by Jenna Jacob
Undaunted by her failed first attempt, Brea gripped the base of the window frame and launched herself up like a rocket. Partially succeeding, Brea teetered on the casement. Her torso and luscious breasts were suspended inside the house while her succulent ass cheeks and shapely legs hovered over the grass.
As he rushed to help, Brea’s supple, white ass cheeks—glowing in the moonlight—called to him like a lighthouse beacon to a lost sailor. He was lost, all right…lost in lust. His cock expanded even more. Sawyer was confident he’d be wearing the imprint of his zipper until he was ninety-three.
Moving in closer, he clenched his hands into fists to keep from filling his palms with the tempting orbs laid out before him. Then clenched his teeth to keep from biting the ribbon of lace bisecting the crack of her ass. The rich, spicy scent of her pussy filled his senses, and as his nostrils flared, every muscle in Sawyer’s body tightened.
Suddenly Brea started laughing.
“Oh, god. I’m stuck. I’m fucking stuck. This is not happening.”
Sawyer inched in closer and raised his hands so he could cinch her waist and help her down. Brea started wiggling, and he had to bite down on his tongue to keep from groaning. In his mind’s eye, he could see her…naked, on her hands and knees, shaking her sexy ass as she backed onto his steely cock.
Sweat broke out over his brow as he stood, staring, dreaming, and throbbing to wedge himself inside her.
“Ozzie, I hope you’re enjoying my full moon. But I swear to all that is holy, if you stick your cold, wet nose up my ass, you’ll never get another treat. Are we clear?”
“What if it’s a dry, warm nose? Can I get the treat I’m dying for?” Sawyer’s deep, raspy voice quivered in need.
Brea screamed so loudly she nearly punctured his eardrums. As she lurched upward, cracking the back of her head on the windowpane, her arms began flailing like pinwheels. As Brea started sliding back out the window toward him, Sawyer wrapped his hands around her waist to help her down. Kicking her legs like an Olympic swimmer, Brea let out a blood-curdling scream. Dodging her thrashing feet, he heard cloth ripping. He glanced up to see a piece of her shirt stuck in the window’s base as her bare flesh seared his hands.
Though Brea was still screaming loudly enough to wake the dead, Sawyer closed his eyes and sighed.
She was soft like velvet.
Willpower melting like a Bomb Pop in July, Sawyer couldn’t keep from sliding his hands up and down her enticing curves. Of course, that’s when Brea started kicking, punching, and digging at his hands. She’d traded screams for curses…curses that would make a marine blush, while Ozzie jumped, barked, and ran around in circles.
“Let me go, you crazy cocksucker!” Brea screamed. “Bite him, Ozzie. Bite his fucking balls off.”
Her heel connected with Sawyer’s shin, sending an arc of pain shooting clear up to his thigh. “Brea! Stop, goddammit!” he thundered as he released her.
Spinning toward him, her eyes were wide with shock and terror.
“You! What are… Are you stalking me?” she breathlessly barked, oblivious that her shirt had ripped in two or that her cock-stiffening breasts were glowing in the moonlight.
But Sawyer wasn’t. The lightly welted scratches down her stomach didn’t distract from her nipples drawn up tight and hard. Like sweet, ripe cherries, the tempting twins were all but begging to be sucked, licked, nibbled, and pinched.
Brea dropped her chin, then, with a feral screech, gathered the edges of her shirt and fisted them closed. As the fabric lifted, Sawyer got an up-close and personal look at the pretty red, frilly lace thong cupping her pussy…the pussy he was ready to devour right there among Barbara’s cabbage, green bean, and tomato plants.
Swallowing tightly, he dragged his gaze to Brea’s face. Her cheeks were stained crimson. She looked disheveled, wild, and so irresistibly fuckable. He would have tried to kiss her if humiliation weren’t swimming in her caramel-colored eyes. Instead, he brushed a strand of silky hair from her face, then pressed a finger beneath her chin before tipping her head back and delving deep into her turbulent eyes. The nighttime sounds of crickets and bullfrogs fell silent as he studied the contours of Brea’s beautiful face.
