by Kim Karr
The other man?
That makes me want to laugh a little. Landon is not “the other man.” I mean, I just met him. Although I suppose in Brooklyn’s eyes, after what happened before dinner, it might appear that he is.
And then there’s the “do this.” Do this? I guess as in fuck, and not just once. Even more thrilled by this thought, my pulse starts to race.
We haven’t really discussed what would come after sex; we both just intuitively knew we would end up here. With the days of looks, the flirting, and the sexual tension, it was inevitable.
This ultimatum of sorts, though, I was not expecting. He is referring to Landon, of course. And no, what he’s asking for isn’t unfair.
The answer is more difficult. Am I willing to give up someone who could be my Mr. Right for Mr. Oh-So-Wrong?
“Amelia,” he prompts, still unmoving, still acting as if he is halfway in and halfway out of the room, as if my answer will jump-start this or end it.
Realizing my gaze has fallen, I lift my eyes to meet his once again. He is gorgeous in a way a man wouldn’t normally be. Hot, sexy, and dare I say, pretty. Yet beneath the pretty, beneath the guy uncertain of how to become what he wants to be, is a man. Confident and sure of who he is, in this situation, anyway.
The choice should be easy. I’ve been searching for my Mr. Right for what seems like forever. So why am I leaning the other way? Why is Mr. Oh-So-Wrong so appealing?
Is considering a short relationship where I know the sex will be off-the-charts hot, instead of one that might be for a lifetime, certifiably insane?
Isn’t it?
Like I said, the choice should be easy. I should say no, and allow Brooklyn to become one giant ball of pissed-off alpha male and usher me right out the door.
I mean, not to be rude, but whereas Landon seems to be the boy next door, Brooklyn is the sinful bad boy. He is the one all the women go wild over for completely different reasons than they would go wild over Landon. The truth is it’s in the way he looks at you, at me—with eyes that promise pleasure like I’ve never known.
And there it is—the reason why. The reason my decision might not be what it should be. My mouth goes dry at the thought, and I lick my lips.
I’ve always made practical decisions based on what my father might think. Held back from what I wanted because I was the good girl, who did good things and made good choices.
Look at my job, for goodness sake. Every day since I started I’ve tried to convince myself I like it, but if I want to be honest with myself, I hate it.
And then look at my love life. I’ve only ever gone out with guys my father would approve of. I’ve let them wine and dine me. And after the appropriate amount of dates, I’ve had boring sex with them, where I’ve pretended to orgasm so their egos wouldn’t be damaged. And then I’d keep it going until we were both so bored out of our minds that one of us ended things.
Pathetic.
But no more.
Choosing Landon or Brooklyn will be for me.
And only me.
LIKE CRAZY
Brooklyn
Guilt is a goddamn hard thing to swallow.
With my hand on the doorknob, I wait for her answer. A no makes this whole thing go away.
No hurt feelings.
No betrayal.
In a way, it would be the easiest answer—for both of us.
She can run off into the sunset with that Prince Charming she’s dreamed about since she was ten, and I would be left to carry on the way I always have.
A rebel.
A manwhore.
A player.
A pantydropper.
A Hollywood Prince with a tarnished crown.
But fuck if that lifestyle no longer interests me. The thought of my dead-end job and the endless parade of pussy makes me want to blow my brains out right now.
Amelia looks at me, contemplating my demand.
Everything about her turns me on. Her perceived naïveté, and the sex kitten beneath it that I want desperately to explore. Her vibrancy and how contagious it is. Her beauty that makes every other woman dim in comparison. Even her smile knocks me off balance.
Without even knowing it, she’s changing my life.
Yeah, so even though a no would be easier, I don’t want easier anymore. I want her, any way she’ll have me.
Consequences be damned.
This isn’t about Cam. It’s about her and me, and this burning attraction that can’t be denied.
I raise a brow, letting her know time is running out.
Tick.
Tock.
