It Happened One Summer

by Tessa Bailey

  This was all going too far, too fast, and she was starting to like him too much.

  She might be having an existential crisis, but she still wanted Los Angeles back and all the glittery trappings that came with it. Didn’t she? Sure, after weeks with no contact from her friends, the call of LA had quieted slightly. She’d actually started to enjoy not checking her notifications every ten seconds. But fame waxing and waning was part of the deal, right? That rush of recognition and adoration she’d stopped craving of late would come back. It always did. There was no other option but going home, and if anything, her time in Westport would make her appreciate her privilege this time around. Wasn’t that the lesson she’d been sent to learn?

  Yes.

  Bottom line, she’d spent twenty-eight years building this image and couldn’t just start over from scratch.

  Could she have Brendan tonight and still keep her eye on that reality?

  Of course she could.

  Ignoring the notch in her throat, Piper pushed back from the table and stood, champagne in hand. She rounded the piece of furniture slowly, gratified when his throat worked in a heavy swallow. His eyes and chin were stubborn, though.

  Well, if he was going to be obstinate, she’d have to play to win.

  Piper slipped between Brendan and the table, scooting it back a little so she could stand comfortably in the V of his thighs. His eyes were all but black with hunger, lighting on her cleavage, her thighs and hips, her mouth. As soon as she raked the fingers of her free hand into his hair, that big chest started to heave, his eyelids drifting shut. “Piper,” he said hoarsely. “This isn’t why I invited you to dinner.”

  She took her hand back, set down the champagne being held in the other, and tucked her fingers under the straps of her dress. “Maybe it’s not the only reason,” she murmured, peeling down the green velvet bodice, leaving her breasts bare mere inches from his mouth. “But it’s one of them, isn’t it?”

  Brendan opened his eyes, and a shudder racked him, his hands flying up to grip her hips. “Oh Jesus fucking Christ, they’re so pretty, baby.” He leaned in, pressing his open mouth to the smooth path of skin between her breasts, breathing heavily, using his hold on her hips to pull her closer, like he couldn’t help it. “This is where you put that perfume, isn’t it? Right here between your sexy little tits.”

  The desperation in his hands, the chafe of velvet on flesh, turned her nipples to points. “I put it there for you tonight,” she whispered into his hair. “All for you.”

  He moaned, turned his head slightly so he could breathe against her nipple. “I know what you’re doing. You want to make this about fucking.”

  Her pulse skittered in her ears. “Stop overthinking it and touch me.”

  Still, he hesitated, that jaw about to shatter.

  Piper reached back and picked up the champagne flute, taking a slow sip. She swallowed most of the bubbly liquid, but left a trace of it on her tongue, bringing it to Brendan’s lips. Licking the champagne into his mouth. “Told you I’d get you to try it,” she murmured, teasing the tip of his tongue with her own. “Want more?”

  That big body swayed closer, lines of strain appearing around his mouth. “Please . . .”

  “You don’t have to beg,” Piper said, bringing the champagne flute to her breasts, tipping the glass and letting the champagne trickle out over one nipple, then the next, and Brendan started to pant. “Not for something we both want. Touch me, Brendan. Taste me. Please?”

  “Christ, I have to.” He traced his mouth to her left nipple, pressed his bared teeth against it, before rubbing his tongue against the stiff bud, yanking her hips forward, the move arching her back so she had to use his hair for balance, taking two big handfuls. Her mouth was in an O, watching him savor her, manhandle her body. No games. Just need.

  His mouth raced down to her belly button, licking that hollow where some of the dripping champagne had ended up, before rising again to the opposite breast, suckling harder now. Devouring. She’d intended to be in control here, but his mouth was delivering the most incredible texture and suction, and her ass bumped back against the table clumsily, a sob ripping from her throat. “Brendan,” she gasped. “Brendan.”

  “I know, baby. Can I put my hands up your dress?” he rasped, his palms already kneading the backs of her thighs, his beard stroking back and forth over her distended nipple, and sending a rush of wet to the apex of her thighs. “Piper.”

