by Lex Martin
My t-shirt has slid up and rests just below my breasts, which comes to his attention as he tickles my side.
He pauses, his green eyes traveling down my body.
If I thought his expression was intense before, it’s a volcanic eruption now. And there’s no doubt how much he wants me as his thick bulge presses against my hip.
“You excited to see me?” I ask, out of breath.
He slides his other leg over and wedges himself fully between my thighs and rasps, “You have no fucking idea.”
Here I am, stretched out beneath him, completely at his mercy. I’m panting, from being tickled or wrestling with him or being so turned on, I think I might die. And I need relief. Now.
So I undulate my hips beneath him to feel that bulge and smile when he groans and drops his head to my neck. I’m rewarded with a hot, open-mouthed kiss along my jaw.
I close my eyes and arch my back, needing more friction. His hand slides under my t-shirt and pinches my nipple before he tugs it.
“Yes,” I gasp, wrapping my ankles behind his back. Those strong hips move against mine in a dirty rhythm that makes me see stars. Through his thin track pants, I can feel everything. His thickness. His length. The ridge of his cock.
I feel myself blushing all the way down to my roots. Cock. Because that is certainly what’s pulsing against me. My skin burns as I wonder what it would feel like in my hand. How he’d feel against my tongue. How he’d taste.
A moan escapes my lips as he kneads my breast. I want to tell him how wet I am right now, how he’s the only one to make me this way—a wanton little sex maniac who’s willing to give it up without a promise for anything in return. But I don’t because I’m not quite that brave.
He rises up so we’re nose to nose. His lips are close, so close to mine, but he makes no move to kiss me as he grinds his length between my thighs and flicks his thumb over my taut nipple.
Freaking tease - he wants to play this game? I can dish it out too.
I smirk as I lick my lips. Slowly. Arching into him, I work one wrist out of his hold and tangle my fingers through his hair. His eyes darken as I lower my hand to hold his jaw and brush my mouth against him. Once, twice, and then I lick the seam of his lips.
The groan he releases is music to my ears. And then his mouth crashes down to mine.
We kiss, and it’s frantic, all gasps and lips and tongues. After a moment, I yank on his shirt, and we part to strip out of our clothes until I’m left in my boy shorts and he’s in his track pants. And then he’s back on me.
But before his lips descend on mine, he pauses and looks me over. I half think he’s changed his mind again, which means I might have to strangle him, but he levels me with a stare. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
I hate the indecision in his eyes. Hate that he isn’t as consumed by the moment as I am and has the presence of mind to ask that question.
Damn him for not being more wound up. Because I want him to give in to this attraction that’s been building between us from the moment he stepped into this house.
So I go for broke, whispering words that I’ve never before uttered. “Yes, Brady, I’m pretty sure I want you to fuck me.”
His nostrils flare, and then his hand winds into my hair, yanking until I feel a bite of pain, to hold me still as he presses his mouth to mine like he’s finally claiming me.
32
Brady
She tastes like sugar and spice and my own wicked fantasy.
I could hear her reacting to the game I was watching through our shared wall. What I couldn’t figure out was why she’d rather watch it alone than with me.
It’s been hard to resist her this week—telling her no all the while wanting to make her scream yes.
My resistance was hanging by a thread. Especially once it looked like she accepted the fact I wasn’t going to make a move.
Because, yeah, I want her to want me. And yeah, I get that this makes me an asshole.
But coming in here and finding her sweet ass on display in those hotter-than-hell booty shorts had me instantly hard. And when she decided to unleash that smart mouth on me? Game over.
And goddamn. She feels good.
I’m nestled between her legs, mulling over the genius of these thin track pants I’m wearing. Because right now, my cock feels like a heat-seeking missile homed in on the warmth of her pussy.
One that I know is bare except for a small triangular strip.
