The alarm clock at the side of my bed read one minute before eight.
“Three … two … one,” I counted down the seconds on the clock until it ticked eight o’clock. And not even a beat later, the bedroom door burst open.
In walked Brutus, carrying a tray with my breakfast on top. This morning routine had been since I left the hospital two weeks earlier. I had only been in the hospital for a day for observation. All in all, I’d gotten off easy. I sustained a concussion, sprained wrist, and some cuts and bruises. Relatively minor compared to what had transpired, but to Brutus, you would’ve thought I had been on my deathbed.
“Ah, ah, ah,” he warned. “Don’t you dare get up.” He placed the tray over my lap.
My shoulders slumped. “You still don’t think you’re overdoing it?”
He frowned. “I’m not doing enough,” he replied. “As far as I’m concerned, this isn’t enough compared to what happened to you.” He brushed his fingers across my cheek.
I let out a small moan and my body hummed for his touch. I reached my arms up, beckoning for a hug. When I turned my lips to meet his, he gave me a chaste kiss before pulling away.
“You need to eat.” He pointed at the plate of scrambled eggs, pancakes, and sausage. On the side, he’d filled a bowl with berries and had fixed a cup of my shop’s vanilla flavored coffee.
It all looked great, as usual. But I wasn’t hungry for what was on my plate.
“I don’t want food right now.” I yanked at his hand, tugging him to me.
His lips twitched, but he clamped them together tightly before saying, “No. You’re still heal—”
“I’m healed.” I threw out my arms in frustration. “You haven’t touched me in the two weeks I’ve been home.”
His forehead wrinkled. “I touch you all of the time.”
Sucking my teeth, I tossed my head back. “Babe, as much as I appreciate your foot rubs and cuddling with you every night, you know that’s not what the hell I mean.” I started to lift the tray of food to place it away from me, but Brutus took it from my hands.
I stood and stripped out of the long, white nightgown I’d worn to bed. “Take me,” I demanded, standing there in all my naked glory.
His eyes traced up the length of my body. They heated with telltale desire. In response, my nipples hardened. His hold on the tray tightened, as indicated by his reddening knuckles. But he didn’t move.
“Mia.” My name came out as a hoarse whisper.
“My fiancé doesn’t want to fuck me,” I said before climbing onto the bed and planting my feet on the mattress. “I guess I’ll have to find my own pleasure.” I let out a deep, regretful sigh while spreading my legs, to let him see my pussy, glistening wet and ready for him.
“This …” I trailed off as I glided my fingers down my belly, through the short hairs below, and directly over my clit, “could’ve been yours for the taking.”
I moaned as I rubbed circles into my clit and down farther, letting one finger sink inside. “Instead, I’ll have to do it myself,” I purred and then moaned as the heat in my body started to build.
“Fuck.” The curse sounded tortured coming out of Brutus’ mouth. It almost made me laugh, but then I heard a loud thud as something hit the floor.
My eyes popped open to find that he’d dropped the food tray. Uncaring about the mess on the floor, he barged over to the bed before ripping the T-shirt he wore off.
“Stop this shit,” he demanded, grabbing my hand by the wrist. He bared his teeth, his grip on my wrist firm while his chest heaved up and down. His restraint was paper thin.
To push him over the edge, I teased some more.
“Stop what?” I asked innocently, batting my eyes and opening my thighs even more.
His answer was to bring the two fingers that were just inside of me to his mouth. He licked them free of my juices. Brutus quickly stripped out of the sweatpants he had on. I was relieved to find that he’d gone commando underneath the sweats.
I gasped when he climbed on the bed and bulldozed his body between my legs. His dick thumped against my sex, stealing my breath.
“You need to heal,” he said, his voice cracking under the weight of trying to hold himself back.
“I need your dick,” I replied.
His nostrils flared, but he didn’t move.