  “What?” she breathed, head spinning. “Whatever you said. Yes. Yes.”

  Those busy hands moved faster than lightning, clutching her ass so roughly, the air evacuated her lungs. He drew her forward so he could pant directly against her belly, his hands never ceasing to massage, squeeze, and lift the flesh of her bottom, his calloused fingers tangling in her thong in his haste to touch, to mold.

  “Y-you’re an ass man, I guess,” she stammered.

  He shook his head. “No, Piper. I’m a this-ass man.”

  “Oh,” she simpered.

  That was oddly romantic. And possessive. And she liked both of those qualities too much. She needed to regain control somehow, because she’d severely miscalculated how quickly Brendan could pull her under. This attraction was even more dangerous than she’d originally thought. “Brendan,” she managed, taking hold of his broad shoulders and using every ounce of her strength to push him back into his chair. “W-wait, I . . .”

  “I’m sorry,” he said between breaths. “It’s not just that it’s been so long for me, it’s that you had to be the sexiest woman on the fucking planet.”

  Had Piper heard him right? She shook her head to clear it, though most of the lust fog remained in place. “Wait, I know you wore the ring, but . . . no sex? At all? Knowing you, I should have assumed that, but . . .” Her gaze traveled down the front of his body, stopping when she reached the outline of his painful-looking erection. It protruded against the fly of his jeans, large and heavy. His own hand crept toward it, his sexual frustration obvious in every harsh line of his face.

  There was a way to wrestle back control of this push and pull between them and make him feel good—and she suddenly couldn’t help herself. “Oh, Brendan.” She went down on her knees and pressed a kiss to the thick bulge. “We need to take care of this, don’t we?”

  His head fell back, chest lifting and plummeting. “Piper, you don’t need to.”

  She cupped his big arousal, massaged him through his jeans, and he moaned through his teeth. “I want to,” she whispered. “I want to make you feel so good.”

  She flicked open the button at the top of his fly and lowered the zipper carefully, sucking in a breath when his shaft grew impossibly larger inside his briefs in the absence of confinement. Brendan’s knuckles were white on the arms of the chair, but he stopped breathing altogether as she drew down the waistband of his briefs and saw his erection up close. Male. There was no other way to describe the unapologetic weight and steel of him, the thick black hair at the base, the heavy sac. He was long and smooth and broad, veins wrapped around him like lines on a road map, and wow. Yes. She’d been telling the truth. She really did want to make him feel good. So badly, her inner thighs were turning slick with her own need. Wanted to be on her knees, giving pleasure to this man who’d been celibate so long. This man who’d treated her with care and respect and got nervous about her tasting his cooking.

  Furthermore, she could establish up front that this was just sex.

  Just sex.

  “Look at you, Piper,” Brendan said hoarsely. “Christ, I didn’t stand a chance, did I?”

  With a sympathetic pout, she gave his shaft a tight pump. And another one. Waited until his eyes started to glaze over, then she dragged her tongue up the meaty underside of him, closed her mouth over the velvet helmet on top. Making her tongue flat and stiff, she teased the salty slit, the sensitive ridges, before tunneling him in deep, deep, right up to the point where tears pricked her eyelids. God, he pulsed on her tongue, great, quick surges
of life that her femininity started to echo, making her groan around his hard flesh.

  “Goddamn, baby, that mouth,” he groaned, one of his hands fisting her hair, urging her faster, even as he barked, “Stop. Stop. I’m going to come.”

  Piper let him slide from her mouth with a swirl of her tongue, her right hand working him, thickening him with every stroke of her fist. Yeah, he wasn’t going to last much longer, and there was something so hot about it. How much he’d needed the relief. “Where do you want to give it to me?” she whispered, taking his sac in her hand and juggling him gently, leaning in to curl her tongue around the purpling tip. “Anywhere you want, Captain.”

  “Fuck,” he gritted out, his thighs starting to vibrate. Instead of answering her pretty, pressing question, he closed his eyes, nostrils flaring as he took in a drag of air. “No.”

  Then the unexpected happened.