Her feminine nectar, sweetening the air, called to him on an animalistic level that wreaked havoc in his brain.
The air between them grew thick.
A sexual tension hummed.
Her pulse throbbed rapidly along the sweet spot at the base of her neck. God, he wanted to flatten his tongue against it and lave his way down to the enticing scrap of cloth between her thighs.
When, not if, he finally got Brea beneath him, they’d burn down the fucking house.
“Why are you stalking me?” she spat.
“I’m not stalking you.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
“I live next door.”
“Liar! Neville Grayson lives next door.”
A crooked grin tugged his lips. “I’m Neville Sawyer Grayson.”
“Oh, god.” Her face flamed a brighter shade of red.
“What’s your full name, gorgeous?”
“Lacking.”
Sawyer blinked. “Lacking?”
“Yes. Lacking dignity.”
A low, wicked laugh rumbled up from deep in his chest before he flashed her a feral smile. “Trust me. There isn’t an ounce of dignity in the things I want to do to you.”
Brea
* * *
As a carnal smile slid over Sawyer’s lips, Brea prayed the earth would open up and swallow her whole.
A combustible mixture of embarrassment, shock, and demand swirled like a tornado, pervading every cell in her body.
Her cheeks were on fire.
She didn’t know whether to kick him in the balls or kiss his lips off. His heated stare, promising hours and hours of sexual splendor, didn’t make her decision any easier.
Sawyer was all but eating her up with his eyes. But Brea wanted a lot more than his gaze…she wanted his capable, calloused hands touching every swollen, throbbing place on her body. Wanted to rip his clothes off and let him ride her like a wild bull. Wanted to feel his fingers, tongue, and cock probing deep inside her.
Brea’s stomach began tumbling in crazy little somersaults.
No. No. No.
She couldn’t succumb to her cravings.
Sex equaled need.
Need morphed into reliance.
And relying on a man to give her love only led to heartache and pain…every fucking time!
She didn’t want or need to take another emotional plunge into hell. She had to grow a pair and break the vicious cycle. And the only way to win the war with her rebellious hormones was to fight fire with sarcasm and anger.
Taking a step back, she lifted her chin and pinned him with a brittle smile. “I’m sure the single women of Haven know all about the undignified things you’re capable of. Sorry to burst your bubble, Romeo, but I’m not interested. So either help me through the window or go home and let me do it myself.”
“So you’re locked out, huh?”
“No. I’m practicing to become a cat burglar. Here’s your sign,” she drawled in her best Bill Engvall imitation. “Yes, I’m locked out, Einstein! Why else would I be standing here in my pajamas, trying to climb through a freakin’ window?”
“Those are your pajamas?” Sawyer’s eyes grew wide and his lips twitched as if holding in a laugh.
“Who are you, the pajama police? What do you sleep in, mister?”
A wicked flame danced in his eyes. “Nothing. Not. A. Single. Fucking. Stitch.”
Brea was instantly jealous of his sheets as the air stilled in her lungs.
Sawyer was everything she didn’t need…and so much more. But damn if she didn’t want him…naked in her bed.
Struggling to corral her sexual duress, she flashed a brittle smile. ““Well, if your house ever catches fire, I’ll be sure to bring a washcloth or a cotton ball over so you can cover y
ourself.”
“Darlin’, you’ll need to bring a bedspread…king-sized.” He leaned in close with an erotic grin. “And I need to take you over my knee and spank the sass out of you.”
Brea sucked in a startled gasp. Instead of being appalled at his humiliating comment, a shudder of arousal licked her spine. She wondered what it was going to take to stop her from skipping down the road to disaster.
A high-dollar shrink and mass quantities of psychotherapeutic drugs might do the trick…or not, the voice in her head snickered.
Brea pinned him with the most intimidating glare she could muster. “You try…you die. Go home, Sawyer. I can take care of this myself.”
“I’m sure you can, but why scrape up all that pretty, soft skin when you can use this…” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring of keys. “I have a spare.”
