by JC Harroway
Have I ever felt so at one with someone? There’s no kinkiness, no gimmick. Just simple old missionary position. But I’ve forgotten this sensation of true intimacy. Maybe it’s even a first for me...
Because somehow she sees all of me.
Her heart thuds against my chest. Her stunning eyes penetrate mine, as if searching the deepest recesses of my tattered soul. Her gentle hands cup my face, stroking my hair as she speaks to me with her body, mind and soul.
I kiss her then. I can’t keep my mouth from the softness of hers any longer. And, as our tongues touch, she shatters under me, her cries muffled against my lips, her eyes pleading and, her arms and legs clamped so tightly around me that I feel as if without her I’ll never be whole again.
I push back, lock my elbows so I can see all her beauty laid beneath me. My chest aches. I’m humbled that she’s given so much of herself to me, a man too broken to offer much in return.
But that’s Brooke.
She cups my face once more. Her fingers tunnel into my hair, fingernails scraping my scalp as she holds me captive.
‘I’ve got you, Nick. I’ll catch you. Let go.’
My orgasm rises up to engulf me in heat, like the explosions on the sun’s surface. A harsh shout rips from my tight throat as I come, pumping into the condom, safe in the knowledge that Brooke is holding me tight, anchoring me to the earth. And while I’m in her arms, while we’re connected like this, nothing bad can happen.
As soon as I collapse on top of her, crushing her beneath me on the rumpled white sheets, I have the absurd urge to go again and again, every hour until we part. And one single, terrifying thought pounds in my temples.
What if wanting her never stops?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Brooke
AS APRÈS-SKI GOES, lying naked with Nick wins hands-down. The bedroom curtains are open to let in the twinkling lights of Saint Moritz, nestled in the bosom of the imposing Swiss Alps at dusk.
My body is tired from a day spent on the slopes, my nose tingling with a hint of sunburn. With our experienced local mountain guide, we went off-piste in search of powder, and then had lunch on the sun terrace of a mountain restaurant. A visit to a stunning thermal spa, with mountain views from our own private mineral pool, rounded off a day that feels more like a week. I sigh in contentment, running my hand down the valley of Nick’s muscular back to the top of his steely buttocks.
‘I ache,’ I whisper. ‘We should have just scrapped the skiing and done this all day.’ I try to forget the clock ticking in my head. Try to not resent the hours spent outdoors or in public when each precious moment inches us closer to departure. The end of the holiday, and the end of us.
‘Then we’d still ache, just in different places.’ He raises his head from his folded arms, leans over and kisses me. His unrestrained contact is still such a revelation that I could cry. I’ve had no time to get used to him as a lover, to learn all the things I want to know, and now our time is almost up...
‘Good point.’ I blink, battling the sting behind my eyes. ‘Although, that’s a price I’m willing to pay.’
Nick rests his head on my chest, falling still and quiet.
I play with his hair, my throat tight. I don’t want this to end. I want to see him again. Not in a professional capacity, but like this. Since we left, Milan he’s been different. Spontaneous. As desperate for me as I am for him. Despite my reservations that he’s too damaged to allow anyone in, despite our disagreement, it feels as if we’re finally moving closer than ever.
Could we continue our journey together if we had more time...?
I try to keep my breathing steady while butterflies collide inside me. For the first time in a long time I see myself having the kind of relationship I crave. The kind my friends have. Safe. Real. Equal.
But what if I’m wrong again? I know Nick’s avoided commitment to protect himself from the pain of his past, but I have my own reasons not to rush back into a relationship. The damage Dave inflicted left me worried about more than sex scandals and sold secrets. Perhaps my instincts are awry...
Can I trust a man who has held back from commitment for seventeen years with my bruised heart?
But surely this can’t just end?
Every time we touch I feel closer, even when I’m nervous that it’s an illusion I’ve created. In every experience we share, such as the self-defence last night and the skiing today, I see new sides to him, learn more about his mind, his sense of humour and his dedication. And of course his deliciously deviant side. He has a big heart that feels things to the core of his being.
But could he feel things for me, and could I trust that it was enough?
Just as on the ski slopes today, one person has to go first to forge a path for the other to follow. Nick isn’t Dave—our relationship had had issues before Dave sold me out. I’d never willingly have asked him to take nude pictures of me. Some sixth sense knew Dave had dubious scruples.
But I trust Nick. He’s taught me to defend myself. He’s accepted the real me. He’s shown me his vulnerabilities. Perhaps I just need to nudge him further by leaping first into the scary unknown...
‘Nick?’ I say, like an impatient kid on a long road trip.
‘Hmm?’ he murmurs, sounding sleepy, although his fingers haven’t stopped swirling over my skin since we collapsed onto the bed, spent.
‘Remember how you said you liked to look at photos?’ I slide my fingernails along his back. ‘Will you...photograph me?’
His head shoots up, confusion pinching his brows into a frown. ‘What...? Why?’
My heart thumps with fear and longing. It’s bad, but in a good way.
‘We’re going back to London tomorrow.’ Yeah, bad wins as my stomach lurches. ‘I want you to have something to look at, you know?’ I chew my lip, sudden nerves making me stammer. ‘So...so you don’t forget me.’
