But Brooks wasn’t having that.
“Mitch,” he murmured, voice all gravel and silk as he pressed a slow, teasing kiss to the inside of my thigh. “Answer me.”
His fingers flexed, digging in just enough to make me squirm, to remind me that I had to use my words.
I swallowed, my voice a breathless, wrecked whisper. “Yes.”
“Good girl.”
Brooks ran his teeth over his lower lip, his grin stretching wide, predatory, like he was about to devour me whole.
His smirk was sinful as he slid lower, eyes locked onto mine. For a man his size, he moved too fast, too smoothly, repositioning himself between my legs with practiced ease.
I reached out blindly, desperate for something solid to hold onto, but the only thing I could find was a seatbelt. I gripped it tight, feeling ridiculous, but my body was already too far gone to care. My skin still buzzed from my first orgasm, too sensitive, too reactive, the aftershocks tingling in my fingertips, vibrating in my core.
Brooks’ eyes locked onto mine as his fingers ghosted over the outside of my panties. He wasn’t touching me, not really—just tracing the edge of where I wanted him most, dragging his fingertips up and down my inner thighs like he had all the time in the world.
He watched me like he was searching for something, some kind of answer to a question he hadn’t spoken aloud.
I couldn’t handle the intensity of it.
So I squeezed my eyes shut and focused on his touch—the way he teased, the way his cologne mixed with the warm, musky scent of sex, the way my body throbbed in anticipation for more.
Then he blew softly against my skin, the cool air shocking my overheated flesh. A violent shudder ripped through me, sending chills shooting down my spine.
“Brooks,” I half-begged, half-warned, my fingers tightening around the seatbelt.
He laughed, dark and smug, a sound that only made the ache between my legs worse.
And then his mouth was on me.
He kissed up my thigh, slow and teasing, pausing when he reached my panties. He looked up at me through half-lidded eyes, his mouth curving into a smirk before he used his teeth to pull them down.
Jesus.
He should’ve looked ridiculous doing it. Anyone else would’ve. But Brooks? Brooks made it filthy. Made it so unbearably hot that my pulse skyrocketed, my breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts.
I repositioned myself, needing to see, needing to watch the way his mouth moved, the way he kissed and tasted and claimed every inch of me like he had some right to.
Watching and feeling him was like pouring gasoline onto a fire, and I wanted to burn.
“I missed you,” he murmured, his lips hovering right over my center, his breath hot against my slick, sensitive skin. “Will you taste the same, hmm?”
“Stop talking to it and—” But I never finished my sentence.
Because the second my words cut off, his tongue replaced them.
I gasped, back arching as he swirled his tongue over my folds, teasing and licking in agonizingly slow strokes. His pace was torturous, a cruel mix of fast and slow, sharp flicks and soft caresses that sent sharp spikes of pleasure straight to my gut.
And then—Jesus Christ—he sucked my clit into his mouth and groaned, the deep vibration sparking a live wire inside me. My hips bucked on instinct, chasing the pressure, chasing more.
“Goddamn, you taste perfect,” he moaned, sliding two fingers inside me, stretching me in the best way possible. He moved in and out, matching the rhythm of his tongue, building me up so painfully slow I thought I might die from it.
It was deliberate. Calculated. Like he wanted to savor every second, like he had all night to break me apart.
He pressed deeper, hitting the spot that made me see white, and my vision blurred at the edges as the pleasure coiled inside me, hot and tight and too much all at once.
I cried out, fingers white-knuckling the seatbelt as the orgasm powered through me, every nerve in my body short-circuiting beneath his mouth, his hands, his name tumbling past my lips in broken sounds.
