by Emilia Finn
And Brooke’s version is better than anything I could have botched together.
“Goodnight, Lyss.”
At Brooke’s whisper, I push away from the counter and dart back to the garage to pretend I wasn’t eavesdropping. I go to the front passenger seat, and tug out her purse, since she didn’t grab it before, then I go to the back to fetch the picnic blanket, and make sure I haven’t forgotten anything.
“She’s down.”
I glance up to see Brooke standing in the doorway, silhouetted by the light inside, which shines through her dress and shows her shape probably more than she realizes.
I stand, swallow, try to talk my heart down from the panicked tattoo it beats in my chest. “She’s good?”
Brooke moves down the two steps that lead in and out of the house, slowly walks in my direction. Lady of the night. Innocent seductress.
“She’s perfect. She didn’t go to the toilet, but I didn’t want to push it and risk waking her too much.” She stops in front of me, and glances up to show those blue eyes, almost black in the darkness, and her bottom lip caught between her teeth. “She said she loves me.”
My breath comes out on a heavy exhale – relief and worry in one. Relief, because if Lyss hated her, I’d be brokenhearted and probably have to send Brooke away. But worry, because she’s getting attached to a woman that owes us nothing. Brooke has no reason to stay, no loyalties or responsibilities to us.
“She…uh…” I clear my throat. “She said that?”
She nods and slowly slides her hands over my chest, up to my neck, and around, so we press together, and her exhale scorches down my throat. “She did. I love her too.” She stands on her toes, and presses a gentle kiss to my bottom lip. “I told her so, and now she’s sleeping, but she’s smiling too.”
“She… you told her that?”
“Uh huh.” She cinches her arms closer, locks them tight so I have no choice but to bend to her, to concede control, and simply… hold on.
My hands go to her hips, the small of her back, her succulent thighs.
Grinning, she nips at my jaw, and purrs as my hands massage her muscles. “I love your daughter, Miles. Real love that makes my heart race faster. But…”
Now my heart races. “But what?”
“But… she’s safe, warm, in bed, and asleep. Which means for the first time ever, you and I are alone.” Heat shoots straight to my cock. It’s like fire in my veins, like a dragon in my blood. “So can we talk about me and you for a minute?”
“Um… sure. Okay.”
Snorting, she pulls me down, closer, and slides her tongue into my mouth before I can prepare.
The fire in my blood turns to lava, and the hands that cup her hips now slide under her dress and grab her ass so hard that she hisses.
“Now lift me,” she demands.
“Fuckkk.”
But still, I do. I lift her up, squeeze the way I’ve wanted to squeeze for the longest time, and then our lips clash, and my futile attempts of being a gentleman are wiped away like dry grass in a flash fire.
What I assumed might be a makeout session in the garage turns into hungry, demanding hands as Brooke works the buttons of my shirt.
She contorts herself so she can work and keep her lips on mine. Her legs are like steel, her breath like liquor. She intoxicates me, and holds me prisoner until my shirt is gone – where? I don’t know – and her hands are in my hair.
Her ass is like cream, soft, malleable, and so fucking tempting that I barely control my urge to set her down and spin her around so I can get a look.
“You ready to have your mind blown, Miles Walker?” She monkeys down my body, forces me to release her, and immediately goes to work on my belt. “Because I’ve imagined this. Now it’s time to see if reality is better.”
“This—” My brain is foggy. Stupid. Unable to compute. “We… huh?”
Laughing, she undoes my belt so fast that the buckle bounces against my button and clangs. Then her skilled hands unsnap my jeans and bring my brain right back to crystal clear focus.
“Brooke!”
“There you are.” She takes her hands off me, but only so she can work on the delicate little buttons between her breasts.
Changing tack, she sheds her jacket with quick movements, tosses it to the ground, into the darkness, since we’re not in the light spilling from the kitchen, then she comes back to her buttons and reveals a lacy black bra before I can stop her.
Why am I stopping her? I don’t know! But I feel like I probably should.
