I glance over at Shane. His black hat is covered with raindrops, and the brim shades his eyes, just like it did during the service. I can’t tell if he’s been crying, not for sure anyway. But I know Gramps’s death has to be hitting him hard too. How many times has he told me Gramps was like a father to him?
Shane opens the door for me. I catch his eye, and in that brief instant, those blue eyes of his penetrate my soul. There’s vulnerability and compassion shrouded behind the deep blue glimmer. I’m whisked back to those cheerful summer days, when I was ten, helping Shane with chores. He was just a little older than I am right now. He seemed so much more mature than I feel.
“Coffee?” he asks, tossing his keys on the living room table before heading into the kitchen.
“No thanks.” I kick my heels off and ease into the soft cushions on the couch.
“Water? Beer? Soda?” Shane calls out from the fridge.
“Soda would be good. Thanks.” I let out a heavy sigh and reach for one of the photo albums I found in Gramps’s dresser. I’ve been going through them for days.
Shane comes back with two cans of Coke and, surprisingly, takes a seat next me. His massive body is like a rock. The kind of solid mass I would love to lean on if he’d let me.
Crisp pine and soft leather scents surround me in his protective cloud. He’s wearing a well cut suit that looks Italian. I haven’t seen him dressed up since the wedding, and he looks like some sort of billionaire supermodel.
If resisting Shane was hard before, having him so close to me like this, dressed like that, makes it damn near impossible.
Carefully flipping through the plastic pages of the album, I come across an old photo of Shane and me. I bite my lip, trying to think back to that day, but draw a blank. The only thing I know for sure is it was sunny and I was squinting.
Shane leans close and traces over my face in the photo. “I remember when that was taken,” he says softly.
“Really?” I take a closer look, but nothing about the image sets off any bells. We’re sitting on a bale of hay out in a pasture.
“You were worried about fifth grade.” He smiles, and I feel my eyes start to fill. I was hoping I was done crying at least for five minutes.
“Fifth grade,” I whisper. “Gramps took the photo?”
“He did.” Shane nods. “Your grandfather could tell you were turning into a beautiful woman, and he wanted to save that image of you at ten. I think if he’d had it his way, he would’ve kept you that age forever.”
My heart cracks. Against my will, warm tears roll from my eyes and tumble down my cheeks, flooding my vision and blurring the photo. Turning into a blubbering idiot, again, is not what I wanted to happen. I’m so embarrassed. I turn my head and wipe my tears with the back of my hand.
“Hey,” he says gently, a look of concern on his face. He wraps his arm around my shoulders, breaking his stupid no-touching rule. “It’s going to be okay.”
And that’s all it takes for my chin to tremble and the floodgates to open. “Oh God, Shane. What am I going to do without him?” I turn my head into his enormous shoulder, burying my cries in his soft wool jacket. I smell rain mixed with him.
“I’ve got you, darlin’. You’re going to be okay.” Shane’s voice is so soothing and tender it makes me cry harder.
He wraps another burly arm around me and pulls me against his rock-solid chest where I feel safe.
I sniffle, licking my salty tears. “Gramps was right, Shane. I’m so glad you’re here,” I mumble into the fabric.
“I’m glad I’m here too,” he says in a low, gentle rumble.
“You are?” I lift my head off his shoulder. “Really?” I melt into his eyes and realize for the millionth time that he’s more beautiful than he was all those summers ago. “You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?” I ask, quietly tracing along his chiseled cheekbone, feeling his cool skin under my fingertips.
“No. I’m not just saying it, Brooke,” he says seriously. “I belong here with you today.” And the moment flips. Just like that. Before I know what I’m doing, I’m running my thumb over his bottom lip, wanting so much to—
Shane’s massive hand comes up and grips mine. I flinch. I must’ve gone too far. Is he angry I touched him?
Before I can ask, he takes my face in his hands. I stare into his eyes and time seems to stop. My heart is teetering over a cliff as he leans down and presses his lips against mine. And I’m in a whirlwind, soaking up his touch, memorizing his groans, the way his breath feels against my lips. I moan, arching my body into his, falling deeper into the kiss.
