Brooks’s arms extend around me, gripping the rail and boxing me in much like he did in Patsy’s. I’m flooded with the scent of his cologne and a warm muskiness that triggers my core to clench. I gasp for a small breath as his lips brush against the crook of my neck.
“You are,” he whispers, running his nose along the curve of my shoulder and up the side of my neck, “fucking gorgeous.”
If I wanted to play it cool, it’s too bad. A chill rips through me from the ghost of his touch, sending an array of goose bumps across my skin. I moan softly, leaning toward him, my lashes batting closed. Being the center of his attention is like standing too close to a fire. It’s too hot to be safe, but nearly impossible to step away because you know that as soon as you do, you’ll crave the heat again.
“I want you everywhere,” he says, the words dusting across the shell of my ear. “I want my dick in your tight little pussy.”
I tremble, rocking back against him. His cock is swollen, pressing against the small of my back. The evidence of him wanting me as badly as I want him is almost more than I can take.
“I want it down your throat.” The gravel in his tone scrapes my senses. “I want to lick every inch of you—feel you clench around me as you feel what it’s like to come on my cock.”
“Oh, my stars.”
He grabs my hips in one swift motion, his fingers biting into my hips, and jerks me into him. “You’re gonna be seeing stars.”
“Yes, please.”
His chuckle resonates through every cell inside me. “It’s too cold outside for you to be naked. Let’s go in.”
“Sounds good to me.”
He leads me into the house, closing the door behind me. His movements are filled with a controlled urgency. He scans the house and then reaches for my hand, locking our fingers together and guiding me down a hallway.
I follow with every breath shaking in my chest.
We pass two doors on our left and then enter through a doorway on the right. It, too, is filled with light. But now that the sun has started its final descent and swoops just above the treetops, it’s not so much bright but more of a warm, amber glow.
There’s a four-post, king-sized bed on one side of the room, facing a fireplace and a large television. A large, irregular-shaped brown rug is soft beneath my feet as I follow Brooks to a wide leather chair.
Tension—need—coils low in my stomach, wrapping around the butterflies fluttering about wildly.
Brooks faces me, his green eyes laser-focused on mine, and lets my hand go.
“This is the grown-up, R-rated version of Christmas morning,” he says, brushing my hair off my shoulder. “Last year, I bought myself a car that I’ve always wanted and had it modded.” His fingers slip beneath the hem of my shirt, his knuckles grazing my skin. “I couldn’t justify just buying it for the hell of it, so I wrapped the keys in a little box and put it under the tree.” Slowly, like he has all the time in the world, he drags the cotton up and over my head. He takes a step back, adjusting his eyes as he rakes them over my chest. “My excitement was nothing compared to how excited I am about this.Fuck, Doc.”
My nipples bead, pushing against the light blue lace. I can barely control my breathing. My chest rises and falls, each movement causing the tiny silver heart that marries the two bra cups together to catch the light.
I hitch a gasp as he reaches for my waistband and deftly frees the button. The sound of the zipper scratches through the air as if it, too, has been waiting for this moment for days. Brooks swallows, his palms splaying against my hips as he shoves the denim down my legs.
I’ve been this naked in front of him before, but this time it’s intentional. There’s nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. Not that I would want to do either, but the forced proximity only thickens the tension between us.
He takes my pants from around my feet and tosses them casually to the side.
Controlled. Casual. Deliberate.
So sexy.
I try not to squirm. I’m sure the women he’s usually with are used to being with men like him and have no problems standing in their skivvies for his pleasure. Again, I must fake the confidence until I own it. Practice makes perfect.
He backs away from me until he reaches the chair. He makes short work of losing his shirt and sending it through the air to join my pants somewhere out of sight. His body is beautiful—lean, strong, and defined, with sharp exterior obliques. It’s as if the creator stood back, evaluated his work, and decided it was so perfect that everyone should take notice. So, he cut arrows into his side and aimed them at his cock.
Instead of removing his pants, he sits on the chair. Knees spread. Thumb grazing his lip.
“You are literal perfection,” he says as if he’s in awe. My cheeks flush, and I want to look away from him, but can’t. He holds my attention like he’s taken over. My body now does what he says. “If I didn’t want to fuck you so bad, I could just sit here and stare at you.”
“That’s very nice of you to say, but I’m thankful that staring at me isn’t the plan.”
He smirks. “Are you wet for me?”