Perhaps with reminders on his phone he won’t be able to go for one day without needing to see me. Perhaps he’ll work through some of his issues and decide he’s ready for a relationship. It’s risky but some inner part of me knows, just knows, that Nick would never betray me like Dave.
One arm encircles my waist and Nick drags me under him, his weight crushing me into the mattress so I feel surrounded and protected. He’s erect again. My idea excites him. And me too. I’m wet between my legs at the idea of Nick losing the battle to jerk off over a picture of me.
‘Brooke...’ He knows what this request means to me. The unspoken message.
‘Oh no, not the scary face,’ I tease. ‘It’s your fault—I think you’ve turned me into a pervert too.’ I smile my smouldering Brooke Madden smile that I use for the camera and bat my eyelashes in an exaggerated fashion.
He laughs and my insides twist, bittersweet. I want to see more of that smile. Hear that laugh daily. I want him to be helpless to wait five minutes after walking away from me before he takes out his phone to recall our time together in Europe. I want him to question everything he thinks he knows about himself until he can’t stay away. Because I’m certain, once we part ways, I’ll second-guess not having taken more of a risk with him. Bit I can’t voice the direction of my thoughts. It might scare him off.
‘I won’t forget you.’ He presses his mouth to mine, his tongue pushing inside in a lazy, languorous glide. Then he licks his lips. ‘You can never forget how delicious chocolate is, right?’ He quirks one eyebrow, his beautiful mouth twisted in that sexy half-smile of his that is so rare it makes my breath catch.
I laugh, although I’m hot and breathless with longing. ‘So, I’m chocolate in this scenario?’
He nods, his head swooping to take one nipple gently between his lips. ‘You’re delicious.’
He worships my nipple with his mouth as if we have all the time in the world to enjoy each other’s bodies. Not the handful of hours that is our sickening
reality. Before I get lost in him again, I reach over and fumble for his phone on the bedside table.
‘Please...’ I shove the device at him and grind myself against his erection as an extra layer of inducement. ‘Photograph your favourite delicious bits, as a memento...’
He sighs, abandoning my nipple. He takes his phone and looks down at me with a small frown.
I lie there, my heart thudding, because as much as I want him to do this it’s a reminder to us both that this holiday fling is coming to an end. It’s also a form of communication, one I know he won’t want to hear aloud and one I’m too scared to verbalise: I trust you with all of me.
My ribs pinch as I look at Nick’s handsome face staring down at me. I’m not ready to let him go. I want to be there for all of him. I want to know if he takes my advice and talks to his mother. I want to show him the baby’s cardigan I’m close to finishing for my nephew. I want to introduce him to my parents and my sister.
I want him in my future. But, until he believes he deserves the kind of future where he can once more open his heart, I’m knocking at a closed door. He’s not ready to hear my developing feelings. He has to want me in return, otherwise I’ll be making the same mistake I did with Dave.
He sits up and fires off his first shot—me simply looking up at him, trying not to display the panic that we may never have more than these few stolen days.
He shows me the photo he’s taken, and something close to uncertainty flickers in his dark eyes. It’s a head and bare shoulders shot. Perfectly PG. I look away from my own facial expression immortalised on the screen—scared and aroused, desperate and satisfied, all at once. I look like a woman precariously close to falling in love.
I swallow the lump in my throat, praying Nick’s observation skills are less well-developed. ‘That’s very tame. That all you got, Big Guy?’
He stares for a beat or two, his intense eye contact making me want to hide under the sheets. And then he aligns the camera over my breast, which is reddened from the scrape of his facial hair, and fires off a close-up shot of my erect nipple.
I feel a tingle there, as if he’s touched me. And then my breath catches as Nick leans close, presses a kiss to the curve of my breast and captures the moment with the phone. Silently he shows me the photograph.
It’s a little blurry, but still breathtakingly intimate. His thick, sooty lashes are curved in a crescent on his cheek. His soft lips pursed against my skin.
I shudder, too moved to speak. Too full of longing to do anything but lie there and watch. Nick has taken what started out as a risqué suggestion, a display of my trust, and turned it into some sort of tribute to how he feels about my body. And perhaps more deeply—how he feels about me...?
The room is tense with reverent silence as he tilts my head to the side, kissing the slope of my neck before taking another close-up shot of my clavicle. He wordlessly encourages me to roll over onto my stomach, his hands gentle, stroking. His quiet intensity reminds me of the Nick I thought was too closed down, too withdrawn for intimacy. But this is one of the most profound and erotic moments of my life. Nick shows me what he loves about my body with an adoration that makes me forget that I’m vulnerable to exploitation and exposure by him, if he so wished.
But I know this man.
Shot after shot he photographs my body in close-up—the small of my back, the crease under my buttocks, the back of my neck—each time pausing to show me the toils of his worshipful labour.
By the time he turns me over again, I’m panting, my head spinning with oxygen deprivation. My feelings fight to push free, but Nick’s not done.
