leading, and I’m following, and it’s a relief to have someone else running the show.
My entire life has been about control. Everything planned, perfected, and polished. But Tad takes the reins without asking, and instead of resisting, I fucking melt.
His mouth is sure on mine, steady and unhurried, and it has me unraveling faster than I want to admit. By the time he threads his fingers through mine and leads me down the hall, my heart is all the way up in my throat.
His bedroom is dark except for the wash of moonlight spilling across the floor and the small lamp on the nightstand creating golden shadows on the wall.
He doesn’t rush. He stops in front of me, hands sliding down my arms until his palms rest at my hips.
His bedroom smells faintly of cedar and soap, the kind of simple, masculine scent that makes me dizzy before he even touches me. The low lamplight paints him in warm yellow, catching the edge of his jaw and the curve of his mouth.
Tad steps closer, but his movements are deliberate, like he has all the time in the world to undo me. His knuckles skim my jaw, tracing down my throat, and the sensation sends a shiver through me I don’t even try to hide.
“What do you want, Breezy?” he asks me, and for the first time in my outspoken life, I can’t form words. But it doesn’t matter because he answers for me. “Right now,” he says, eyes burning into mine, “I want to fucking lose myself in you.”
The words land heavy and hot, knocking the air out of me. Not a promise. Not a lie. Just raw truth.
His mouth claims mine before I can respond, a kiss that’s both greedy and unhurried.
His hand cups the back of my neck, keeping me right where he wants me, while the other slides to my waist, pulling me flush against him.
He makes me feel small and delicate—two things I’ve purposely avoided as labels because they don’t lend themselves to being a boss bitch who takes charge.
I sink into it, into him, into the way his body presses me backward until my legs hit the edge of the bed. He doesn’t break the kiss as he lowers me down, bracing his weight carefully to keep from crushing me, but making sure I feel the strength behind every movement.
I tangle my fingers in his hair, desperate, hungry, while he trails his lips down my jaw, my throat, and they leave fire in their wake. He murmurs something against my skin, a rough sound that could be my name, could be a curse, could be both.
I’ve never felt more wanted.
He removes my clothes slowly, starting with my sweater and my bra and finishing with my socks and jeans and panties. Contextually, I expect him to remove his clothes too, but he doesn’t.
His focus is kissing me. Everywhere.
My breasts. My stomach. My inner thighs. His lips and mouth and tongue touch every square inch of my body before pausing to hover over the apex of my thighs. I’m wet. Drenched. Insanely aroused. And he doesn’t take the invitation lightly.
I arch my back, and my soft moans echo against the walls of his bedroom as his lips feast on my pussy.
In this moment, time is a construct I can’t understand. Awareness is a myth, and the only thing happening on this big spinning rock is what Tad is doing—how good it’s making me feel and the way my body is strung tight like a bow as the intense pressure of my impending climax builds.
I weave my hands into his hair, gripping the silky strands tightly. “Tad,” I urge, desperate for something. For what, I don’t know, but I need something. I need to come, or I need him to put his cock inside me, or I need both to happen at the same time. I need more.
“Tad,” I pant again.
“Ah, ah,” he says, and I actually feel his smile against my pussy. “I’m not stopping until you come on my tongue.”
I moan.
“Be a good girl, Breezy. Be a good girl and come on my tongue.”
His words are my undoing. My eyes roll back in my head and my spine curves off the bed, and Tad keeps on licking and sucking and eating at me during each intense wave as my climax barrels through me like a freight train.
I’m still coming down from my high, but I feel him move away from my body, and an ache takes hold.
“N-no,” I mutter, but when I find the strength to open my eyes to tell him I need more, I find Tad standing before me, completely naked now. Fuck, he’s a beautiful specimen of a man. He’s strong and lean and muscular. And his cock is swollen and hard in a way that has it jutting out from his body.
He wants me. That much is clear. But I want him too. Right now, I want all of him.
I move myself toward him and wrap my mouth around his cock.
He lets out half a moan and half a groan. “Fuck.”
He’s hard as stone but soft as silk against my tongue. He’s big and swollen, and I can’t fit all of him in my mouth, but goodness, sucking him deep is only awakening more arousal inside my body.
“You’re such a good girl, Breezy,” he tells me, and I don’t know why that’s such a freaking turn-on, but it is. Maybe I have daddy issues. Maybe I’ve spent too much time avoiding men. Or maybe the feminine side of me finally has the freedom to exist.
I want him to finish inside my mouth, but he has other plans.
Gently but firmly, he moves me back to the bed, grabs my thighs, and spreads them wide. His cock is poised at my entrance, and I don’t know when he managed to get a condom on, but I don’t care. I’m fucking mesmerized by the sight of him.
I’m entranced by the way his muscles flex and curl as he rubs the tip of his cock across my clit.
“What do you want, Breezy?” he asks, and his voice is raspy and deep and guttural. He doesn’t hide the fact that he’s using every ounce of willpower he has to hold himself back.
I’m high off all of it.
“I want your cock inside me.”
He complies with a deep and hard thrust, and I feel so full it makes my eyes water in the best way.
“Fuck,” he mutters as he continues to drive himself inside me. His hands still grip my thighs, spreading them wide, and his eyes flit between my face and where his cock is sliding in and out of my pussy. “You’re perfect, Breezy.”
I want to tell him he’s perfect too, but the deep, aching pleasure that’s building inside me renders speech impossible.
So, I do the only thing I can do and hold on for the ride.
Sure, it’s temporary and fleeting, but so is every roller coaster I’ve ever been on, and I’ve never looked back on experiencing one and considered it a waste of time.