Finally, she opens her mouth, and all I can think is . . . please say yes.
9½ WEEKS
Amelia
A word is just a word, until it changes everything.
“Yes,” I answer huskily.
Something primal enters his eyes. It makes me feel extremely vulnerable, but the sensation isn’t scary in the least; it’s exhilarating, sinful, delicious.
His hand drops from the doorknob, the gatekeeper between us, but I raise my own hand to let him know it hasn’t been fully decided yet.
He frowns, yet says nothing; he does, however, place his hand back on the doorknob, a sign to let me know for certain that he will walk away.
I push that aside and focus on moving forward. Even with the decision made, the “not sharing” rule has to be mutual. “Yes, I can,” I repeat, my voice quivering in a way I hate, “but that means you can’t be with other women either.”
Brooklyn is my age, and yet the look he gives me makes him more of a man than any guy I’ve ever been with. “That’s implied, Amelia. For as long as we fuck, we only fuck each other. If you want out, or I do, either one of us just says the word.”
I take a tentative step toward him. “And when I leave, this ends. It won’t be messy or emotional. And we don’t tell my brother, so you don’t have to worry about your relationship with him. I don’t want anything to come between the two of you, especially me.”
Perhaps agreeing, or perhaps simply deciding to stay, he lets go of the doorknob and strides toward me. Before I can say another word, he hauls me into his arms and crashes his mouth to mine.
The moan that escapes my throat isn’t on purpose. It’s just the way he runs his hands possessively up my arms to clasp my shoulders, and then upward again, to my throat, and finally to cradle my face, is so unlike any way any man has ever touched me that I lose control immediately.
The way he kisses me—as though he is starved for me, as if we’ve been forced apart by some exterior circumstances and suddenly brought back together—it’s enough to make me whimper.
I’ve been kissed by dozens of frogs, toads, and would-be princes, but never like this. Never where my toes curl and the room seems to shift sideways. Never, even in my wildest fantasies, could I have dreamed of anything like this.
It’s over the top.
Explosive.
All-consuming.
The tiniest of glimpses of what is to come.
One of his hands moves from my face to curl an arm around me, drawing me closer, anchoring me tightly against him. I can feel his hardness against my belly, his straining erection more than prominent, another promise of what is about to come.
His lips move.
His tongue strokes.
His cock pulses between us.
And we kiss and kiss and kiss, until finally he breaks our connection, his breath exploding all over me, and leaving me gasping for air.
I look up.
His blue eyes glitter. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”
I nod, tongue-tied.
His mouth moves close to mine again but doesn’t touch it. Instead, he skims my jawline, his lips just brushing my skin. “Cat got your tongue, Amelia?” he asks, nipping at my earlobe.
“No,” I manage, more hyperaware of his presence than ever.
“Talk to me. Tell me you want me as badly as I want you,” he commands in a husky voice that e
licits a full-body shiver.
“Yes, I want you,” I tell him as that shiver races across every inch of my flesh.
“Tell me you aren’t going to regret this.” This time the calm authority in his voice reassures me that I am making the right choice.
“I won’t,” I mouth, but that is not enough to ease his mind. It’s evident on his face when I pull back to look at him. Perhaps what he wants to know isn’t that I won’t be the only one who won’t regret anything. I run my hands up his chest. “You, Brooklyn, are not going to regret this,” I reassure him.
The blaze in his eyes is like an inferno. “I don’t doubt it,” he murmurs, and then he tugs on my ponytail, lifting my chin, and lowers his mouth to mine.
This time, he sips at my lips, grazing them with his teeth, nipping with just enough force that they tingle from his touch.
Somehow our hands find each other and our fingers intertwine.
My mouth remains closed as his lips work hard to coax it open. And coax it open he does when he licks between my lips in the most delicious way, leaving me desperate for his tongue. And not just in my mouth.
As if he could hear my thoughts, he breaks the kiss and looks at me. “Your mouth tastes so good. Can I taste the rest of you, too?”
