“I want to touch you too,” he confesses. “Everywhere.”
The idea of him everywhere…oh God. I swear I’m on the edge of an orgasm just thinking about it. As soon as we enter the bedroom nook, he reaches out with one hand, still holding me up with the other, and hits a panel on the wall. All the lights in the apartment turn off but his nightlights kick in. Between those and the lights twinkling in from the cityscape beyond the curtain less windows it’s still easy to see everything. I’m grateful because I don’t want to miss anything.
He climbs onto his bed and lays me down in the middle of it. He slowly, forcefully grinds his cock between my legs as he comes down on top of me. It’s powerful and instinctive. I have never felt so visceral about a sexual connection before. I’ve had good sex, loving sex, hot sex, but this…this is a whole new level.
He’s kissing his way down my body and by the time he reaches my belly button, his fingers have managed to do undo my jeans and are pulling them down—along with my underwear.
His mouth follows his hands, nipping my hip, kissing the inside of my thigh, the side of my knee. He tugs everything fully off, removes my socks and drops them at the foot of the bed. And then, kneeling between my ankles, he starts to undo his own jeans. He’s not wearing underwear and his cock is on full display before his pants make it halfway down his thighs. It’s long and thick, and suddenly all his swagger is justified. The man is well endowed, to say the least. He stands up at the foot of the bed to kick off his jeans and his left hand wraps around his cock. I’m sure his eyes are roaming my naked body but I don’t look up to find out. I’m glued to the way he grips himself, slowly stroking, almost absently.
Before he realizes what I’m doing—hell, before I fully comprehend what I’m doing—I’m on my knees in front of him, my hand curled around his and my lips at the tip of his cock. I lick away the droplet of desire there, then slide down his length. I feel his whole body tighten instantly and his legs quake.
“Brie…baby.”
I slip my mouth back and forth a few times, swirling my tongue around him as I go, but that’s all I get—a few quick moments—and then he’s stepping away from me.
“Was it not…?”
“It was too good,” he tells me. “I won’t let this end before it begins,ma belle. I can’t.”
He turns away from me, toward the dresser and that’s when I see the tattoo for the first time. It starts at the base of his spine and climbs all the way up stopping just below his neck. A tree. It’s got gnarled roots, curled, crooked branches and it’s barren—leafless—except for the very tip of the top branch on the left, just over his shoulder blade. There’s one, small leaf dangling off the end of the branch.
It’s beautiful, in its design and detail but it’s also sad. Haunted. He turns from the dresser leaving the drawer open and holds up the condom, tearing it with his teeth as he walks toward me. And then we’re kneeling, inches from each other, face-to-face on the bed. As he slips his hands between us, he leans forward and kisses me. It’s hard and yet needy. He must have the condom on because now his one hand is on my hip and his other is between my legs. A finger slides slowly across my opening.
“So warm and soft,” he whispers against my lips. He pushes two fingers inside me curling them toward himself and I instantly gasp. “You’re going to feel incredible.”
“You already do,” I pant as he pulls his fingers out a little and pushes back in curling them again at the right moment, the right way, so I see stars.
“Lay back,” he demands pushing into me so gravity helps me obey his command. I’m flat on my back now and he’s still kneeling between my legs, his fingers still working magic. When he pulls them out I whimper. I watch wide eyed as he brings his fingers to his mouth and tastes me. He closes his eyes and makes a sound of pure satisfaction that sends heat crawling up my face. No man has done that with me before and it’s so fucking erotic it makes me hotter.
He lies on top of me, one hand beside my head the other somewhere lower. Then I feel him slipping over my opening. I open my legs farther and reach up and grip his shoulders.
He’s inside me in one long slow push. I feel deliciously full, like every nerve ending is suddenly short-circuiting. I twist my hips and arch my back, my hands stretching out above me. He drops his full weight onto me and immediately begins moving his hips. His pace is unexpected—slow, rough and deep. He grabs one of my legs under the knee and pulls it up, twisting his hips a different way and that spot he was hitting with his fingers he’s now hitting with his cock, and I moan out his name.
He likes that and lets out a growl before he bites my shoulder. Every thrust his cock is creating shoots stars of heat through my entire body and then finally, I’m falling too, just like a star, cascading into orgasmic oblivion. I am not a loud partner. I’ve honestly never let out more than a coo. But tonight—here with this man—I am moaning and panting and begging him for more even though I can no longer feel my body.
He pulls himself up on his knees, yanking my ass into his lap and holding me still by my hips as he pushes harder, faster, deeper and then a groan rumbles out of him as he comes. His fingers grip my hips so tight I’ll probably have marks, and I like that idea. That his fingers will leave their imprint on my body the way his soul seems to be leaving an imprint on my heart.
Chapter 17
Alex
What the fuck just happened? My head is spinning like I just got off a Tilt-A-Whirl. Is this real life? I’m in a relationship. Me. Someone wants me and I want her and this is happening. My heartbeat hammers and my limbs tingle from my orgasm. Brie looks euphoric and beautiful. I feel like I’m dreaming because this can’t be real.
This wasn’t my storyline. I’m the guest star in life, not the romantic lead. I’ve never had sex with someone like her—someone who doesn’t put on a show. There were no fake noises or overblown words of encouragement. More than that, I’ve never had sex with someone who knows me like she does. I’ve told her things I’ve told no one. I was real. The sex was real. And it was amazing.
I reach over and brush back a lock of her long, silky hair. “That was incredible,” she says softly.
“You’re amazing,” I reply. She gives me the warmest, sweetest smile. I lean over and kiss her, long and deep. And then I sit up, swing my legs over the side of the bed and pull off the condom. As I tie it and lean forward to toss in the wastebasket, I feel her fingertips on my back. She’s tracing the lines of my tattoo and I try not to tense. I hate when people touch it.
“There’re bumps…”
That’s why I tense. I hate talking about it. So I never do. I lie. I am dreading lying to her so I don’t answer. I just close my eyes and enjoy the feel of her fingers fluttering over my back. I feel her thumb glide over another scar.
The bed dips behind me and I know she’s moving closer to examine it. I force myself not to sigh. God, I hate this. “Are they scars?”
“Uh-huh,” I grunt more than speak. “Hockey scars.”
I lie to her like I lie to everyone. But this time it bothers me. Still I’m overwhelmed with everything that’s already happened tonight. I can’t add this truth to the pile I’ve already unloaded. Even if she thinks she can handle it, I know I can’t.
