And, as he pushes my underwear aside, his fingers immediately finding that sensitive spot that never fails to make me moan, I’m inclined to agree with him.
To think that he might still be him too.
“Oh, God,” I moan as he traces the folds of my labia, as he circles my clit, as he slides one thick finger inside, stroking it in and out, in and out, exactly as I like.
In the precise way that makes me crazy.
“I—”
He bends and slants his mouth over mine, kissing me long and deep, leaving me with lungs working in overdrive and a pulse thundering through my veins.
“Relax, baby,” he murmurs. “Relax and let me make you feel good.”
Impossible.
It’s impossible to relax—mostly because he’s playing my body like it’s his instrument.
And maybe it is.
Because I can feel the pleasure swirling around my body, can feel it rolling through my cells, my nerves.
More. More.More.
Implosion.
“Brooks!” I cry, arching against his hand, fingers clawing at his shoulders.
Pleasure burns through me, leaving me limp and satiated and…in another lifetime.
He kisses me slowly and gently, coaxes me down, holding me close until my heartbeat settles and I manage to open my eyes.
“The time has passed?” he asks, humor in his tone even though his eyes are hot enough to scald.
I can barely lift my head, let alone process the words. “What are you talking about?”
“Nothing,” he says, helping me sit up.
“Brooks,” I begin again. “What?—”
He straightens my clothes, brushes my hair back from my face. “Nothing.”
“I—”
“Come on.” He takes my hand, hauling me up from the bed.
“Brooks!”
“You need to eat.”
Eat?
When he just gave me an orgasm that melted my bones and turned my head to mush?
When he’s…
My eyes flick down.
When he’s…that.
