by Kristy Marie
So I decide to be brave. “Yes.”
Simple and to the point.
Honest and truthful.
I want him.
Every single scar.
Hooded eyes narrow on me, unblinking, and then he picks up his phone, tapping the screen before filling the darkened bedroom with a hypnotic beat. “Then dance for me like you’re mine.”
Holy shit.
“I, uh … I only dance for fun.” I wave my hand around. “You know, when I’m cooking.”
He breathes along his fist, slow and careful, like he’s measuring me up. “I know. You’ve made me more than uncomfortable at a few breakfasts.”
I did? Huh. Who knew?
I suddenly feel like Wonder Woman has nothing on me. I ease myself off the bed, bending to take off my shoes.
“Leave them on.”
Oookay. What’s a few more minutes of pain?
Standing, my hips sway to the beat, feeling unnatural since I’m usually just bullshitting, doing random dance moves I’ve seen on YouTube. Cade beckons me toward him and eases me onto his lap, pulling my dress up around my hips to accommodate my spread position. He breathes me in, reaching around my back and unzipping my dress at a lazy pace. The fabric peels away from my body as if he’s parting the sea with his fingertips, and my skin tingles.
“Keep moving,” he whispers into my shoulder, his fingers drifting lower.
Let’s be honest here. I am not dancing. I am dry humping this man to the beat of the music. Okay, well, they do that in clubs, too.
His hand disappears under my dress and immediately my stomach clenches. Please touch me. Please slide those long fingers—
“I need you to talk to me. Like before,” he mumbles, his finger grazing the elastic of my panties.
I don’t want to ruin this moment and act like an idiot, but I have no clue what he’s talking about. “What do you mean, talk to you like I did before?”
Cade breathes harshly into my chest, the hand not under my dress unfastening my strapless bra. “Talk dirty. I need you to talk dirty to me. I think with you restraining me and the commanding tone, it kept me out of my head.” He flashes me a scolding look. “I would prefer not to be restrained every time, so let’s see if that filthy mouth of yours will be enough.”
Well how about that? Mister I Can’t Be With You wants me to be a dirty girl. I can do that. I can so do that.
“Put your fingers inside me, Major Jameson.”
Cade pushes my panties aside. His pace is slow, hesitant, as he moves closer to my center, taking care to stroke along the thin strip of hair.
“I want to ride your fingers,” I admit, moving my hips over his hardened cock. “I want you to shove them in one by one until you can’t fit any more without ripping me in two.” Cade’s chest is rising and falling, his breathing erratic and strained. “Now, Major.”
Saying that may have been the wrong thing to say because I swear Cade damn near fists me, sending me doubling over into his shoulder.
“Fuck my fingers, Brecklyn.” Is that his fingers or his goddamned fist? I can’t tell. The biting pain countering the fullness is distorting my perception. “Take what you need.”
Slowly and carefully, I move over his fingers. Clockwise and then counter clockwise, I manipulate this man’s fingers like a chiropractor until the magical spot comes alive. Gasping, my mouth gaped open, I chase the tingling sensation until I explode, a rush of wetness dripping down my leg. Exhausted, I lay on Cade’s chest. His arms wrap around me so we’re chest to chest. Heartbeat to heartbeat.
We come down slowly, our breathing returning to normal when I try to lift off of him. His arms tighten, his sweaty mane still pressed against my cheek.
“Stay with me tonight,” he mutters.
Yeah, I didn’t say no.
B,
We actually had some downtime this week. You would be so proud of your big brother. I used that trick you taught me in Madden and kicked both Jameson brothers’ asses. It was like taking candy from two sore losers. Jess told me about your internship! I knew you would get it. You’re going to be famous one day and I’ll be able to tell everyone I know that I knew you when you nearly caught the house on fire toasting a Pop Tart.
#icantwaittoseeyou #nottoomuchlonger
Bennett Brannon
The wheat bread pops up in the toaster after what seems like half an hour of being in there. The guys’ eggs are just about cold from waiting on its slow ass. When I checked with Anniston, she said they were wrapping up their morning workout and that I was good to get started on breakfast.