Shane kisses me tenderly, slow and unhurried, tasting like cola and secrets and everything I never knew I wanted.
My need for him takes me away from the world of sadness. Warmth pools between my legs. I feel his big hands slide down my back and grip my ass over my dress. I needily pour my soul into kissing him back.
The rain outside is gone. The fireplace isn’t here. We’re not on the couch. We’re in the stars, traveling fast, locked in an embrace. “Oh, Shane,” I moan, lifting my leg over his so I’m straddling him. I hungrily kiss him and explore his mouth with my tongue. I can’t get close enough.
Chapter Five
I’m not going to be able to stop myself. Her kisses are like lightning and hot sugar. With every touch, she tugs on the very last bit of resolve I have. Her cherry kisses and sweet moans are fucking unraveling me.
I’ve never felt this way before—never experienced a kiss like this. Lord have mercy, I’m in trouble.
In one more second, I’ll be laying her out on this couch, reaching under her black dress, and tearing her panties off.
Christ, she’s in mourning, and I’m taking advantage of her—or am I? Despite her age, Brooke’s not a juvenile. She’s been kissed before and is a goddamn expert at it.
Her ripe tits press against me. Her long legs spread around me, I’m breathing in cake, and sunshine, and . . . Jesus. This woman. She’s grinding her hot cherry pussy against my thick cock, and fuck, I’m going to lose it.
I knew she’d be sweet and lovely, but not perfect. Not better than any dream.
I’m a fucking caveman, wanting to spread her legs and bury my face in her sweet cherry juice. This little filly needs to be licked and sucked, but good. I’ll have her bucking against my tongue and crying out my name in no time.
“I love kissing you,” she pants, her eyes filled with heat. My heart thrashes in my chest as she finds my tongue again and sucks on it. I’m fucking her sweet, hot mouth, feeling my cock bang against my zipper, ready to pulverize that little cherry. If I don’t stop this right now, in another second I’ll fucking destroy any trace of her virginity and claim her as mine.
It’s fucking torture, but I gently pull away from her lips. “We’re breaking our rule. This isn’t a good idea.” I take a breath, willing my cock to back the fuck off. “You’ve been through a lot today.”
Her brown eyes flash with hurt. “You don’t want to kiss me?”
“It isn’t that.” I peel her hands off my neck. She knows damn well I want to do more than kiss her. She’s been humping my goddamn cock for all it’s worth. I’m so fucking hard and ready to rip through her sticky little panties, I could bust through steel.
“Then what?” She climbs off me, sounding dejected, exactly how I didn’t want her to feel. For a second, I’m tempted to clasp my hands around her silky thighs and pull her right back on top of me. Even with her mascara smudged and her hair in tangles, she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
“We’ll be getting divorced soon,” I remind myself as much as her. “After that, we’ll cut ties. This just isn’t right.”
“Kissing me isn’t right?” she asks, eyes blazing. “Are you afraid of me, Shane? Is that what it is? Because there is no way you don’t like kissing me.” She touches her swollen lips, and my cock senses a new home. It lurches, wanting to fuck her mouth until my cum spurts down her throat.
“We’ve already talked about this,” I growl, pissed off that I have to keep repeating myself. “We don’t want to make things more complicated than they already are. I’m also much too old for you.”
“How, exactly, do you know I’m too young for you if you never let me get close?”
“I’m supposed to be protecting you, not taking your goddamn virginity.” I need to keep my focus. But how can I, when she makes me lose my fucking mind? “I’m sorry if I—”
“Save it.” She shakes her head. “I’m sure Steve and I will get back together. We always do.”
Fuck, the last thing she needs is that idiot back in her life.
“I don’t need your pity,” she mutters, getting up from the couch.
“Brooke,” I say, watching her gather up her shoes. “Brooke.” I rise, not wanting to hurt her, especially today of all days.
Finally, she swivels to me. “I’m not listening anymore.” Her eyes are brimming with a whole lot of pissed-off fire. “And please sleep out here tonight.” She storms out of the room. The bedroom door slams.
Well, shit. I sink back into the couch and scan the room for something to distract me from my aching hard-on.
