His tongue slid into my mouth and his hands went to my lower butt. He gave my cheeks a squeeze as he lowered me just enough, so that my core rested at the fly of his jeans.
I wriggled against him, wanting to be closer, wanting nothing between us.
Our kiss was hot and wet, and it set my nerves on fire.
He groaned and wrenched his mouth from mine.
“No,” I whispered, trying to turn his face back toward mine.
“Gotta stop now, Freckles. Otherwise, this goes all the way.” His tone was gritty and strangled.
Tremors wracked my body and my resolve melted away.
I wanted him. I needed him.
And I thought I’d die without having him inside me.
Brooks released me and I slowly slid down his body, causing his jaw to tighten in thwarted lust.
“Change clothes, yeah?” he croaked. “And we’ll drive to the Ridge.”
The Poet of a few days ago would gather her jeans and shirt and change in the bathroom, out of sight. Prudish, modest Poet would hide and conceal.
But Brooks didn’t make me feel prudish or modest.
He made me feel wild and free.
So, with boldness I’d never felt in my life, I slowly removed the T-shirt I’d slept in. My eyes never left his.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
“Changing.” I grinned at him and then slid my sweats down, so I was in nothing but my underwear.
Underwear that was sexy and lacy.
Underwear that I wore for myself to feel powerful.
“Woman,” he breathed.
I arched a brow at him. “Yes?”
He ripped his hat off and set it down on the counter. And then he was stalking toward me, nostrils flaring, jaw clenching.
Brooks made it to me and placed his large hands on my hips, spanning them easily.
And then I was sailing through the air. I landed on the bed with a thump, breath whooshing from my lungs.
“You can’t do what you’re doing, Freckles,” he growled. “You can’t stand there half naked, gorgeous in the morning light, looking at me the way you are. Now I gotta see.”
“See what?” I asked, breathless.
“How flushed I can make you.”
He knelt at the edge of the bed, slid his hands beneath my bottom and pulled me toward him so my cleft lined up with his mouth.
“Wearing these things,” he whispered, his breath teasing the lace covering me. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”
“You expected granny panties. Didn’t you?”