That was twenty minutes ago.
For the past twenty minutes, I have watched her through the window barking at Mason about something I can’t make out. Tim and Vic are out there with them and trying hard to look anywhere but at where Mason and Anniston are arguing. I don’t know what Mason did or didn’t do, but the stubborn set of his jaw says he doesn’t give a fuck about whatever Anniston is raving about.
The awkwardness that surrounds them makes me grateful I’m in here and not in Tim and Vic’s place. Actually, I would rather be nestled in Cade’s bed where I was earlier before he woke me, slipping out of bed to run with Theo.
I glance through the French doors one more time and, yep, Mason is still locked in a staredown with his commander. The food will just have to get cold. I am certainly not going to interrupt whatever is going on out there. The avocado shouldn’t brown unless they stay outside for hours, but still, who wants to eat warm, mushy slices of avocado?
Fuck it.
I’ll just let Cade know breakfast is ready and he can go intervene if he wants. Or they can eat a cold breakfast. I did my part, either way.
The gym is nestled in the back of the house where there were probably a couple spare bedrooms years ago. The wall between the two rooms has been knocked out, creating one huge room that houses state-of-the-art machines that tone those ridiculous bodies. I knock before I enter. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s Cade’s quiet space or something. It just feels intimate for some reason.
Or maybe I’m just feeling awkward after last night. After riding Cade’s finger like a tried-and-true pro, we showered together in silence, Cade washing my hair for me. We dried, neither of us putting on pajamas, and crawled into bed, him sliding behind me, a protective arm around my waist. I was a little worried he would have a nightmare and wake up confused with me in his bed, but he didn’t. He slept soundlessly and was up at five to go run with Theo, who I heard make a crack about celebrating tonight for finally popping his cherry. The thing about staying here is that there is zero privacy. If you don’t want them to find out, then don’t date any of them.
I push open the door to the gym and call out hesitantly, “Cade.” He grunts out a response from somewhere and I have no idea what he said. “Breakfast is ready,” I say anyway, stepping into the lighted room with rubber floors. If I was a person who enjoyed such things as exercise, I would be in here all the time. Unlike most gyms, this one doesn’t stink like nasty balls but rather like cleaner. Taking in the treadmills, weight benches, and some other torturous-looking machines, I finally find Cade.
And I can’t even prepare my vagina.
Hanging with his knees over something that looks similar to monkey bars, Cade raises his upper body to his knees, lowering back down and then repeating the movement.
Heaven help me, I wasn’t prepared to witness the beauty of those square blocks of hardened muscle straining under the weight of his body. I wasn’t prepared to see the glistening sweat on his bare chest as he blows out hard breaths with each repetition. And I certainly was not prepared to see his solid jaw, flexing and clenching while he grits out numbers until he stops, calling out, “Forty.”
Mouth open, I stand there staring, and I can only think one thing: Cade could totally kick Thor’s ass.
“Brecklyn.” Low and deep, Cade calls out from his current upside down position.
Stop staring at his abs, weirdo, and answer h
im. “I …” Clearing my throat, I start over, attempting not to squeak when I repeat, “Breakfast is ready.”
Cade lets his arms dangle past his head and tips his head in my direction. “Good. I’m famished.” His eyes rake over the tiny pink sundress I’m wearing, his assessment making me feel as though I’m standing in front of him naked. “Move the stool closer,” he demands, pointing to where it’s parked.
I get it and place it underneath his head. “Right here, or do you want me to move it over more?” He tells me to shift over so it’s just slightly parallel to his head. “Do you need anything else?” I ask stupidly. I mean, he is hanging from a bar.
“Yeah. Take off your panties and hand them to me.”
I choke. “I’m sorry? Did you say my panties?”
Cade licks his lips and raises his head so he can see me better. “You heard me. Now go lock the door.”
I stand there, staring at him like a goober before he barks out, “Now, Breck. Don’t make me repeat myself.”
