I’m grateful for his restraint. It eases the tension running just under my skin. I admit, “Best Halloween in years.”
Brennan takes another drink of his water before setting his glass down. He smirks before glancing over his shoulder at the enormous Scooby, looming expectantly from the doorway. “Want me to help carry that to your room?”
I scoff, but my voice is breathless. “You’re obsessed with that thing.”
He shrugs as he inches closer. “I’m obsessed with you.” He steps closer to me, causing the material of his pants to brush against the skin between my sock and skirt hem. The friction is electric.
The words are out of my mouth before I realize I’ve said them. “Do you want to spend the night?”
He presses his hands to the counter on either side of me. He leans in deliberately. For a split second, I’m convinced we’re going to end up taking each other in the kitchen. Instead, he trails a knuckle down my arm, gentle, reverent, almost too soft to be real. The touch leaves burning flickers of flame in their wake.
His breath is so close, it’s impossible for me to think straight. “You sure?”
“Not at all,” I admit, truthfully. He moves to back away, until I yank him closer. “But I want you.”
The next second, his mouth is on mine. It’s scorching. I lean so far into him, I practically lose my balance. His hands find my waist, almost angry in their desperation. I break for air, panting. My fake glasses that go along with my Velma costume knock against his nose. I chuck them away before he lifts me in the air. “Where’s your room?”
I thumb at the door directly through the kitchen. He stalks toward it with intensity.
I’m about to combust. As Brennan slowly lets me slide down the front of his body, I feel his hands branding me. Through my clothes, against my skin. He takes his time, letting his fingers trail slowly up my thigh, pausing at the hem of my skirt.
I’m acutely aware of every brush of his fingertips. My knees threaten to give out. I clutch the bed frame for support.
"Can I just say how much I love this costume?” he murmurs, dropping to his knees and tugging gently at the elastic holding up my knee high socks. He takes his time, peeling them off before retracing his path and letting his fingers dance up my inner thigh—before pulling my lace panties off.
I feel my heart beating behind my eyelids as they drift closed. I never planned for Brennan to be someone I let back in. To chance getting my heart obliterated for a second time.
But he’s proven to me over and over, he’s worth the risk.
He stands and presses his forehead to mine. His hands find the zipper at the back of my waist. He hesitates, his palm warm and steady at the small of my back. “Are you sure?”
I nod. He pulls the zipper down. As I shimmy out of my skirt and rip off my sweater and bra, he’s shucking his clothes. There’s nothing left between us.
I can’t believe how right it feels, how the years collapse into nothing when he laughs beneath his breath and falls back onto my bed holding me. I end up sprawled along the length of his body in the crook of his arms.
In his eyes, I find more than desire.
There’s love.
His breath warms the hollow of my collarbone before he trails kisses across my constellation. Then, his lips move lower still.
He takes his time, devoting himself to me. Worshiping me.
His hands linger at my hips, not demanding but inviting my passion. Every time I brush up against his hardness is an unspoken question I answer by pressing in closer, seeking more.
Needing only him.
The air is thick with our shared urgency. He mutters, “God, I missed you,” into the crook of my neck before rolls to his back, letting me set the pace. My hair spills between us, probably tickling his face, but he doesn’t notice. Desperation is written all over his face, like a man who’s tasted water for the first time in forever.
I let my body respond, letting my feelings for him guide my movements. My hands roam everywhere, mapping the broad planes of his chest, the line of his jaw, relearning him by touch like it’s a homework assignment I’m determined to ace.
He kisses me until the taste of him is all I know, and everything I ever resented about this man, everything I am supposed to be protecting, falls away.
I swivel my hips impatiently. He holds me still while he reaches over the side of the bed for his pants. Finding his wallet, he tosses it within reach of the nightstand. I lean forward and pin him, my palms on his chest, feeling his heart gallop beneath my hands.
His eyes are wild, but he waits for me to make the next move. I surprise him by sliding down his torso, kissing the trail of freckles that start at his clavicle and wander in mosaic patterns down his chest. Then I bite him—not hard, but sharp enough to write this moment into his skin.
He grabs my wrist and tugs me back up to crash his lips against mine with barely restrained hunger. I run both hands up his arms, savoring every cut and tendon, greedy for the feel of them.
