His intake of breath is sharp. He pulls back, just an inch, to look at me. His gaze is physical, a caress that leaves heat in its wake.
"Ivy," he whispers, his voice stripped of its usual control.
He lowers his head, pressing a kiss to the hollow of my throat, then lower. His mouth is hot, wet, and skilled. He loves the curve of my breast, his tongue tracing the sensitive skin until I arch off the mattress, my fingers tangling in his hair.
He is relentless. He kisses my collarbone, my ribs, the dip of my waist. Every place his mouth touches feels branded.
"Brooks," I gasp. "Please."
He moves back up, capturing my mouth again while his hand slides down to the ties of my bikini bottoms at my hips. He undoes them with a quick tug. He slides the fabric down my legs, tossing it away.
He stands up beside the bed long enough to strip off his trousers and boxers. I watch him. He is magnificent. Aroused, powerful, and completely focused on me.
He rejoins me on the bed, his skin hot against mine. He kisses me deeply, his tongue sweeping into my mouth, tasting me, claiming me.
Then he moves down my body. He kisses the valley between my ribs, my stomach, the point of my hip.
He spreads my legs with his hands, his grip firm on my thighs.
"I'm going to take care of you," he murmurs, looking up at me, his eyes dark with promise. "I'm going to ruin you for anyone else."
"You already have," I admit, my voice breaking.
He lowers his head.
When his mouth touches me, I cry out. It is overwhelming. He is thorough, confident, and maddeningly slow. His tongue strokes against my most sensitive spot, sending jolts of electricity straight to my core.
I grab the sheets, twisting the fabric in my fists. "Brooks..."
He ignores me, or maybe he takes my plea as encouragement. He deepens the pressure, his hand sliding under my hips to tilt me up, giving him better access. He works me with a rhythm that is punishingly good.
I am unraveling. The tension coils tighter and tighter in my belly. I am close, so close.
"Please," I beg. "Now. I need you now."
He pulls back, leaving me gasping and bereft. He crawls up my body, positioning himself between my legs. The tip of him brushes against my entrance, hot and hard.
He braces himself on his arms, looking down at me, all restraint stripped away.
"Look at me," he commands.
I open my eyes. The calculation is gone. There is only Brooks, raw, open, and looking at me with a reverence that terrifies me more than his anger ever did.
"This isn't business," he rasps, his thumb brushing my cheekbone. "This isn't a transaction. This is you and me. And I'm not letting you go."
"You and me," I echo.
He pushes into me.
It is a slow, filling slide. He stretches me, filling the empty spaces I didn't know I had. I gasp, wrapping my legs around his waist to pull him deeper.
He groans, his head falling back as he sinks all the way in.
We stay there for a beat, just breathing, feeling the connection. It feels profound. It feels like coming home.
Then he begins to move.
He sets a rhythm that is slow, deep, and devastating. He withdraws almost completely before thrusting back in, hitting a spot deep inside me that makes my vision blur.