She arches, her soft curves fitting to my hard lines, and I wish the lights were on and not just her ancient TV set so I could see her beautiful body. Her breasts are pebbled against my chest, and with every thrust, they bounce.
I tug her hair so her head tilts over, and I bury my nose against her skin. This scent will forever remind me of this girl. Clean, floral, sweet.
Reaching behind her, I run my hand down one of her legs, dipping underneath the crease of her thigh until it gets close to where I know she needs me. Back and forth I stroke, under the gorgeous globe of her ass until she gasps, and I grip her hair tighter.
Her panting breaths are the only thing I focus on as I gently bite her neck. I’m rewarded with an unintelligible sound from her mouth.
“Feel good, baby?”
She groans her response, and I run my finger against the hem of her boy shorts. Her legs drop open beneath me, and I hold in a chuckle. My girl wants it. But Jesus Christ, so do I.
I pause.
My girl?
Fuck.
I shake my head.
I shouldn’t be thinking this way. I shouldn’t be thinking about her so possessively.
This is wrong. We are wrong. Deep in my heart, I know I shouldn’t let this happen, but I want her too fucking badly to stop.
She arches beneath me, and that’s all it takes for my brain to shut down.
I let go of her hair to caress her breast that fills my hand so exquisitely my cock throbs.
Dipping down, I lick and suck and tease her dusky pink nipple, and her hands dig into my hair. And then I move my hips back so I can reach between us where I find her soaked underwear. I slide them down, pulling up on my knees so I can tug her panties off her leg.
At that moment, the TV brightens the room and I take in her arched back. Those beautiful plump breasts. Her trim waist and lean thighs. Those glistening lips between her legs.
“You’re beautiful, Katherine.”
Her hazy eyes open, and she gives me a shy smile.
Fucking hell. This girl. Equal parts vixen and virgin. Though I know she’s not really a virgin, I can’t escape the vulnerability in her expression.
It’s a look I’ve seen on her face all week.
And then I say something I probably shouldn’t. “You know I want you, right?” Because the last thing I want is her thinking my resistance had anything to do with her or her beauty or intelligence. She’s grade-A girlfriend material. I’d be a lucky asshole to be dating her back home.
Her eyes close briefly while her smile widens.
I fight the urge to kiss her because while she should know how much I want her, I know I need to minimize any tenderness. We agreed that this is fucking. Fucking I can do. Making love, though, is off the table, and if I kiss her right now and give in to the way I want to hold her, I think we’d both walk away confused.
Ignoring the twinge of guilt in my chest for taking something that can never ultimately be mine, I lower myself to her warm body. Fucking will have to do.
33
Katherine
Something changes in Brady. It’s like the moment he realizes he’s being vulnerable with me, the shutters come down.
I want to analyze it and deconstruct everything that’s just happened, but when he takes a long, slow lick between my legs, all rational thought dissipates because…
It.
Feels.
So.
Good.
He grips my thighs, pressing me wider and into my bed while his wicked tongue strokes and so
othes the painful pulse.
All I can hear are my panting breaths and the sound of him licking. It sounds so dirty. So illicit.
When I glance down and see his dark head of hair between my thighs and those powerful arms, colored and swirled in ink, wrapped around my legs, I want to sing a hallelujah chorus.
Because I need to drown out the negative thoughts about how this will never work. How he’s leaving. How we’re too different to be together.
I’m a pale canvas next to his tattoos. Something about our juxtaposition makes me feel bland. Like I’m whatever nameless piece of art that’s mounted next to the Mona Lisa. I’m a little girl from Texas, and he’s this beautiful tattoo artist from Boston. He’s edgy and biting and brisk, and I’m all Southern hospitality and polite welcomes.
Except nothing about my legs dangling open on either side of his face is polite.
My breath catches in my chest. God, I love the fact that he gave in to this.
That’s what I need to do. Give in. Live in the moment for once and enjoy this fling.
Because that’s all we’ll ever be. A fling.
