"No," he growls, his steps loud on the tile as he storms inside, heading straight for the stairs. I'm dizzy, gasping and clinging to him as he takes them two at a time, one hand planted on my ass to keep me still, the other on the railing to keep us steady.
Every part of the house I see is upside down, just blurry splotches of color and shape, and then I'm on my back, sinking into his bed. The room is shadowed, the only light coming from a lamp on the bedside table. Even that is blotted out when he crawls over me, caging me in.
"You make it so fucking hard to behave, sweetness," he growls, his fists planted on either side of my head, his expression feral and beautiful at once. "You talk about me like I'm some big deal, and I just want to fuck you to pieces so you keep thinking that."
"Do it," I whisper, arching up until my breasts press against his chest. "I'm right here, Briggs. I'm not going anywhere."
I see the war in his eyes, the desire to give in and take what he wants pitted against his need to do this the way he thinks itshould go, all slow and careful. But I don't need that, not from him. Not anymore. I just need him.
I hook a leg around his hip and wrap my arms around his neck, anchoring myself to his body. My lips land against the side of his throat. "I trust you," I breathe against his skin. "Only you."
He groans, the sound vibrating through me, and then he flips us so I'm in his lap, my legs around his waist. One hand delves into my hair, craning my head back.
His lips against mine are heaven. So is the way his other hand slides down my body, slipping beneath the hem of my shirt. His bare skin against mine sends electric currents through my body.
I moan into his mouth, arching against him.
"Can I take this off?" he asks against my lips.
I don't answer—at least not with words. Instead, I break the kiss, leaning back to pull it off over my head. His eyes immediately fall to my chest, darkening. And God, I love the way he stares. I love the way a curse trembles on his lips. I love the way he reaches out, oh so slowly, tracing one fingertip down the center of my chest.
"Briggs," I moan, my head falling back.
"You're so fucking beautiful, Tia," he says, his voice gritty. "Do you know that, sweetness? Do you have any idea what you do to me?"
I've never been ashamed of my body. Even after what happened, I was able to hang onto that one piece of myself—that refusal to be ashamed that I'm a big girl. For a little while, part of me wanted to believe that I became a target because of my size, that the hockey team wouldn't have dared to do the same thing if I'd been smaller, more attractive, or some cheerleader. But even then, I knew that wasn't true. They didn't target me because of the size of my ass or the number on my jeans. The sad reality is, they did itin spiteof those things, the same way guys like them always do. Nothing was going to stop them from making thatbet, whether I was a size two and on the cheer squad or the exact size I was at the time.
But I've never felt more beautiful or more worthy than I do as I stare into my reflection in Briggs' eyes. As I see the way he looks at me like he's lucky to be touching me right now…like I'm something to cherish. Ifeellike something to cherish in his eyes.
"Show me," I whisper, slowly dragging my nails across his scalp.
He shudders in response, making this sound in the back of his throat that's half rumbling cat, half desperate man. It's sexy as hell.
His hands span my ribcage, sliding toward my back. I shiver as he fumbles with the clasp on my bra, taking two tries before he manages to unhook it. The straps fall away from my shoulders, carried by gravity.
His lips help, impatiently pushing one down, like he wants to see and taste me at the same time. Everywhere he touches me, I ignite, my skin pebbling in response.
He drags my bra down, covering my breasts with his hands, lifting them. His thumbs brush my nipples, making me moan.
"Been thinking about these since I saw them through your dress before the wedding," he murmurs, dipping his head. His lips brush across one, soft, tentative.
I cry out in response, clutching him to me.
He groans again, sucking it into his mouth. The pressure is perfect…heavenly. I'm already a mess on his lap, already aching and desperate.
He moves from one to the other, back and forth, until I'm clawing at his shoulders and choking on his name.
"Don't rush me, beautiful," he groans, lifting wild eyes to mine. "Let me love you."
''Briggs," I whimper. "Please."
He tips me backward off his lap, following me down. His lips close over one hard nipple again before questing lower. His hands travel across my body, too, learning every inch as if he's memorizing every tremble and gasp.
"I love the way you shake for me, Tia," he says, his voice soft. "I've barely even touched you, and you're already so close, aren't you, beautiful?"
"Yes," I moan, my stomach contracting beneath his palm.
His lips curve against my skin before his mouth slides lower, his tongue dipping into my belly button. And then lower, dipping beneath my waistband. I stop breathing. I can't help it. He's so close to where I need him most.