He snaps a close-up of my belly button and then he shoulders his way between my legs, spreading my thighs open until he’s happy with the angle. He photographs himself kissing my thigh and then my mons.
I’m on fire. My limbs are leaden with paralysing arousal. My head is full of this man who has so much capacity for love. So much to offer. I can’t decide if I want to straddle him and feel the sublime bliss of his penetration, or fall into his arms and confess every terrifying feeling blooming in me.
Just when I think I’m going to have to snatch the phone from him and do something, anything, to chase away the need raging in me, he angles the camera between my legs and takes some close-ups of my pussy.
He looks up, his face a study of rapt focus and fiery desperation. We stare, no words necessary, because surely he feels this too? I can’t be alone. It’s more than the best sex of my life. It’s more than lust and kinkiness and...
My thoughts shatter as Nick pushes a finger inside me and fires off another round of shots. My muscles clamp around his finger, and I bite my lip to hold in the cries of pleasure. I don’t want to disturb him. I want him to photograph every inch of me so I never leave his head. So he’s as consumed by me as I am with him.
Through the pleasure, I watch him. His jaw is bunched as he watches his finger slide in and out. His nostrils flare as he abandons the phone with a careless toss, removes his finger and then covers my clit with his mouth.
I gasp at the incendiary sensations of his tongue laving and flicking but, before I become too lost to my building climax, I rummage on the bed for the phone and capture a few shots of his mouth on me.
‘Those are for me,’ I say, and then speech deserts me for good. Because, beyond the rapture, one thought lingers. If I can’t be brave, and Nick doesn’t change his mind about commitment, all we’ll have is this handful of memories.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Nick
SHE’S ONCE MORE sprawled over my chest, a place I now think of as her spot. But perhaps I should slide her off. My heart is beating so fast, I’m worried she’ll know exactly what that little photographic exercise cost me––the last shred of any pretence that I have a handle on this thing between us.
And my very sanity...
Today has driven me crazy. When she’s not working, Brooke still displays her vibrant energy and dry sense of humour. Skiing is something I’ve only come to in the last five years, so I’m not an expert like her. But she made every moment memorable. I forgot that I occupied her world. Forgot that she’s famous. We were just a man and a woman—laughing and talking about everything and nothing. The world-class views and elite ambience faded away. The decadent lunch of caviar and Cristal could have been burgers and beer. The private rejuvenating spa with a mountain vista could have been the local leisure centre.
The key was Brooke.
I force a swallow, trying not to count down the hours until we return to London tomorrow and this job officially ends. How will I go back to not reaching for her? How will I return to famine after sampling the feast has become second nature? We barely made it back into the suite earlier before I fell upon her, slaking the out-of-control need I have for her on the floor. And then in the shower. And then on the chair. But soon all I’ll have is a cold bed and a phone full of second-rate keepsakes.
Those photos aren’t enough when compared to the real thing. It’s like seeing the Swiss Alps in a snow globe versus breathing in the crystal-clear air while blinded by the azure sky and warmed by the brilliant white sunlight.
Every click of the camera as I captured shot after shot of her exquisite body felt like a six-inch nail to my chest. Because I don’t need the visual reminder of her to remember. She’s in my blood. A part of my soul.
I curl my hands around her backside and press her to my aching cock, needing an outlet to slake this wild, frenzied feeling crushing me. The overused appendage grumbles but of course rallies.
‘I have to say, for a man who likes to watch, you’ve become very handsy,’ she quips, looking up at me with humour in her breath-taking eyes. ‘What happened to Mr Control?’
I groan, ignoring her, instead filling my hands with her perfect breasts and rolling her nipples between my thumbs and forefingers until she gasps. ‘I have control. Putting my ha
nds on you is an active choice, Lady.’
Liar. I could no more stop than I could shift those shadowy mountains out there in the dark with my bare hands. Who cares when the clock is ticking?
‘Oh, no, no, no...’ she says, straddling me. ‘I think we need some rules if this is going to work. You can’t have all the power...’
Her words mimic our deal, from back when I believed I could resist her brand of magic. Back when I thought one taste of the sumptuous banquet that is Brooke Madden would satiate me...
Idiot.
‘Trust me,’ I say, nuzzling her neck and sucking in her delicious scent. ‘You still hold all the power.’
‘Well, in that case...’ She kisses me before clambering from the bed with a playful grin.
I roll over to watch her—my favourite thing. I soon find out what she’s up to when she locates her prize: my jeans.
‘Yes, this is what we need.’ She tugs the belt free of the denim loops, her eyes full of challenge and spark.
My heart bangs with excitement. How did I ever think those exquisite features formed the face of an angel? She’s devious and debauched. And perfect...
She grabs a chair and carries it closer, while I watch her body’s slow sensual movements, because I can’t keep my hands, my eyes or my mind off her.
‘Do you trust me?’ she asks, her voice hesitant all of a sudden at the loaded question.
I want to unleash my reflexive yes, shocked by its certainty. Instead I hold it in and pray for the strength to survive whatever she has in mind.
‘Brooke...’ My voice is tight with warning. But I can’t deny that I want to worship at the altar of whatever plan she’s concocting. I can’t deny her a damned thing.