And when he pushes two thick fingers into me, that’s exactly what I do. Give in.
His tongue swipes at the pulse between my legs, and it’s all I can do to hold in a scream. I toss my arm over my mouth and writhe on my bed. His hand grips my thigh tighter while he works me over. Until I’m gasping and tightening and pulsing against him.
“Oh, my God,” I gasp, turning my face into my pillow. “Fuck. Fuck. It feels too good. Stop.”
But I don’t want him to stop. And he doesn’t. Just softens his touch as I come down.
I’m basking in the warm glow of the best orgasm of my life when he collapses next to me and pulls me to him.
I expect him to throw on a condom and start pounding into me, but he doesn’t. Instead, he lazily strokes my hair.
Closing my eyes, I toss my leg over his and snuggle against him. In the background, behind the gentle hum of the rain coming from the baby monitor, the football game ends, but I couldn’t care less who won.
His arms wrap around me and he rests his cheek against my forehead.
My heart squeezes, wanting to let myself feel for him. It’s easy to feel for Brady.
But I remind myself that’s not what he wants. Or needs, not with everything he has going on right now.
So I do my best to stamp out my emotions. And then I pull myself up over him.
His eyes open as his hands lift to my hips. I want to squirm with the way he watches me. I’m stark naked and he’s still wearing track pants, but the slow sweep of his attention over my body makes my tummy flutter.
I drop down to kiss him, and as my tongue slips between his lips, he moans. I can taste myself on him, which makes me wonder how he’ll taste.
“Can I reciprocate this time?” I whisper against his mouth.
A laugh escapes him. “You’d better. My dick has been pissed at me all week.”
I snicker as I nuzzle against his neck. “Hmm. Well, we can’t have that.” I mark a path down his body with kisses and licks, stopping to appreciate his deliciously cut abs that lead to the promised land.
When I press my lips to his lower stomach, I pause to stare at the wall of tattoos in front of me, wishing there was more light so I could appreciate his ink. Later. I’ll definitely have to look later.
An appreciative grunt rumbles in his chest when I rub him through his thin track pants.
I look up and pause when I realize he’s watching me, which makes me feel the urge to put on a show. Because I want this to be the best hookup of his life.
So rather than pull down his pants, I lean down and stretch the fabric taut over his erection and run my tongue slowly across his length.
His thighs tense beneath me, and I glance up in time to see him clench his jaw and groan, “Fuck, that was hot.”
I smile as I hook my thumbs in his pants and tug them down. His length surges upward and bobs between us.
Whoa, he’s hung. I mean, I knew he was packing something serious, but it’s different to be up close and personal.
That pulse starts again between my legs as I take him in my hand and squeeze. My fingers barely make it around and at the base don’t even touch.
That’s gonna hurt.
A sick part of me gets excited.
With both hands tight at his root, I lick up that vein, shuddering at the thought of having him in me. When I make it to the tip, I swipe my lips across his flared head. Once. Twice.
His big hand tangles through my hair and grips me tight, and I pause, my mouth resting at his tip. I can’t move, so I part my lips and swipe my tongue across him. I can feel him watching me as I lick slowly before running my lips across his swollen crown.
He’s the tiniest bit salty on my tongue and smells like his bath gel and clean male.
I glance up and feel a heated rush from how Brady’s eyes are lasered in on what I’m doing. As if he realizes how tightly he’s holding my hair, he lets go and presses his palm to my cheek.
I lean in, all the while, letting my mouth rub against his sensitive skin.
“Jesus Christ, Katherine,” he grunts as he juts his hips forward slightly.
My breath is a faint flutter in my chest to see him this turned on. And I want to feed the fire. So I whisper against his cock, “Go ahead. Pull my hair,” just before I take him in my mouth.
Those fingers tangle in my tresses again, but he doesn’t hold me down, just lets me bob up and down in his lap, at times tensing and groaning.