  Right on the verge of his well-deserved orgasm, Brendan surged forward, wrapping his hands around her waist and lifting her up onto the dining room table. She teetered, dizzy from the rapid ascent, but she snapped back to reality when Brendan dropped to his own knees and stripped off his shirt. “Ohhh,” she said in slow motion. “Heyyy, looook aaaat thaaaat.”

  Dude was yoked.

  She’d known, on some level, that Brendan was built like a motherfucker. His arms always tested the seams of his sweatshirts, his chest ridged with muscle, but she’d been unaware of the definition. The chiseled planes of his pecs ended in a tight drop-off; then it was a mountain range of abs. But not the obnoxious kind. They had meat on them. And hair. All of him did. He looked like a real man who worked in the wild, because that’s exactly what he was. And not a single tattoo, which was so Brendan, it made her throat feel weird. Of course he wouldn’t want to deal with the fuss of all that or waste his time getting one done.

  Come back to earth, Piper.

  “Wait, I was . . .” She pointed at his erection. “You were—”

  “Don’t worry about me,” he rasped, dragging her to the edge of the table. “Open your thighs and let me see it, Piper.”

  Her inner walls clenched, delighting in his bluntness. “But—”

  “You think I’m going to get sucked off and leave town for two weeks? Not going to happen. You’re getting off, baby, or nobody is getting off.”

  As if on autopilot, her thighs squeaked wide on the table. Oh, this wasn’t good. She didn’t even know which part of her was in command. Her head, her heart, her lady business. Or maybe they all were, three bitches hitting the switches of her control panel. She only knew Brendan needed to stop revealing positive sides of himself.

  Now they were adding generous to the mix?

  The hem of her delicate dress in his boat captain’s hands made her whimper. He lifted it, and God only knew what he was seeing. Her thong was sheer to begin with, but she’d never been this wet in her ever-loving life. Not to mention, his impatient hands on her butt had tugged it askew.

  He stared hard at her juncture, the grip on her knees flexing, a curse issuing unsteadily from his mouth. “Yeah, I have to be an idiot leaving you without my attention for two weeks.”

  She panted. “Are you calling me high maintenance?”

  “Are you denying it?” He tugged aside the strip of material shielding her core, which thankfully she’d waxed clean as a whistle right before leaving LA. “Fuck me. You can be as high maintenance as you want, honey. But I’m the only one who does the maintenance.” He ran his thumb down the seam of her sex. “Understood?”

  Piper nodded, as if in a trance.

  What was the use of saying no? At least this one verbal agreement was about sex. Nothing emotional. And she wasn’t going to pretend like someone in this town might come along and interest her even a fraction of the amount that Brendan did. She might have to travel pretty far to find that, come to think of it.

  His lips ghosted up her inner thigh, blunt fingers hooking in the sides of her panties. “Lift up,” he rumbled, nipping at her sensitive skin with his teeth. “Want them off.”

  Oh great. His voice could get even deeper? It resonated all the way up to her clit, and she fell back on her elbows, inching her hips up enough for Brendan to peel the thong down her legs. She watched this man, who grew more exciting by the moment, expecting him to drop the underwear on the floor. He wrapped the thin black material around his shaft instead, pressing his mouth and nose up against her wetness, groaning as he choked himself up and down in a tight fist.

  “Holy . . .” Piper breathed, momentarily blacking out.

  “See this, baby?” He rubbed his mouth side to side, parting the damp folds of her femininity, that hand jerking roughly between his thighs. “You’re still getting me off, too.”

  When had her back hit the table?

  One second she was looking down at Brendan’s head, the next she was staring wide-eyed up at the ceiling. Brendan’s tongue snaked down slowly through the valley of her sex, and her fingers clawed their way into his hair, the move involuntary, but if he stopped, if he stopped, she was going to die.

  “Good, Piper. Pull me in tight. Show me how bad you want my tongue.”

  No no no. His voice was like sandpaper now. Could she come from that baritone alone?

  “Brendan.” She lifted her legs, hooked them over his shoulders, earning a growl, another rough jerk of her hips to the edge of the table. “Please, please. Please.”

