Just when I think I can't take it anymore—that I can't wait one more minute for her to slide so easily on top of me—my name falls from her lips, her legs quivering beside my head. I decide right there that I'd stay here forever, but as if they heard my thought, her muscles tense around me as she slows her movement. I keep my lips in place, sucking up every bit of her as she soaks in every second of her high. As her body relaxes, I turn my head, kissing the inside of her thigh, then gently biting the other.
"Soaked," she says suddenly, sitting back on my chest.
"Best recovery ever."
She tries to hide a smile and arches a brow. "Better than a banana?"
With that, I sit up, wrapping my arm around her waist and lifting her upward. With my free hand, I line my cock up with her drenched entrance and settle her weight back down. "So much better," I groan, falling back to the mattress.
Brooke whimpers as her legs clutch around me, her knees digging deliciously into my ribs. She leans forward, placing her palms on my chest, sliding them over my shoulders and down my arms.
"I didn't even know you had sleeves that night at the gala," she says softly, beginning to rock gently up and down.
I grab her hips and quicken her pace as she claws at my inked biceps, flexing underneath my hold on her. "You should have let me take my shirt off," I quip.
She pants. "No time, remember?"
I buck my hips into her, our bodies meeting at the perfect tempo like they always do—like they were made for each other. "How about now? You got time for me now?"
Her head rolls backward as she grinds even faster.
"Don't play with me, Brooke," I growl, stopping our movement, holding her body in place against me. "Answer me." I finish my thought while fighting my need. "Do you. Have time. For me. Now?"
She snaps her eyes back to mine, reading them like I intend for her to—bold and honest. I want to know if she's in this for real. If this is still happening. If she's still giving us a chance.
"Yeah, Twelve," she answers, shifting forward and placing her forearms on either side of my neck. She leans down and kisses me hard, our damp chests pressing against each other. When she breaks our kiss, she keeps her face just inches from mine. "Yeah, I have time for you."
My lungs fill with air I didn't realize I was missing. Air I probably haven't had since the gala, when she breathed life into me with just her words. I know we just met again a few weeks ago, and I know today is just the first of us, but it feels like my body's been missing her for more than ten months now. It doesn't seem like the beginning. It seems like the end—the end of my life without her and the start of, hopefully, so much more.
Brooke drops her lips to the side of my neck, her lower half swirling in slow circles as she nips at the sensitive skin by my collarbone. Once again, I can't stop myself from telling her exactly what I'm thinking—exactly how I feel. "Something tells me you're going to change everything, Mystery Girl."
Her teeth graze my throat as she smiles against it, but when she pulls back, she tempers her reaction. "Is that what you want?"
I consider her question, my body naturally meeting her steady movement, and search for an alternative answer. One that doesn't sound selfish or ungrateful. One that isn't full of grief or angst and doesn't wish away this life that so many people would kill for. But I come up short of anything other than the truth once more.
"More than fucking anything."
Brooke kisses the corner of my lips gently before sitting back up and taking her throne as the queen of every inch of me. "Good," she says confidently, riding me again. My cock responds to her words, and her movement, growing even harder inside her.
"Yeah?" I ask, bouncing her higher.
Brooke turns her lips in as she hums through her building pleasure, her voice almost a whisper. "Yeah."
With that, I fill beneath her, the sight of her at the edge, her promise—the whole thing—making it too hard to hold on. "Fuck, baby," I groan, a guttural sound following behind it.
She brings one hand to the base of my throat and squeezes gently, using me as her anchor as she falls apart.
And the image is everything.
The majority of my life, it's felt like I'm floating. Like I'm surrounded by a universe full of shit I don't belong to. My dad always told me I was meant for this, but I've learned that I'm the type of person who needs something to ground me. A form of gravity to anchor me to… anything meaningful. And maybe now I've found it in her.
And maybe she'll find that too.
In me.
23
Brooke