“Fuck, Brooke, I dunno about—”
“Stop thinking.” She releases the last button and shrugs out of the top half of her dress so it merely dangles at her hips. “For the first time in six years, you’re allowed to stop thinking completely. I’ve got you, Miles, and I promise, there will be no repercussions from this.”
She reaches out and places a hand on the back of my neck. Then she angles my head, forces me to see her tits, and I’m a goner.
My rope has snapped. My tether. My fucking anchor to this world.
Snapped.
I yank her to me with rough hands, slam her body against mine until she squeaks, and then I lift her and bury my face between her tits like I might die if I don’t. My cock strains against the zipper of my jeans. It seeps, throbs, threatens to explode within a second of touching her. But my hands roam over her silky flesh. One under her ass, another in her hair to move her wherever I need to move her.
Her legs remain locked around me, so when I move around my car – to the side furthest from the entry to the house – I slam her against the steel frame, and lay her out so she stretches half across the low roof.
“Jesus, Brooke. Jesus.” I bury my face against her neck. Bite. Make her cry. And then I race back to her lips, to catch her cry and reset us for another round of delicious pain. “I want you so bad I might be sick.”
“Don’t be sick.” She reaches up with clever hands, and unsnaps her bra from the front. Pulling the cups aside, she reveals two perfect tits, with puckered, pink nipples that call to me.
Without hesitation, I take one between my teeth and suckle until she coils so tight, she’s at risk of breaking. Her heels dig into my back, and her spine arches so deeply that it’s almost too far. She makes me scared for her, but then she grinds herself against my cock, and suddenly, I give absolutely no fucks about her back.
I reach between us, under her dress, beneath her panties, and when she nods, plunge my fingers inside until she throws her own arm over her face to muffle her scream.
“Oh god!”
She rides my hand, demands more, and sucks my fingers deep inside her.
She’s like a vise. Steel walls lined with velvet. Toned muscle covered with warm silk. She’s a contradiction of herself – strength and delicacy at the same time. Muscle and fairytales. She shows me how both can live in harmony.
I pump my fingers deep inside her, slide my thumb over her clit every time she comes back down, and feast on her tits while they bounce.
Brooke doesn’t just get wet, she soaks my hand. Fills it, proves that she wants me, and continues to smother herself – to hide from Lyss, or her family? Fuck knows, but I’m glad we get this time. Alone. In the dark.
“Oh god. Miles.” She bucks against my hand, whips around like her body is possessed, and clamps down around me each time she fills my hand. “Shit, please don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”
She’s mindless. Chanting. Feeling. So I keep moving, keep bringing her to peak, and when she comes down, I grind against her with my hips, and pray I get to free my cock at some point tonight.
“You’re so beautiful.” I suckle on the tip of one nipple, bring it to a pointed end, then move to the other and repeat. “So fucking amazing. Keep going, Brooklyn. Keep going.”
“Oh god.” She slams her head back against the roof of my car and cries. “Oh god, please stop.”
“Stop?”
“No, keep going.”
She laughs, cries, sobs, and snickers. All at once. All without her permission. “Goddddddd,” she growls. “Shit, I’m gonna…” she cries. And then she comes some more. “Miles…”
“I’ve got you, beautiful.” I stand on my toes to get closer to her head, slide my free hand to the back of her neck, then pull her to me and swallow her desperate pleas. “I’ve got you.”
“I don’t think…” Her chest lifts and falls. “I think…”
“Stop thinking.” I parrot her words and bite when her lip drops into a pout. “It’s okay,” I croon. “Take your pleasure. You’re so fucking beautiful.”
“Sex.” A single word. A single request. “Miles…” She tries to unwind her legs from around me, but I’m stronger, I’m not riding a cloud of post-orgasmic mindlessness. “Miles.”
“It’s okay.” I slide my tongue along her neck, over the veins. Her pulse point. “It’s okay, Brooke. We don’t have to.”
“Yes, we do.” She shoves me back so hard that I stumble, and she drops to her feet.
She’s a fighter too, and I let myself forget that.