I nod, incapable of words. I find my voice just enough to sigh when he slides slowly to his knees in front of me.
With his fingers hooked in the waistband of my yoga pants, he slowly slides them down inch by inch, revealing the wild zebra-print panties I bought yesterday when I went shopping. Wild, bold prints were all the store had. So unlike me, but I kind of fell in love with them and went a little crazy. I bought seven pairs with equally crazy prints.
His eyes flare as soon he sees them. There is a raw hunger in his features that appears almost primal.
An uncontrolled shiver works up my spine. My nipples harden, pressing against the lacy fabric of my new bra.
Once he gets me out of my sneakers and pants, his palms slide up the back of my calves and up higher to the back of my thighs.
My heart thumps as I try to breathe.
Again, he looks up at me; this time, though, his mouth quirks to the side. “Take your shirt off.”
Swallowing and then sucking in a deep breath, I pull my T-shirt over my head, not for a moment even considering denying him his command. “My bra, too?” I ask huskily.
His gaze is fiery as it rakes over my chest, and then he gives me a slight nod. “I want to see those nipples you’ve been teasing me with for days.”
Slowly, I reach back and unclasp my bra. The cups loosen, baring the bottoms of my breasts.
Brooklyn draws in a ragged breath. “All of it.”
Carefully, I lower my bra, allowing the straps to slide down my arms in a seductive fashion, and then let it fall to my feet, his feet.
“Beautiful.” His voice is a low growl of appreciation.
After a few moments, he closes his eyes and turns his face to kiss my bare thigh just below the lacy edge of my panties. He kisses me there the way he last kissed my mouth—teasing.
Oh, God, the feeling of his lips so close to my pussy is enough to drive me out of my mind. He’s on his knees in front of me, and still he’s the lethal one.
Sucking gently on the soft flesh of my inner thigh for only a few more seconds, soon his mouth is lifting and I feel his breath and the wetness of his mouth through the scant material of my panties.
I swallow the murmur of his name, not sure I should allow the intimacy I’m feeling to show so soon.
Brooklyn’s palms caress upward, over my ass, fingers hooking into my panties at my hips to pull them down my legs.
Breathless, I step out of them, looking down at him.
Raw heat emanates from him, and he keeps his eyes on mine as he spreads my legs wider, baring my pussy. Slowly, his gaze lowers and he seems to be devouring me with his eyes. “Fuck, you’re bare,” he growls.
Before I lose my nerve, I blurt out what I thought about texting him all day. “I haven’t been with anyone in over a year.”
His eyes are still on my private parts.
I feel the need to explain. “I wax for my own masturbation purposes. I come faster like this.”
There—my confession might be too much information, but at least it is out of the way. I haven’t had sex with a man in over a year. I hope he reads through the lines that that means I might be a bit rusty.
His eyes gleam as he looks at me. “Your pussy is going to be so tight.”
Okay, not the pity party that I was expecting.
Without another word, he runs a single finger down the center of my pussy, and then using both hands, he spreads me open, baring my most intimate flesh to the cool air in his room.
I can’t help but watch as he goes between my thighs, putting his mouth right over my clit and blowing on it.
Oh my God!
It’s like a jolt of electricity so strong I have to bite back a cry, one hand going to his head as my hips pump forward.
His tongue sweeps over my clit and he toys with it repeatedly, swirling his tongue around and then sucking at it with gentle tugs.
I rest both hands on his head and thread my fingers through his beautiful hair. Hair that is not quite brown, but not light enough to be blond, either.
The quick movement of his mouth has me gasping for breath.
For some reason, I find my eyelashes fluttering, unable to watch and feel at the same time. I fear I might topple over.
When he switches from the tip of his tongue to the flat of it, the sensation is even greater, causing desire to pool deep in my belly, spreading like fire to every part of my body with each swipe of his wet tongue.
“Sit on the edge of the bed,” he tells me.
