Page 137 of The Goat Next Door

“You’re so soaked,” he murmurs against my ear, and he thrusts harder, the friction sudden and sharp. I let out a sharp sob.

“So greedy for me,” he pants, his eyes burning into mine before he sinks back in, deeper and faster. I arch into him, my breath catching in a broken, desperate sound.

“Look at you,” he rasps, as he thrusts hard. “Coming apart just for me.”

I lose my mind completely, my voice vanishing into a chain of breathless, desperate sounds.

Brooks lets out a low moan against my neck, his fingers digging into my hips to hold me still as he delivers three hard, punishingly deep thrusts that send us both completely over the edge.

He goes completely still above me, his forehead dropping against my shoulder as a wrecked sound leaves his chest. His grip on my hips loosens by degrees, like he’s forcing himself to remember how to be gentle again after holding on so tightly.

We stay like that for a long time, the only sound our echoing breaths in the quiet bedroom, our bodies glued together by sweat and rain-cooled air.

Slowly, gently, Brooks shifts his weight, a low groan escaping his lips as he slides to the side. He presses one last kiss to my shoulder and reaches down toward the edge of the bed. I hear the soft rustle of foil and latex, the muted creak of the bathroom trash bin opening and shutting a second later.

Even now, flushed and half-breathless, he moves with that same quiet steadiness—taking care of things without making me feel awkward about any of it.

When he comes back to me, there’s nothing hurried or careless about him. He slides right back into bed like returning to my side is the most natural thing in the world.

“So,” I mumble into the pillow. “Chief, I believe there’s a regulation about unauthorized access to private property. How do you intend to file your report?”

Brooks lets out a low, rumbling chuckle against my neck, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to the skin behind my ear. “I’m thinking I might just plead temporary insanity, counselor. The defendant was… highly distracting.”

“Temporary?” I tease. “You’re looking at a life sentence, hot neighbor. I have very high standards for my neighborhood watch.”

“I’ll take it,” he whispers, pulling me closer. “As long as I’m the only one on patrol, city girl.”

36

Brooks

“If you ask me, the man never stood a chance.”

— Lauren

The smell of rosemary and fresh yeast is the first thing to register, curling through the morning air and pulling me from sleep before the sun has even managed to clear the tree line.

For a second, my brain runs through its automatic, well-worn routine—checking the time, scanning the room for the standard, sterile dark gray of my own bedroom walls.

But the ceiling above me isn’t gray.

It’s a soft, faded cream and the mattress beneath my back doesn’t have the stiff, unforgiving tension of the one I usually wake up to across the grass.

Ember is lying on her stomach next to me, her face buried sideways into the down pillow. A massive, unruly tangle of soft curls is spilled across the white sheet.

One of her legs is hooked entirely over my right thigh, pinning me down with a loose, heavy familiarity that feels more binding and more natural than anything I’ve ever known.

I stay completely still for ten minutes, just watching the slow, rhythmic rise of her shoulder blades under the cotton sheet.

She makes this soft, sleepy little sound in the back of her throat and shifts closer without even thinking about it.

I swear I feel it everywhere. Not just physically, in the way her weight presses against my leg, but deeper than that.

Like my body recognizes something fundamental before my brain even catches up to the reality of being here.

Ember cracks one eye open, the lid heavy and fluttering. “You staring at me?”

“Yes.”