I dart to the door, flipping the lock, and hustle back to Cade, sliding off my oh-so-sexy cotton hipsters. He holds his hand out and I place my worn-out clearance panties in his hand.
“What are you going to do with them?” I ask, completely surprised at his behavior.
“Stand on the stool.”
Oh my God.
I hesitate for just a second when that damn eyebrow of his cocks up, pretty much daring me to defy him. I really could just bolt out of here. But I’m no idiot, and whatever kinky shit he’s up to, I’m willing to play along.
I step on the stool, and before I can even situate myself, he orders, “Place your feet at the sides.” My eyes widen at what he’s asking me to do. My vagina, bless her wet little soul, will be front and center. “Don’t make me repeat myself,” he says.
This motherfucker is in a mood today. I make an annoyed face but do as he asks and spread my legs to the width of the step stool.
“Now, since you’ve interrupted my workout” —I cut him another look, and he winks at me upside down, his face not even red from hanging for so long—“you’re going to count out the rest of my reps until we reach fifty.”
Oh. Well that was not what I was expecting.
“You understand?”
I nod, and he tosses my panties to the ground. What the hell?
“Grab my thighs.”
Grab his …“What?”
His voice goes low and his eyes hood with something wicked. “Grab my thighs, B.”
Holy fucking shit.
A sixty-nine position?
Reaching forward, with my feet planted on the stool, I grab hold of Cade’s thighs. Oh God. They feel like boulders underneath my fingertips. I’m reveling in the fine smatters of dark hair against the rolling hills of muscles when he says, “Count from forty.”
I gaze down between our bodies, Cade’s chest rising and falling slowly, unlike mine which is seconds from hyperventilating.
“Your face is going to be in my—”
He cuts me off. “Count.”
You got this, B. Who cares if your pussy is directly in his face?
Inhaling, I count out his first rep. “Forty.”
Underneath my fingertips, his thighs flex and his upper body rises until his head is between my—oh God. Cade swipes his tongue along the seam of my entrance, holding himself in an inverted sit up position. His arms stay crossed at his chest, the only movement being his tongue as it flicks my clit.
“Holy shit,” I breathe against his legs, my head coming to rest on his knees.
Removing his face from my dripping whore of a vagina, he chides me with a cocky grin, “Count.”
I groan. This is going to be the longest fucking workout in history.
I rasp out, “Forty-one,” and Cade relaxes into his vertical position and then pulls up again, his tongue swiping across my seam, this time seeking entrance. He licks along the edge slowly and methodically like it’s summer and I’m melting ice cream. “Forty-two,” I whisper, on the verge of crying with his torturous lick against my clit.
“Good girl,” he rumbles, the vibration from his voice better than my vibrator.
“I don’t think I can handle any more of this,” I whine, my fingers squeezing his delicious thighs like someone is trying to steal him from me.
He shifts his body and adjusts his grip, pulling my hips closer to his face, responding in a tone that takes me from annoyed to needy in one breath. “You will handle it, Brecklyn. For interrupting my workout, you’re going to come all over my face.”
Cade’s dirty talk is hot, but I’m not going to wave my white flag yet. One thing I know is that Cade enjoys when I fuck with him.
“You know, I’m thinking this ‘interrupting your study time and your workouts’ is all bullshit. As a matter of fact …” Leaning over, I shove my face into his manhood, the motion stealing his breath. His hands grip my outer thighs tighter. Yeah, I know what the major likes. “I think you like having an excuse to stop whatever you’re doing,” I say, my nose running down the length of his thickening cock. I nip at his thigh and the muscle jumps. “You know what else I think?” Cade waits for me to continue, Jameson Jr. growing harder under my advances. “That you’re being lazy. I mean really, my Ken doll had better abs.”
Cade’s rumbly laughter spills out between my legs and it makes me smile. The man with abs that could actually rival the best body builders returns with, “Oh, he did, did he?”
I hum against his thigh, inching my way back down to his dick. “Mm-hm.” He chuckles one more time, fully aware that I’m lying my ass off right now.