She dashes to the passenger side door, whips it open. “Where’s my bag?” She spins with genuine panic in her eyes. “Miles?”
“In the back.” I slide my hand – wet from her – into my pants and wrap it around my cock to help relieve some of the pressure.
I can’t help it. I can’t not touch.
Brooke races from the front of the car to the back, squeaks when she finds her bag, and races back to me with a little silver foil packet in her hands.
“I’m on the pill, and we have enough condoms to last through an apocalypse. Put it on.”
“Brooke!” My heart stops. “I can’t… You brought condoms on our date?”
“Uh huh. Always be prepared and all that.”
Without a single fucking word of warning, she drops to her knees and yanks my pants down so my cock springs free, and my eyes snap shut.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.” I swallow, because my throat turns desert dry at the thought of Brooklyn Kincaid on her knees in front of me.
I crack one eye open, and whimper when she tears the foil open with her teeth. She spits the trash to the floor, takes the rubber from the packet, then she looks up at me with those devious eyes.
They swear she’s innocent and sweet, but she’s on her knees just a couple inches from my rock-hard cock, and she’s not blushing.
“Can I?” she asks softly. “Don’t say no, Miles. I’m begging you.”
I laugh. And whimper. And groan all at once. “That’s like laying a steak out in front of a starving dog and begging him to eat. Of course he’s gonna eat. Fuck!”
Bubbling laughter escapes her throat, then she turns to my cock and stares.
“Brooklyn,” I groan. “You’re wigging me out.”
“I just wanna…”
But instead of finishing her sentence with words, she wraps her mouth around my cock, and takes me to the back of her throat until my orgasm almost unmans me.
One stroke, one suck, and she almost kills me.
“Oh god.” I comb a hand through her hair and hold on so tight that she hisses. All those plans to be a gentleman… gone, as I slam her forward and force her to choke on my length.
Guilt, barely there… barely enough to acknowledge… trickles through my blood as she looks up at me with those doe eyes and blinks. They’re watery, glassy, innocent. But then she brings a hand up and plays with my balls, and proves that innocence to be a liar.
“Fuck!”
She smiles around my cock, paints an image in my mind I’ll never forget, then she closes her eyes and swallows me down until I’m being squeezed by her throat.
Oh god, oh god, oh god. It’s a chant, a plea for reprieve. But a prayer that she never stops. “Brooke…”
“Mmm…”
She works my cock like it tastes good. Bites at the exact right moments, soothes when that’s what needs to be done. She draws me to the very edge until tears fill my eyes and my feet go numb.
A mere half a second before I prepare to empty myself on the back of her throat, she pulls back and breaks my heart while wearing a wicked grin.
“Brooke!”
“Inside me,” she demands. She takes my cock in her hands, slides the condom on. “It has to be inside me the first time. No exception.”
“Fuckkk…”
As soon as the condom is on, she grins, lifts her hands and waits for me to pull her up, then with one hand on my chest, she reaches under her messed-up dress and peels her panties away. She steps out of one leg. Then the other. Tosses them to the concrete floor. Then she presses her back to the steel frame of the car and waits with expectation blazing in her eyes.
“You want me to fuck you?”
She nods. “Really fucking hard,” she declares. “Lift me up, Miles. And claim me.”
She raises one leg, forcing me to step in and hold it against my hip. My cock presses against her clit and draws a cry from her throat. Her hair is wild, messy from my hands, and her makeup is smudged. She’s the human embodiment of sex. Dirty, filthy, hot, wild fucking sex. And she’s saying it’s mine to claim.
“Be sure, Brooklyn.”
“I love it when you call me Brooklyn.” Her breath comes out on a breathy whimper as she grabs my cock and places it at her fiery opening. “It means you’re about to snap. You’re using your dad voice, and hell if that ain’t sexy to me. Now catch me.”
She jumps, lifts her second leg, and with the momentum, takes me deep inside her on a pained cry.
There’s no easing into it. No inch by experimental inch. We go from zero to all the way in, and my condom almost instantly fills.