But there’s nothing that will take my attention from Brooke.
And it’s fucking painful to have her so close to me.
What am I—twenty, thirty steps away from the woman who’s been tormenting my cock since the second she walked down the aisle wearing those little white shorts?
Brooke wants me to fuck her. She hasn’t been wearing those skimpy outfits, but a week ago she flat-out told me she wanted to lose her virginity to me. Under any other circumstances, as long as there was no commitment this would be a no-brainer. Even if she is so much younger than me, we’re two consenting adults—what’s the problem?
For one, this hot little filly is Chuck’s granddaughter. And I’m old enough to know that sex causes complications. No question. Add in the fact that we need to live under the same roof for another four months and you’ve got a thunderstorm of trouble.
My eyes rest on the easel she has set up by the window. I wander over for a better look. The painting isn’t finished. It’s a wash of pink and tangerine sunset colors. She’s started to sketch something in the lower right corner. Is it a cow, a barn? The lines are so faint I’m not sure.
The only thing I know for certain is there is more to Brooke Carlisle than meets the eye. Her talent is off the charts. And despite what Chuck said about her being off the rails and going down the wrong path, I haven’t seen any evidence of that over the last few months.
And now—I run my hands through my hair—I’ve sent her straight into the arms of that dumb fuck Steve.
The thought of him, or any other man, touching her makes my blood boil. What’s happening to me? What the fuck do I care? I should be thinking about work, but the only thing on my mind is Brooke.
I can barely walk because my dick is still the size of a baseball bat, but I head down the hall to the bedroom anyway. The door is open, so I quietly enter.
Moonlight seeps through the window. With her dark hair splayed around her pillow, Brooke is lying on her back with her arm over her face, sleeping peacefully.
Soft breaths escape her plump, pillowy lips. I can almost hear her crying out my name as I’m plowing her, driving my big dick deep, teaching her to rock with me and ride my cock.
She thinks she’s ready for a man like me. But Brooke doesn’t realize that, virgin or not, once she gets a taste of my cock, I’ll make her addicted to it, like a whore on crack. I inhale sharply, feeling fire heat my blood.
Her flimsy nightgown is twisted. One thin strap has slipped off her smooth shoulder, and one of her breasts has escaped. It’s there right in front of my nose, ripe for the plucking and sucking.
I lick my lips, locked on her round, juicy tit. Jesus, I must be a sick fuck, but I can’t take my eyes off my prey. And that’s exactly what I am, a predator, just waiting to pierce her tight little hole with my aching dick and fucking pound her.
Finally, I’m seeing what I’ve been lusting after for all these days, and she’s better than any fantasy. The image I’ve jacked off to for years, without ever knowing her. Her dark pink areola is round and flecked with little bumps, outlining her hard, juicy nipple. Her pointy tips are practically begging to be sucked. Christ, I’m ready to shoot my load all over her.
Every part of me is desperate to climb on top of her, spread her legs wide, and dive inside her tight, slick walls. Have her wake up with her nipple in my mouth and my cock deep in her womb.
Fuck. I step back and remind myself to keep my shit together and get the hell out of here before I do something crazy.
I need to concentrate on something, anything, other than Brooke’s fucking nipple and ripe virgin pussy. I head back down the dark hall to the laundry room and hear the rumble of the dryer. It wouldn’t hurt to wash the load of clothes I left in there before work tomorrow.
I enter the tiny room, and Jesus H. Christ. That woman is going to be the death of me. Once again, she’s left a mound of dirty clothes on top of the washer. Something heavy with a zipper bangs around and around against the metal in the dryer.
Doesn’t she realize I have laundry too? I’ve been washing my own damn clothes since I was seven.
I scoop my load of whites out of the basket and set them next to her small batch of underwear and T-shirts and . . . shit—how tiny is that pink thong sitting on top of the pile?
It has a frilly little heart design on the front, right over where her pussy would be. My cock twitches at the thought of getting inside her tight little cunt. Fuck, that’s all my cock wants.