“Hey, B?”
“Yeah?” My voice is strained, attempting to keep my amusement under wraps. “Count,” he demands before he shoves his tongue right through my entrance, sucking up any remaining laughter from me. “I can’t hear you,” the asshole says from underneath me.
“Forty-three,” I mutter out, my neck feeling like the sun is beating down on top of it even though we’re indoors. Cade’s licks are slow and methodic like he’s disarming a bomb and not eating me out. His tongue circles my opening, creeping up at an annoying pace to where I want him most.
“Now see, Brecklyn, this is lazy.” Excruciatingly slow, Cade circles my clit. Smartass.
Knees that have only ever run when something was chasing me buckle, and I have to grab his thighs of steel for support.
“Did your Ken doll do that better, too?”
Now he’s just being petty.
“No, but my vibrator does,” I manage between pants. Cade hums a disbelieving sound against me, and then … oh God. My knees give when he drags the scruff of his face against my sensitive flesh. It tickles but hurts in a way I can’t quite explain other than it feels fucking incredible. His bottom lip drags along, the wetness of his mouth soothing the burn.
“I’m gonna come,” I whimper against his cock. His dick jumps against my cheek but I don’t even have it in me to love on it. Cade has me reduced to a sweaty noodle.
“No you aren’t. Count.”
This time, I really am whiny when I respond, “You’re not even doing the exercise properly anymore.” Really, he hasn’t pulled up since rep forty-one.
“That’s because you aren’t counting,” he says, his breath feathery against me. This is not playing fair.
“I was—” My argument is cut short with a cry of pain? Pleasure? I can’t tell because a bright light flashes behind my eyes and I swear I’ve died. When I come to, Cade’s teeth are squeezing my swollen bundle while he sucks furiously. He sucks so hard that my clit will be shredded and unusable by the time he’s done with it.
Cade Jameson is fucking wrecking me.
I cry out against him, my eyes watering, my mouth dropping open from how fucking crazy good this feels.
The man who was just laughing seconds ago shifts and removes his head from between my legs. His face is glossy, and I’m not ashamed at all. I do, however, want to yell, “What the fuck?” I was so
not finished. But I back off and stay quiet since … well, you know what happened last time.
Cade makes a movement like he wants to get up. I let go of his legs, straightening my body back into an upright position.
“Are you okay?” I ask him. He doesn’t say anything, only drawing up to the bar, pulling his legs through his arms and dropping down on the mat below.
I stand in awe of his masculine power when he lunges, startling me. I let out this girly squeal when he growls. But instead of shoving me to the ground, he loops my legs around his waist and carries me to a bench, laying me down.
“What are you doing?”
Cade flips up my dress and parts my legs. The air is frosty against my feverish skin. I swear he would only have to blow on me and I would come.
“I’m more than okay,” he mumbles, answering my earlier question while placing soft kisses to my restrained thigh. Thank God I shaved this morning. His head moves toward my center, leaving a wake of sweat down my leg. I’m not ashamed to say that at this point, I could lick the sweat off his face if he would let me. This man brings my inner whore right out.
I fist a handful of those wavy curls, and he takes that as his cue, burying his face right into my center. Moans fill the dead space, and it takes me a second to realize it’s me. Cade’s hand snakes up my dress, squeezing my breast, cupping it firmly and silencing me.
I close my eyes and focus on the warmth, the vibration of his throat as his tongue swirls my clit. I’m sweating, feeling like my blood sugar is low when someone bangs on the door, causing Cade and I both to jump.
I sit up and look down at him between my legs, his lips covered in my arousal. God, he looks so sexy on his knees.
But then we hear, “Finish her,” in a Mortal Kombat voice as someone passes by, and we both laugh.
“I’m sorry,” he says, chuckling against my leg. “Nothing is ever private in this house.”
I shrug off his apology. I really don’t care how many people hear us or know what we’re doing. I’ll take Cade Jameson any way I can get him. And besides, I could pick Hayes’ voice out of a line-up. He was probably coming to work out and heard us. Little shit.