“Fuck!” I bury my face against her chest, and whimper. “Fuck, Brooke. You’re like fire.”
She rolls her hips. Rolls them and takes her pleasure when I don’t move. “Fuck me, Miles. Show me how you can do it.”
“Okay,” I pant. “Fuck, okay.” I pull out to the very tip, then I slam inside again and hold my breath to keep my orgasm back. “Fuck, Brooklyn.”
“Mm… just like that.” She threads her fingers into my hair and drags my eyes up until they meet hers. “Fuck me until I cry. Then we’ll go inside, and you can show me how you make love.”
Brooke
Inspiration Comes in the Oddest Ways
“Let me go ahead.” Rome bars me from crossing the edge of the “inbetween,” the land between ours and our enemy’s. “Let me scout it out. I’m begging you to not leave here, Tully. Don’t do this.”
“I thought you go where I go?”
He brushes rough knuckles over my jaw. “Well, in this case, I’d rather go first. Make sure it’s safe.”
I smile, even as I almost choke on the tension thick in the air. This is a huge moment for us. Life-changing. This is the same protective Rome I’ve always known, my best friend since we were babies, but now he’s touching my face, my arms, my neck. I considered him my brother, but now he stands so close that his breath feathers over my lips.
“You don’t have to protect me,” I whisper. “We’re equals, right? I’m capable.”
A rueful smile crosses his face as he backs me up until I’m pressed against the massive tree behind me. His forehead to mine, his hand on my neck. “We’re not equals,” he murmurs. “We were never equal.”
“Roman…”
With intense eyes that speak of protection and wisdom far beyond his years, he drops to a single knee so that the moisture from the forest floor soaks through his military uniform in an instant. Head bowed low, broad hand crossing his body, other soldiers slow and watch as he unsheathes his sword. Then he presents it to me. “We were never equals, Tully. You were always my better, from the day you were born.”
“Rome,” I hiss, “get up.”
He shakes his head. “I swear my loyalty to you, Queen Tallulah Aurelia Della King. I swear to throw my body down to spare you from attack. I swear to die protecting you.�
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“Roman!” I grab his shoulder and tug. “Stand up now.”
“I present to you my sword,” he continues. “I swear my eternal servitude.”
“Roman DeLuca.” I use all my strength to pull my two-hundred-and twenty-pound best friend to his feet. “What the hell is the matter with you?”
He smiles and steps into me. “That was for my queen.” He presses me against the tree, his chest against my pounding heart. “But this…” He licks his lips. “This is for Tully.”
“Rome, st–”
He closes the distance between us and silences my arguments with his plump lips crashing against mine. His large hands cup my jaw, they manipulate the way I move, they declare the depth which he takes our kiss – our first ever kiss – and controls the longest and shortest minute of my life.
It’s like fire. Like ice. It’s like family and familiarity, but it’s like nothing I’ve ever known before.
Rome steals my breath, he sends me dizzy until I break the kiss with a gasp and pull back until my head raps against the tree behind me. Panting, I try to collect my senses and ignore our curious audience.
“Rome, I just…” I rub a hand over my forehead. “Dammit.”
“You say you’re going in there?” He stabs a hand toward the trees behind us. “You’re going to find them? Well, I’m saying there’s no way I’m not telling you how I feel before we go to war.”
“You’re changing everything,” I whimper. “Everything.”
“Yeah.” He presses his lips to mine again. Once. Twice. Three times, until my breath escapes on a cry. “I am. Because it’s time we try something new. Two decades of doing it the other way isn’t working, so now we try my way. I’m begging you to get on board with this.”
“Roman–”
“I love you, Tully. It’s about time I told you.”
I wake with a start, push up in bed until the blankets fall away and reveal my bare chest, then I scramble to snatch the covers back up when my brain finally processes the fact this isn’t my room.
Sunlight streams through lacy curtains that I know; I hung the damn things. I lay in a bed I helped assemble. Beneath blankets I spent the day shopping for with my mom.