The dangling saw-toothed collection, clanging in front of her face, only mocked her predicament. Anger spiked. She clenched her jaw so hard her teeth throbbed. “Why didn’t you offer to unlock the door in the first place?”
He shrugged. “I thought maybe you might make it through the window. But when your first attempt didn’t go so well, I figured I needed to come over and help.”
First attempt? He was watching me struggle the whole time? What a prick!
“How long were you spying and laughing at me, Neville?”
“Don’t call me that. I hate my given name. Call me Sawyer.”
“How long?”
He scowled. “I wasn’t laughing…”
“Oh, please.” Brea rolled her eyes.
“I was sitting on my porch when you and Ozzie started chasing the rabbit, and yeah, I might have been laughing…a little.”
“I wasn’t chasing the stupid rabbit. I was chasing the brain-dead dog before he killed the thing,” she corrected.
Ozzie whimpered.
“Aw, look. You’ve gone and hurt his feelings.”
Sawyer’s patronizing tone had her seeing red…vibrant red with flashes of hot white flames. “He’s a dog! He’ll get over it. You’re lucky I’m only calling you Neville at the moment and not something worse.”
“Is that so? Just what are you doing here at Barbara’s anyway?”
“I’m house and dog sitting for a month, Mr. Nosey.”
“My, my, darlin’. For someone who needs a knight in shining armor with the magic key to unlock your castle, you’re sure not acting like a proper damsel in distress.”
It took all the control she could manage not to slap the derisive grin off his too-gorgeous face. “First, I’m not your darlin’. Second, I’m not some stupid damsel in distress. I’m quite capable of taking care of myself.”
His expression hardened. Heat flared in his golden-emerald eyes. “That may be. All I know for sure is that you’re sexy as hell when you’re all riled up.”
“Argh,” she fumed. “Fuck this. And…and fuck you!”
Brea spun on her heel and stomped to the window. Bracing her palms on the bottom frame, determined to make it inside the house this time…come hell or high water, she bent her knees.
“Whoa. Whoa. Stop!” Sawyer gripped her shoulders and gently turned her back around. Compassion now softened his face as his voice dropped to barely a whisper. “Please don’t try again, Brea. I’ll unlock the door for you. Come on.”
About fucking time, you asshole!
“Thank you,” she bit out with barely a hint of civility.
Sawyer raked a slow, hungry stare up her body before a lazy smile—the one that made her wish for all the things she couldn’t have—crawled across his face. “Will you invite me in for a cold beer, too?”
Was this fuck-monkey for real?
Brea narrowed her eyes. “I don’t have any.”
“How ’bout a drink of water, then?”
“The sink’s broken.”
With a lopsided grin, he shook his head. “Now you’re just lying to me, darlin’. All you had to say was no.”
His heated breath sent a sensual thrill to clash with her fury. And when he reached up to rub his finger and thumb over the ends of her hair, his compelling stare made Brea’s rage evaporate. She truly wanted to stay pissed at him, but Sawyer’s easy and obviously practiced seduction made it impossible.
Fuck!
“Mmm, soft as silk. Just like I thought it would be,” he murmured.
His hypnotic stare held her prisoner to the foggy haze of desire sweeping through her. And his whiskey-smooth voice sent quivers shooting through her core.
Ozzie barked, breaking the spell that Sawyer had cast on her.
Swallowing tightly, Brea inched back. The much-needed space she put between them sent a flash of rejection skipping over Sawyer’s face. Suddenly solemn, he nodded, then without a word, walked to the back door and unlocked it.
Sawyer sent her a weak smile. “Don’t forget to close and lock that window. I’ll sleep better knowing you’re safe and sound over here…alone.”
His concern put another chink in Brea’s armor. Though the anger had bled from her veins in its place, something else was seeping in. Something warm and reassuring. Something highly dangerous that threatened to crush the sense of peace she was struggling to find.
Brea felt as if she were living on a fault line. She could almost sense the catastrophic earthquake waiting on the horizon.
“I will. Thank you.”
He held her with a delving gaze for several long seconds. Finally, one corner of his mouth lifted, and he gave a nod of resignation, then turned and walked away. As she stared at Sawyer’s retreating back, Brea was teetering on a precipice far more treacherous than a windowsill. She ached to call him back…back for far more than just a drink of water.