After a few minutes, I let him slide out with a pop.
I work my jaw back and forth and grin. “You’re, um, more than a mouthful.”
His chest rumbles with a laugh.
Rising up on my knees, I rest my hands on his broad shoulders. His hands immediately fall to my thighs and pull me against him.
“Condom?” I ask, feeling a little out of breath.
Please, dear baby Jesus, let him have a condom.
He scrubs his face and groans. “The other room. Hang tight.” He scoots out from under me and I watch his muscular ass saunter out of the room.
I stare at the baby monitor and send up another prayer to let Izzy sleep. Which feels all kinds of sacrilegious. Here I am, praying for condoms and uninterrupted sex.
When he strides in, my eyes eat him up. His lean, cut muscles. That beautiful canvas of color on his arms and chest. His manhood jutting proudly between muscular legs.
If you were to ask what my definition of male perfection is, I would point to Brady Shepherd because he is downright breathtaking.
I know it seems stupid to feel so wrapped up in this cloud of lust—which clearly this is—but when I combine it with what I know about him, how great he is with his niece and how much he loves his family, something else blooms in my chest, an emotion I’m too afraid to label.
He stands in front of me, and I tilt my head up to smile. As he stares down, half of his hair falls over his face, and the other half sits at right angles from me yanking on it.
I fight to hold in my grin. Be sexy, Kat. Don’t laugh at the man’s hair.
When I hold out my hand, he grins and steps closer until his big, proud dick bobs in my palm. “Hi, I’m Brady. It’s nice to meet you.”
Laughter spills from my lips. “Oh, my God. I was asking for the condom.”
His lips pull up higher. “Ask and ye shall receive.” He drops the foil package next to me.
I tear it open and roll the latex over his velvety hard muscle. Doing this feels so personal. Like this, whatever this is between us, is so much more than we’re both saying.
Brady motions for me to scoot up the bed, and I shake my head. I get up and motion for him to lie down.
His eyebrow lifts. “Wanna ride me, huh?”
“Like a bronco.” I lick my lips. “This is Texas after all.”
He laughs and collapses on the bed before folding his arms behind his head.
My eyes slide slowly over him. I want to remember the way his hair falls over his right temple. The way his lips ghost a smile. How his beautiful body, cast in shadows, reclines on my bed.
I straddle his lap, enjoying how that hint of a smile disappears when I slide my wet core across him. Those strong hands move down to grab my rear and pull me closer.
Tilting my hips, I rub harder, loving the grunt of approval that escapes him.
And then I open my mouth because I can’t help it. “So you’re sure you’re not gonna bail on me this time?”
I watch for his response as I glide up and down.
“Fuck no.” His grip on my thighs tightens.
Thank God. Because if he leaves this time, I might actually die.
Biting my lip, I angle him toward my entrance. And then I’m sinking, down, down, down.
My head falls back because I can’t breathe as he stretches me.
Wow.
I’m too full, but it’s so good.
He’s thick and hard and hitting all the right spots when I begin to slide up and back down again, taking a little bit more of him each time.
“You feel amazing,” he groans.
I arch my back as I take him all the way. His calloused hands grip my breasts and knead me as I begin to bounce up and down on his lap.
Oh, my God. Yes.
Faster and faster and harder and harder I go, loving how his hands are everywhere—my breasts, my ass, my hips. Tangled in my hair. Toying with my nipples.
But when his hand dips down between us, the contact jolts me. I lean back and grip his thighs to give him more room to touch me. And let’s be honest, to give him a better show.
If I’m basing anything on the feral look in his eyes, I’m doing a darn good job.
His attention is trained between my legs, and I undulate my hips, lifting up just enough so he can see what he’s doing to me. It doesn’t take long before that pressure builds.
“I’m about to come all over you,” I gasp, too far gone to care how wanton that sounds.
He lets out a choked laugh. “Jesus, you’re hot when you talk like that.”