I check behind me. I know she’s sleeping, but, shit, what I’m thinking of doing is so base. I can’t get the sight of Brooke’s nipple and her splayed out on her bed, ready to be pounded, out of my mind. I need some goddamn relief.
I glance behind me again, checking the dark hall. Still no lights. She’s sound asleep. I’m alone to do whatever the fuck I want.
I pick up her silky panties, and I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t stop myself. I bring them to my nose and inhale deeply. Her cherry pussy smell is all over them. Fuck. I inhale again, immediately getting harder.
I’m so close to her pussy, the closest I’ve ever been. My mind goes straight to what her sweet little pussy lips must look like with this tiny piece of fabric clinging to her wet slit and up the crack of her smooth round ass. The thought makes me weak.
I lean against the dryer, feeling the vibration of whatever’s banging inside, and inhale the smell of her sweet virgin cunt again. God, I can almost taste her. I could drape those long filly legs of hers around my shoulders, spread her folds with my tongue, and fucking live there.
And why the fuck not? She’d be more than happy to prance around the house in those sheer nightgowns if I’d let her. She made me force her to cover up, when she knew damn well I could see right through to outline of her V and the color of her nipples.
I’m so ready to burst for her, I can’t fucking take it. My cock is about ready to break my zipper. I undo my buckle and shove my pants down around my knees.
I’m so fucking needy for this girl’s cherry it isn’t right. No, what I want to do to her isn’t right at all. Not the way I want to fuck her in every goddamn hole and watch my cum drip from her pussy and down her thighs.
I lick my palm and wrap it around my thick, throbbing dick. I glide my hand down my stiff shaft and up again. With my other hand, I bring her panties to my nose, and I groan, getting another whiff of her candy cunt. Fuck, she must’ve been so wet when she had these on.
I rub the pre-cum around my swollen crown. Veins bulge from my dick. It’s so girthy and hard that it looks fucking angry it hasn’t been allowed inside her pussy yet.
Oh, but I will be fucking her. I lick my palm again, coat my head, and work the slippery mix of pre-cum and spit all over my dick.
And that dryer sound is us, banging and banging. I
’m fucking her over the back of the couch. She’s lifted her little sheer nightgown just for me. She wearing those fucking high heels and has her long legs spread wide. I moan, “Fuck yeah,” stroking my dick.
She’s bent over that couch with her sweet little asshole staring right at me. But I want that cherry like fucking air. I lift her ass higher so I can see her glistening pink pussy lips. The pussy lips that leaked that sweet un-popped cherry juice all over these panties.
I inhale again, letting the smell of her cunt cover my nose. “Fuck.” I stroke harder and faster, plunging into her.
Brooke’s so fucking wet for me. She moans, making whimpering sounds, and pushes that sweet young pussy back up against me to take more of me. I stroke and tug, faster and faster. I wet my palm again so I can feel her juicy, tight cherry-hole clamping around me.
I’m fucking her deep now. I’ll train this fucking filly to come on command. I let out a groan. Fuck. I jerk myself faster and wrap her pussy-soaked silky panties around my dick. “Fuck, fuck.” Now her cunt is wrapped around my cock. She’s screaming out my name, writhing and taking me deep, begging for my big cock to ravage her innocent pussy.
We’re banging on top of the dryer now, banging and banging to the rhythm of the sound. “You like it hard like this,” I growl. “This is what you want, isn’t it?” I shove my cock in deeper as I rub, stroking harder, and Christ. I’m possessed, obsessed, and I fucking can’t breathe. “Fuck me.” I stroke. “Cover me with your sweet cherry juice. Come on my dick, baby girl.” I stroke and stroke, harder and faster, climbing higher and higher, until the tornado crashes into me, whirling me around and spitting me out into the stratosphere.
Fuck. Ropes of cum spurt all over her pretty little panties. I pump and shoot another wad against the wall. Goddamn. I come so hard I’m dizzy.
Chapter Six
My eyes adjust to the dim light. I somehow managed to doze off, mostly out of exhaustion from crying all day. Restless, I roll over to check Shane’s bed.
Long Hard Ride: Arranged Marriage, Brothers, Cowboy Romance (The Wild Wests Book 3) Page 3