Thankfully, he kept on walking.
It was sobering, alarming, and depressing to grasp how weak and vulnerable she was around Sawyer. How easily he could send her sliding into familiar and reckless behavior. How truly ill prepared she was to reinvent herself.
Still, she refused to give up…refused to cave. But Brea had to keep from lighting the fuse on the stick of dynamite known as Neville Sawyer Grayson or risk being blown to smithereens.
Maybe she was stronger than she gave herself credit for. After all, she wasn’t upstairs, ripping off his clothes and feeding on him like a sex-starved piranha. Brea had actually overthrown her hormones. She’d passed her first monumental test with flying colors. So why was her prize a mountain of frustration and not a bright, shiny trophy?
Ozzie let out a soft woof as he sat at her feet, wearing a cheesy dog grin. The metal gate snicked shut on the far side of the house, and the furry beast whimpered sadly. Brea nearly let out the same pathetic sound.
“All right. Inside, butthead,” she scolded. “You’ve caused enough ruckus for one night.”
Brea shut and locked the back door before securing the window in the dining room. After making her way upstairs, she changed her shirt, with Ozzie following her like a shadow.
When she returned to the kitchen, she made herself a cup of tea while the dog promptly sprawled out on his bed in the laundry room. With elbows resting on the kitchen table, she laid her chin in her palms and watched the steam rise from the cup.
It was going to be a long, mind-fucking month with Neville living next door.
“Sawyer is Neville… Damn, I didn’t see that one coming.”
Her epic and embarrassing window escapade spooled through her head like a bad horror movie. Brea didn’t want to know what Sawyer had thought when he’d happened upon her, hanging out the window in her homeless-hooker attire. With all that bare ass and hail damage beaming in the moonlight, she’d probably scarred him for life. She easily envisioned him back home right now scrubbing his eyes with bleach.
“Oh, god. I’ll never be able to face that man again.”
With a long-suffering moan, Brea dropped her head in her hands. Mooning the fantasy man of her wet dreams was one performance she never wanted to repeat. Her humiliation wan
ed as the memories of Sawyer’s raw and hungry stare consumed her. She suspected, by the promise reflected in his eyes, that he was more than capable of making the kind of love that made the ground quake and flippin’ stars collide. Brea had never experienced anything that epic, not with her trail of inept lovers. Yeah, there probably wasn’t a solitary thing inept about Sawyer. That man would leave her run-of-the-mill orgasms in the dust and hands down ruin her for any other man.
Unfortunately, Brea would never know what spine-bending skills he possessed or how thoroughly he could rock her world.
“A fact that’s equal parts depressing and regretful.”
Ozzie softly yipped as if in agreement with her.
“Don’t rub it in, fuzzy-butt,” she drawled.
Lifting the mug to her lips, Brea sipped the warm tea. The heat reminded her of Sawyer’s powerful hands and hot, solid body.
“I need to buy more batteries…lots of them.”
While her vibes could provide sexual relief, they couldn’t offer what she yearned for most…love and protection, companionship and trust. Brea longed to find a good man, one who wanted to settle down and raise a family…someone she could grow old with.
She wanted the fairy tale, dammit!
But none of the men in her past had remotely resembled Prince Charming. Watching Weed being hauled off in cuffs had ripped the blinders away. She finally realized how utterly useless he’d really been. Weed’s pea-sized brain couldn’t remember the combination to the dishwasher; the sink was forever piled high with dirty dishes. He’d never learned the recipe for ice either; the trays sat empty in the freezer every time she wanted a couple of cubes. While his fingers worked perfectly on the remote control of his gaming system, they couldn’t put the toilet seat down…ever. It was a wonder the man could wipe his own ass without Brea’s help.
She’d been more of a mother than a girlfriend to every man she’d ever lived with.
Not anymore. She was on her own now. A reality that had every insecurity and vulnerability within her floating to the surface.
Ozzie rose and stood beside her. Brea scrubbed him behind the ears.