In a span of a few moments, Morgan Brant stole my breath multiple times. With ease. I plant my hands where his were just moments ago, feeling his warmth on the leather blotter of my desk. Again, I rub my thighs together, willing that hot ache he put there to go away. I’ve never felt such a sensation, such a pull from just a few words. Only, it was more than just a few words, wasn’t it?
It was how hesaidthem, how he looked at me as he spoke.
As if...they were truly a promise.
I catch myself shuddering again and let out a frustrated laugh. It’s ridiculous how much this place, and that man, have gotten under my skin. Closing my eyes, I let out a breathy sigh as I recall the day I first laid eyes on him. It was not today. Oh, no, I saw Morgan Brant on my very first day in True Ridge, as I moved my things to my new place.
Standing on my new front porch, I caught sight of him across the street, huddled with his brothers by his work truck. They were all caked in dust and sweat from whatever job they’d just finished. He looked so rugged, so completely in his element. That single, sun-drenched glimpse of him took root in my mind, and I haven't had a moments peace from the memory of him since. Seeing him in a suit feels so out of character, so off brand for him.
If it were up to me, I prefer him dirty, sweaty, in jeans and t-shirt.
Closing my eyes, I imagine that day going very differently. I imagine him seeing me from across the street. A moment of recognition flickers between us, as if we can read one another even from afar. Just thinking about him stalking across the street in those dirty work clothes, his boots thudding on thepavement, to stomp up my porch steps to smile down at me with those bright green eyes makes my pulse skitter wildly.
"Hello, beautiful," his voice calls to me, that crooked grin with the adorable dimple flashing his perfect teeth. His mouth is fascinating. The perfect bottom lip I want to sink my teeth into, the dark beard that I bet would feel delicious against my skin. "Let me take care of it."
Suddenly, we’re not on my porch any longer. We’re inside, with me pinned to the door he closes behind us. His dirty hands yank at my clothes, his skin rough on my own. I love it. I shudder beneath his touch as he pulls at my panties, his eyes watching mine as if waiting for me to stop him. I do not want him to stop, I want him to do whatever he wants.
"Don’t move," his voice rasps against my ear, his hands filling with my breasts, his body pinning me to the wall. "Let me just look at you for a minute, pretty girl. Iwillget between these thighs," his promise is hot against my throat as he drags his mouth against my skin, his hands ridding me of the panties.
His eyes shimmer in the dim light of the afternoon as they stare down at me. They look at me the way they did today, his gaze almost reaching out to touch me. My hands move as I sit alone at my desk, dreaming about him being above me, pinning me down, his hands all over me. I gasp as my hand slides between my thighs, beneath my skirt. My panties are soaked, my pussy aching the moment I let my fingers brush over the lace covered flesh.
"Morgan," I whimper his name as I push the lace out of my way, another gasp filling my office as I brush a touch over my swollen clit. "Please. I need.... I need it," I pant even as I start to rub slow, hard circles at the button pulsing between my slick flesh.
"Show me," it’s his voice, just as deep and raw as it was moments earlier. "Let me see it, pretty girl," his commandechoes in the quiet of the room where it’s just me, pretending he is there watching me touch myself.
Tucked beneath my desk, I let my thighs fall open, my skirt rucking up to my hips. Throwing my head back, I whimper as I work my fingers faster, harder, chasing the elusive pleasure that is just out of reach. My other hand comes to my throat, and I close my fingers, cutting off my air. He leaves me breathless each time I see him; I might as well feel it while I’m getting off.
"Morgan," I pant again, rubbing faster, my hips rocking against my hand as I breathe in his scent that still lingers in my office. I amsoclose.
I imagine his hand at my throat, his huge body dirty, sweaty, pinning me to his bed as he rubs me to orgasm. That scent filling my lungs, the brush of his skin on mine, my breast against his firm chest, his mouth on my skin. God, it would take just a touch from him between my thighs, thighs he said earlier he wanted to get between. Jesus, I would come so good for him.
"Good girl, come for me," his voice fills my head, and I shout as I come, not caring where I am or who could hear me.
"Yes,yes, Morgan," I chant his name as I come, my knees rattling against the desk. My eyes fly open, and I check the corners of the room, half-convinced he’s still there. Part of me imagines him watching with pride; the rest of me sees a glare of judgement that I’d do this after throwing him out.
"Well....what the hell was that Ms. Carter?" I ask as I sit there in the aftermath of it—what the hell has Morgan Brant done to me?
Chapter Three
Morgan
Swinging a hammer feels pretty damn good today.
It might be because I am still frustrated after my meeting at the bank. Might be because all I could think about the last few days was that mouthy, maddening woman behind her desk, judging me. Looking so goddamn perfect while she smirked at me with that perfect mouth and those pretty eyes. Swinging the hammer, I slam it against the hand I am holding a piece of drywall up with.
"Motherf....that goddamn woman!" I curse as I throw the hammer, biting down on the thumb I just smashed.
Grunting, I sit down on a stack of drywall, tearing my hat off. I am sweating, it is hot, and I am pissed. I have not been able to think of anything else but her since I sat across her at the bank. We’ve not heard about our loan request, but I could give a shit about it. All I want to do is see her again. I want to prove myself to her and I have no fucking clue why.
"You good in here, bro?"
Glancing up at Ethan, I flip my middle finger at him. He smirks at me, coming into the room I am framing out. It’s been a slow process with this build the past few days. Mostly because I cannot concentrate. I may not give a toss about a loan, but my brothers do. They’re over doing pissant jobs—such as this small hotel renovation—so I can’t blame them.
"Yeah, I am just fine. Just a little worried about our loan with the bank. If we don’t get that loan..." Sighing, I trail off.
There are a lot of"what ifs", if this falls through for us. It means more days at the office in a suit for me. More on fishing tours to Sunset Springs for Ethan and Tanner. More teaching classes at the college for Dexter. All things we do withoutpassion. Building things, working side by side, being together to do some good here in True Ridge, that is our passion.
Being so dumbfounded by Maren threw me off course. I should not have lost sight of our goals. Of how important this is for my brothers. They trusted me to get that loan so we could focus on our passions. I blew it by leading with the wrong head, something I have never done before.
