by Karina Halle
“Oh, fuck,” Brigs gasps against my neck, his hands dropping to the small of my waist and pulling himself deeper into me. “Fuck. Natasha.”
My name has never sounded so good.
Meanwhile, my body is still adjusting to his size, feeling absolutely stretched and full. Thank god I’m drenched.
He pulls back—so fucking deliberate, like he’s trying to feel every centimeter—and I’m ravenous.
I’m crazed.
An animal.
I need more.
Crave more.
My hands move to his shoulders, and I dig them into his skin, wanting all of him.
As Brigs pushes back in, I expand around him, accepting him as if he’s always belonged in me, as if he’s always been home. The connection between us is tight and frightening, and the intimacy is nearly too much for my heart to swallow. Our eyes dance with each other, glancing through lowered lashes, through the sweat and haze, searing deep and then moving on to other parts. He takes in my mouth like a glass of water, and the carnality in his gaze snaps a million strings inside me.
He murmurs my name again, his voice sliding over me like rough silk, and I am enraptured by his surrendering, his pleasure, lost in the hot, ragged draw of his breath against my skin and his raw grunts in my ear.
I can’t believe this is happening.
Brigs McGregor.
Inside me.
I’m on his desk.
Being thoroughly fucked by a man I had only dreamed about.
How we’ve gone from what we were then to what we are now…to this.
This.
This.
This.
This is unlike anything I’ve felt in this world. This is holding fire and stars and electricity in your burning hands. This is magic and light running through your veins, a switch being turned on, turning you into everything primal and basic and real.
This is us.
The desk starts to move underneath me. An earthquake of his doing. My legs grip him harder. I reach down and shrug his toned, round ass between my hands, pulling him into me. His grunts are hoarser now, loud from lust, and I still can’t believe this is my reality, that this is my funny, handsome, charming Brigs, and he’s so deep inside me I can’t breathe. I can’t do anything but hold on.
His pace becomes frantic. The desk squeaks as it moves across the floor. A drop of hot sweat rolls off his brow and onto my collarbone. His lungs gasp with exertion, because this is a workout to fuck me like this, so fast, so deep, so thorough.
I never want it to end.
Then his hand slips between my legs, his thumb finding my clit, and now I’m frantically chasing my release until I’m at its mercy, on the edge, ready to fall.
I groan loudly.
I’m opening, I’m opening, I’m opening, legs falling apart, wider and wider.
I’m coming.
I’m coming.
I’m…
And then I’m off like a bomb.
Crying unintelligible words.
My body convulses violently, spasming around him.
It’s so good, it’s too good.
I never want anything else. Anyone else.
Just this, this, this.
Him.
All the time.
His neck cranes, head back, jaw tense as he grinds his teeth together. He comes, and I watch with a sense of relief and wonderment that I’m doing this to him. His face is pinched in a mix of rapture and anguish, and he’s swearing in a low guttural voice, his grip on my hips so hard I think he’s going to leave plum-colored bruises.
“Fuck,” he swears as he slows his pumping. He’s shaking. I’m shaking. His eyes flit over my body in a daze, sex-soaked and spent. I stare up at him, and it’s like looking through a dream.
It hits me slowly, like dissipating smoke, what exactly we’ve done and what it means to me. I hate how sex can complicate things. I hate how it sometimes causes feelings to erupt where there were no feelings.
But I know that’s not the case with us. We came upon each other with raw emotions still intact, maybe buried, maybe not, but they were deep and vibrant and waiting. All of our feelings—at least all of my feelings—have a firm root in the ground, and now that we’ve had sex—we’ve had sex—and he’s been inside of me, we’ve experienced each other in a way I never ever thought possible. Everything is heightened.
And yet I know it’s coming from somewhere. I know it’s valid. And that’s scary. That’s terrifying.
He pulls out of me, and I’m immediately hollow. I want to keep him inside. My terror builds as he retreats, brow furrowed as he slips the condom off, and I want reassurance that the world isn’t ending. I need to feel that this wasn’t a one-time fling, that I’m not alone and adrift. The urge for his contact is unbearable.
Brigs throws the condom in the trash and stares down at me in a mix of worry and amazement.
“Hey,” he says gently, his voice thick. He reaches down and slowly pulls me up by my waist and shoulders like I’m a ragdoll. His longer fingers press against my cheeks as he holds me in place, searching my eyes. “Are you okay?”
I can’t speak. I can only swallow, though it’s like bread crusts are lodged in my throat. I nod.
He rubs his lips together, looking worried. I don’t want him to be worried, I don’t want him to regret anything.
“Natasha,” he says softly. “If…I didn’t want to complicate things. I’m so sorry if—”
I clear my throat. “No,” I tell him, my hands curling over his biceps. “It’s not that. I’m just…it’s a lot to take.” He frowns, pained, and I quickly add, “In a good way. I’m just…overcome. By everything.”
He nods and rests his forehead against mine, still damp with sweat. “I don’t want you to regret anything. I feel like I’ve been waiting my whole entire life for what just happened.”
“Was it worth it?”