And I gladly do.
Now I’m spreading my legs wider and I’m tilting my pussy toward him so he can have access to every part of me.
Using his hands, he holds onto my thighs and drags me even farther to the edge of the bed, exposing me even more.
I look down.
His eyes are wicked as he stares at me.
I stare back, lustful, yearning, wanting.
Lowering his mouth, this time he starts to nuzzle, licking his tongue right down to the center of my pussy.
Gasping for breath, I pop up onto my elbows to watch.
His hands are on my ass now, drawing my core to his mouth in every way.
With my body his for the taking, Brooklyn mouths my entrance, flicking his tongue expertly and then delving inside me, fucking me with his tongue.
Everything about this is new. Men have gone down on me, sure. Licked around my clit, used their fingers to fuck me and bring me to orgasm quickly. It felt good.
This is nothing like that.
This is so much more than good.
This is incredible.
This is the work of a man who knows how to bring pleasure to a woman. This is for me. To make me feel consumed, devoured, wanted. Which I really like. His mouth owns me, and it feels hot, wet, and wild.
I’m on the edge, my orgasm building quickly. As if he knows this, he slows his mouth, brushing his tongue lightly from my center back to my clit and then kissing his way back down to my center.
The sensation forces swirling heat all through me, and I gasp in delight.
For the briefest of seconds, Brooklyn looks up, his eyes burning brightly with lust, enough to make me want to come more than I ever have.
“Brooklyn, please,” I whisper.
“Yes.” He pauses again.
“Don’t stop.”
He chuckles, the sound vibrating over my clit and sending me even closer to that magical place I can practically picture. “I don’t plan on it. You taste so goddamn good, Amelia, I just might eat your sweet pussy all night.”
My hands find the sheets and I hold on to them tightly, thinking I really don’t know if I can survive another five minutes, let alone five hours. Although the thought of a man at my pussy licking
and kissing it for that long is tempting, the reality is my body is burning to the point of pain.
“Oh, God,” I call out.
“Do you want something else, Amelia?” he asks, knowing that he is driving me wild. By the tone of his voice, it is on purpose.
“Yes, I want to come,” I blurt out, more direct with him, in his room, and naked, then I have ever been.
Slowly he licks around my clit, already teasing me to the edge again, but not letting me jump over it. “Beg me, Amelia. Call out my name, and I’ll make you come like no one ever has.”
The second part is a given; I already know that is going to happen. The first part, well, I already know that Brooklyn is an alpha male, and as such, control seems to be a driving need. Honestly, I don’t mind submitting, but like Kate, I know I have to be careful about how often and when. The chase is what makes a man come back.
In this case, though, begging is the right choice. “Please, Brooklyn, please. Make me come.”
Within moments of my second plea, he’s inserting a finger inside me, licking his tongue around my clit, placing his other hand on my ass and circling the puckered skin there.
That swirling heat I felt earlier flares out of control, fierce enough to spin my world a little, and then I’m in a place where unicorns and rainbows are everywhere. A colorful sea of hopes and dreams made possible by the orgasm rocketing through me.
I don’t have to tell him it is the best orgasm I’ve ever had; I’m sure he can see it on my face and hear it in the tone of my voice as I cry out.
Before I’m even fully recovered, Brooklyn is on his feet, ripping his shirt right over his head. Scooting back, I rise to my elbows and watch him. The in-control alpha male seems to be a little out of sorts; perhaps hurried is the best word.
As he toes off his scuffed work boots, I watch him. He’s so freaking hot, standing at the foot of the bed. Stripping. Almost naked.
I lie here dizzy with exhilaration, and somehow manage to smile at him.
Beautiful and brooding in that way he has about him, he can’t hide his desire for me. It’s there, all over every inch of his coiled body. And I can’t stop looking at it.
The hum of my body has yet to stop; in fact, rather than stop it seems to have morphed into an ache that only he can satisfy.