  She’d never begged for anything sexual in her life. Especially not oral. Men always made it seem like they were doing a woman a favor. Or maybe she’d just been detached and projecting an explanation that would keep her that way. She couldn’t remain detached now, and this . . . oh, it was definitely not a hardship for Brendan—and he let her know it. His forearm came down on her hips, pinning them to the table, and he growled into that second lick, dragging the tip over her clit, teasing it, the rippling flex of his shoulder telling Piper that his hand was moving feverishly just out of sight. With the use of her panties.

  He was the most consistent man she’d ever met, and she thanked God for that now because he sealed his upper lip to the very top of her slit, his tongue never quitting or changing pace. It was perfect, perfect, lavishing her swelling clit with friction and pressure, and she was actually going to get there because of it. Oh my God, she was going to have an orgasm. Like a real, authentic orgasm. She wasn’t going to fake it to stroke his ego. This was happening.

  “Please don’t stop, Brendan. It’s perfect. It’s . . . oh God, oh Jesus.”

  Her thighs started to tremor uncontrollably, and she could see nothing but sparks dancing in front of her eyes. The fingers she’d plowed into his hair drew him closer, legs wrapping around his head, her hips lifting, seeking, lower body twisting. And she still didn’t dislodge him from that magical spot, and maybe he was Jesus. She didn’t know. Knew nothing but the intense pleasure bearing down on her. But then he took his forearm off her hips and pressed the heel of his hand to her weeping entrance and rotated it—hard—and she screamed. She fucking screamed. And she didn’t stop when he slid a thick finger inside of her, searched and found her G-spot, adding firm pressure.

  She climaxed. Which was a pitiful word for traveling to a distant plane where fairies danced and gumdrops rained from the sky. When her back protested, she realized it had arched off the table involuntarily. She stared at her elevated hips in a daze, the endless relief coursing through her, tightening her muscles and letting them go. Wow. Oh wow.

  Brendan moved over her slumped body, and his face, it was almost unrecognizable for the lust bracketing his mouth, the fever making his eyes bright. That huge part of him was still hard, his hand twisting up and down the length, one side of her panties wrapped around his shaft, the other around his fist. “Can I rub it here, baby?” Brendan rasped the question, his bare chest heaving, a fine sheen of sweat on those work-honed muscles. “Just want to rub it where I made you come.”

  “Yes.”

  He all but fell on her, his fa
ce landing in the crook of her neck, his fist positioning his stiffness between her thighs, right over that uber-sensitive flesh. “One day soon, Piper, I’m going to fuck you so goddamn hard.” He alternated between dragging his swollen tip through her saturated folds and stroking himself. “Going to fuck the word ‘friend’ right out of your beautiful mouth. You’ll forget how to say anything but my name. Real quick, honey.”

  Her clit hummed again, unbelievably, and that buzz of connection, of more promised pleasure had to be the reason she turned her head slightly, whispering in his ear, “Promise?”

  With a strangled growl of her name, he hit his peak, shooting moisture onto her belly, his hand moving in a blur, his teeth bared against the side of her throat. “Piper. Piper.”

  The power, the exhilaration of Brendan saying her name as he orgasmed was so incredible, she couldn’t hold still. She raked her tongue up and down his straining neck, rubbed the insides of her thighs up and down his heaving rib cage, scraped her fingernails over his shoulders and down his back. When his heavy body collapsed on her, she kept going, some instinct she’d never had before urging her to soothe, to whisper words of praise that she actually, literally meant. She could have laid there straight through to tomorrow, just existing under the reassuring weight of him—and that complacency brought back her senses.

  Okay, they gave good sex.

  Or . . . almost sex, anyway.

  Better than any actual intercourse she’d ever had, though. By leaps and bounds.

  Because you like him. A lot. For who he is, not what he can do for you.

  That realization smacked her hard in the face. God. She’d never thought of her past actions in those terms before, but they fit. Shallow. So shallow. Who was she to accept the sweet gestures this man offered? He should have waited to take his wedding ring off for some selfless local girl who would be content waving him off to sea for the rest of her life.