“Darling, yes,” he whispers, kissing me softly. “The last thing I want is to lose you again, not when I’ve finally had you.” He strokes the side of my cheek and stares at me imploringly. “Tell me that meant something to you.”
“It meant everything to me,” I whisper. “I don’t even know how to come down.”
The corner of his mouth quirks up in a smile. I can’t believe I have permission to kiss that mouth. Impulsively, I lay my lips on his then laugh giddily. He grips my face harder, blessing me with that wide, gorgeous smile of his, and in his eyes I see joy. Pure, beautiful joy.
Then a knock at the door.
Both of us jump, eyeing each other with our breaths in our throats.
I had closed the door, but it isn’t locked.
“Just one minute, please,” Brigs barks, his voice cracking.
We frantically try and get dressed. I only have my jeans on, and he only has his shirt and underwear when he motions for me to get behind the door.
I quickly scurry over, flattening myself against the wall, while he positions himself behind the door so that when he opens it, the person on the other side can’t see anything but his face and a hint of his upper body.
He gives me a look, warning me to be quiet, and then slowly opens the door a crack, poking his head out.
“Yes?” he says. His voice is so calm and smooth it’s hard to imagine what had just happened.
“Sorry to bug you.” For fuck’s sake, it’s Melissa’s voice. “I was wondering if you had a moment to help me with the upcoming tutorial.”
Brigs’ whole manner stiffens.
I hold my breath.
“I’m busy at the moment.” He says this so harshly I wonder if it’s because he’s caught off-guard or if he doesn’t like Melissa.
“Doing what?” she asks. I don’t like the tone of her voice. It’s too prying, too casual.
“I’ll see you in class,” he says and immediately shuts the door, locking it. He leans against it, his head hanging down, taking in a deep breath. I don’t say anything, not yet, not until I’m sure she’s gone.
&nbs
p; If he contacts you, I’ll report him, Melissa had said. Just how serious was she? I don’t want to find out.
After what feels like an eternity, Brigs moves away from the door, and my eyes focus on his taut thighs peeking out from beneath his dress shirt. The show ends when he yanks his pants back on, his brow furrowed in thought and worry.
“Is she gone?” I whisper.
He nods. “I hope so.”
“Does she come by here often?”
He opens his mouth to say something, then rubs his lips together for a second. “How well do you know your friend?” he asks.
I blink at him, caught off-guard. “As well as anyone. She’s not exactly complicated.”
He gives me a look of mild disbelief. “Very well.”
“Why?”
He shakes his head. “No reason.” He walks over to the desk and moves it back where it was. The place before he fucked the hell out of me on it.
Jesus.
I still can’t believe we did that. On his desk. That it happened at all. But I still feel raw from where he was pounding me, and the skin all over my body feels worn and bruised. I know I’m already different, lit up from the inside like a hot, glowing mess.
But…now what?
Brigs clears his throat, absently looking down at his desk. “Would you be interested in coming over tonight?” His eyes flit to mine, a shy smile on his lips. “Maybe have some drinks at the bar beforehand?”
I grin at him, completely charmed. “Of course.”
To say I’m giddy would be an understatement. I’m aware of what just happened between us, but the fear that it wouldn’t turn into more has always been skirting around the back of my head. Being with Brigs has the ability to become a full-on addiction, but this shouldn’t surprise me. All those years ago I was drawn—pulled—into his office like he was the moon and I was the sea at the mercy of my wild tides. Now that sex has been thrown into the mix, I’m not sure how I’ll even survive it.
You might not, a voice inside my head warns. Think of your therapist. Think of what Brigs is to you. Protect yourself.
But it’s already too fucking late.
“Do you think it’s safe for me to go outside?” I ask him, even though it’s at least been five minutes. “Or does Melissa stalk you like I do?”
He doesn’t smile at that which puts my hackles up for a moment. Then he nods slowly. “You’re fine. See you at The Volunteer at seven?”
“See you then,” I tell him, heading for the door.
“Wait,” he says.
He strides across the room with his long legs and grabs my arm, pulling me around and to him, his eyes simmering before he kisses me.
Brigs’ kisses render me obsolete, a hot breeze that threatens to sweep me up and away, to where nothing else matters but us.
“You sure make it hard for a girl to leave,” I tell him breathlessly as he pulls away.
He smirks. “Good.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Brigs
I can scarcely believe that happened.
One minute I was in my office, alone, licking my wounds, the next I was deep inside Natasha, fucking her on my desk.
Absolutely fucking her.
I don’t think I’ve ever been as wild and relentless as I was with her, which doesn’t surprise me considering how I used to feel about her. I would have thought there would be a cloud of guilt hanging over my head, telling me we can’t and that we shouldn’t. Any and all guilt was absolved the moment she said, “Kiss me.”
Of course some guilt threatens to raise its head, waiting to come out and play, as it always does. It tells me that I can move on, with anyone but her.
But I only want her.
And I’ve always only wanted her.
I guess that’s where most of my fear lies. Because with Natasha this isn’t a fling and this isn’t a casual relationship. I was mad for her before, and I’ll surely lose myself again if I haven’t already.
I mean, it’s been only a few hours since I was inside of her in my office and it’s not enough. It will never be enough. I watched her walk out of my door and I immediately felt muted and curiously frightened, as if something dire would happen to her between the time she left my office and the time I’d see her again at the bar. Maybe because I know what it’s like to lose so much, it makes the stakes that much higher. The threat of having to go through it all again. Fate might have a target on my back now, loss attracting loss.
But thinking that way won’t help anything, so I do my best to bury my fears and get on with my day.
Naturally, my thoughts turn to Natasha at every moment.
The way her lips parted when the passion was too much.
The liquid gaze of her sex-fed eyes.
The little sounds that escaped her mouth, breathless and raw, as she came.
The memory of our naked, sweaty bodies together taints me and I can feel it with everything I do.
I had been with a few girls before Miranda, and it had never been like that. I’ve had my fair share of passion with Miranda too, especially just after our wedding.
That hadn’t been like that either.
What Natasha and I shared surpasses all expectations and dreams. It’s difficult for me to wax poetic about it without sounding flowery or clichéd. But I guess the word transcendent could work, even though a single word could never say enough. I doubt all the words could.
At six, I get ready, throwing on jeans, a t-shirt and my jacket, checking myself out in the mirror before I head across the street to the pub.
It turns out I’m nervous as fuck. It makes no bloody sense, all things considered, but it’s the truth. I nod to Max and take my usual seat at the bar.
“Alone tonight?” Max asks as he pours me a pint.
“For now,” I tell him.
“Same broad?” he asks, his eyes twinkling.
I take the beer from him and give him a wry look. “Broad? Are we in the 1950s? Same woman, yes.”
“Good,” he says. “I was starting to think you were going to be sitting alone here forever.”
I cock my brow. Max and I have a strictly bartender-patron relationship, but he does know about Miranda and Hamish. My second night in the bar we got to talking, and when people ask about my past, if I have a family, I’m not one to hold back. I don’t give them a lot, but I give them enough to know the truth.
“We’ll see,” I tell him, ever so cautious.
“Nah,” he says loudly, with a big smile that shows his canines. “You know I’m an expert in love.”
“Just because you’re a bartender…”
“Yeah, a bartender, of course,” he says, leaning across the bar. “But I was also a celebrant. A humanist. I still am.”
I look Max up and down, nearly spitting out my beer. Max has got to be in his late fifties, with a big beer belly, straggly grey hair and a mustache that looks like it’s been ripped off the face of Groucho Marx. He looks more like a grizzled old roadie than he does a celebrant.
“You mean you married people?”
“Yes. Those who weren’t religious or who wanted a wedding outside. People would do their paperwork with the register office, but then the ceremony was performed by me. It was my gig long before taking over this place. I brought people together back then, and, well, I hear their troubles now,” he adds with a laugh before his expression turns serious. “So believe me when I say I’ve seen a lot of couples.”
How pathetic is it that I want him to continue on about me and Natasha?
“You’ve known her from before,” he notes.
I nod. “Yes. A few years ago.”
“I can tell that, too.”
I fold my hands in front of me. “What else can you tell?”
He grins at me like he’s holding all the cards. “I can tell she’s in love with you.”
His words send my heart spinning. I shake my head, unwilling to believe it for a second. “I don’t think so.”
“She loved you once.
That doesn’t go away.”
“And how do you know she loved me once?”
He shrugs with one shoulder, looking around the pub. “It’s a skill possessed by whoever isn’t the one in love. You can’t see it until you’re outside of it. And unfortunately, when you’re outside of it, you’re often too late.”
He was right. But the years held too much shame and bitterness for me to ever indulge whether Natasha had truly loved me or not. Here though—now—I know she did.
I know I did, too.
And I know those feelings are rising again, becoming a hard truth once more. There would be no gradual ascent for us. My feelings won’t slowly trickle into something. They’ll leap all at once, like lemmings over a cliff. With no regard for the future or pain or even if Natasha feels the same way. I’ll go over and hope the freefall lasts longer than my years.
I take a swig of my beer and sigh. “You say love doesn’t go away. What if it was burned to ashes?”
“Well. Love is fire,” he says simply, cocking his head. “And fire rises. It creates the ashes. And it rises above them. Just like any man can come out of something that should have buried him, love can too.”
I frown at him, utterly puzzled by this particular man. “Max, Max, Max, I hardly knew ye. A bartender and a celebrant and a poet all in one.”
“Yeah, well, don’t tell anyone,” he says. “And don’t write off my philosophy just because it’s coming from my mouth. You know it’s true. You want love again, well you’ve got it. She’s walking in the door, mate.”
His eyes dart to the doorway, and I whip around in my seat to see Natasha walking in.
I’m not sure the feeling of weightlessness in my chest is ever going to get old. The blood rushing to my dick certainly won’t.
Natasha sees me and smiles. Everything about her just lights up the room, and I’m surprised she’s not turning heads, people wondering where the glow is coming from. This rare and gorgeous creature is smiling at me, for me, walking toward me.
I’ll do anything to make her mine.
Keep her mine.
Anything.
Bloody hell, that’s such a terrifying thought when you realize the depth of it.
“Hi,” she says, stopping beside me.