“Because I didn’t think you liked me that way. I didn’t think you could. We’ve known each other for so long, but you’ve never looked at me the way you looked at me tonight. I was terrified you’d reject me if you knew. And I didn’t want to take that risk, so I focused on treasuring the moments I did get. Your friendship. The alternative? Telling you? I would have lost those moments.”
“Hell, Ruthie.” He cuts the distance again and cups my cheek. “I wish I would have known.”
“Why, would you have done something about it?”
“I—”
“Brig, are you back here?”
Brig steps away just as Reid rounds the corner. “There you—oh, sorry. Uh, hey Ruth.”
I feel my cheeks flame as I wave at him. “Hey Reid.” I look between the two of them and realize how awkward this is. “Uh, I’ll go see if Rylee needs help with the triplets.” I start to move when Brig steps in front of me, taking my hand in his.
“What’s up, Reid?” he asks, looking stoic and protective next to me.
Reid’s eyes fall to our connection and a tiny smirk appears. “About to do the toast. Care to join?”
“Yeah, be right there.”
Giving us one last glance, Reid chuckles and then takes off. Turning toward me, Brig lifts my chin and says, “Stay by my side tonight.”
His eyes beg, plead with me, and even though I’d do anything for him at this point, I don’t want to make the rehearsal about us.
I shake my head. “No, Brig.”
“What?” he asks. “Ruth, you can’t—”
I place my hand over his mouth and quiet him. “Tonight’s about Harper and Rogan. I won’t take that away from them and if I go out there, holding your hand, it will draw obvious attention. Plus, I think we should probably talk.”
“Talk? Why does that not sound good?” He sighs. “Listen, Ruth, things are—”
“You don’t need to explain anything, Brig. I get it, okay? Just go enjoy your brother’s wedding festivities. I’m sorry I kissed you the other day. I shouldn’t have done that, and I shouldn’t have confessed that you’re the guy I’ve been crushing on. Poor timing.”
“Don’t fucking apologize,” he says, anger hidden in each word. “Just stop, okay?” He grips his forehead, looking toward the party. “Fuck.” Turning back toward me, he says, “You and me, after the party, we’re talking. Do you understand?”
I’ve never seen Brig like this, so tough, so angry. Unable to process anything other than making sure I don’t see this side of him again, I nod.
“Good.” He places his finger under my chin one more time and brings his lips to mine. It’s a tender, brief kiss, but it packs all the feels, reminding me how I’ve longed for his lips, for his touch. And just as I get comfortable in his kiss, he stops kissing me and walks away. He glances over his shoulder, winks, and then starts off in a jog.
Oh God. That happened. Kisses happened. Kisses. With. Brig. Happened.
* * *
“Care to tell me what the hell is going on?” Rylee whispers to me, as I color a picture with one of her demon spawns—her name for them, not mine.
“Not here,” I say out the side of my mouth.
“That seems to be the theme here.” She scoots in closer on the bench we’re sharing, our shoulders touching. “Why is Brig staring at you?”
I glance over to where he’s talking with Rogan and Harper, beer bottle in hand, eyes trained on me.
“Uh, I might have told him he was the guy I was crushing on.”
“What?” Rylee whisper-shouts, her head turned down, the red crayon in her hand furiously scribbling away on the heart picture in front of her. “When the hell did you do that?”
“An hour and a half ago, before the toast.”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” She scribbles some more, concealing the fact that we are having a heated conversation. “What did he say?”
“Don’t really want to rehash it.”
“You’re going to have to give me something if he’s staring at you like that.”
“We’re meeting up after the party to talk.”
“Oh dear God, my legs just clenched. You are so not talking.”
“What? Yes, we are. He wants to go over things.”
“You are so fucking tonight.”
“Wow.” I shake my head. “You have truly lost your mind. This isn’t a romance book.”
“Should be, with the amount of frustration you’ve put everyone through.”
“Hey ladies, can I join you?”
Speak of the devil.
“Oh, I’d absolutely love if you did,” Rylee says, as if her night just got a whole lot better. Knowing her, she’s about to make my life a living hell.
Brig takes a seat across from us and picks up a green crayon along with one of the coloring pages Harper printed out for all the kids. His hands are broad and far too big for the little crayon pinched between his fingers, as he casually colors in a tree.
“So, what are you girls chatting about?” he asks, a lift of his brow in my direction. Damn him for being so freaking gorgeous.
“You,” Rylee says, not even beating around the bush. Should have seen that coming.
“Figured,” Brig says in a cocky tone. Seems as though the anger has dissipated now and his normal teasing is back. “Did Ruthie tell you I kissed her behind our buildings . . . with tongue?”
“Oh my God, Brig,” I say, whispering.
“No, she did not.” Rylee shoves my shoulder with hers. “It’s about time. This girl has been fantasizing about you for a while.”
I turn to my friend, look her straight in the eyes and say, “I am going to murder you in front of your children.”
“Worth it.” She smiles at me.
Ignoring my attempt to Darth Vader force-choke my friend, Brig says, “I heard a version of that. Imagine my surprise in finding out that tidbit about our friend.”
“You must have been completely shocked.” Rylee clutches her chest. “I think it’s smart talking it out tonight.” She winks at him and repeats slowly, “Talking it out.”
Dear Christ, please send me new friends.
ASAP.
“Are you alluding to sex?” Brig asks.
“Take it as you want.” Rylee shrugs and picks up a purple crayon.
“Is that what Ruth told you was going to happen?”
“No,” I practically shout, then suddenly remember where we are. Leaning over the table, I whisper, “No, I did not say that.”
“Ooof, don’t act so offended, Ruthie Girl.” Brig is sporting the same teasing grin as Rylee.
“I’m not offended. I’m . . . I’m . . .” I grip my forehead and whisper, “I’m frazzled. I wasn’t expecting you to kiss me. I didn’t even want to come tonight, but then your mom—”
“My mom?” Brig asks, his head shooting to the side where Mrs. Knightly is staring at both of us. She holds up her glass of wine and smirks. Brig’s gaze bounces back to me and he asks, “What did she say to you?”
Ohh . . . looks like the tables have turned.
“Things,” I answer.
His eyes sweep over me, darken, and there’s an unspoken promise in those blue, questioning irises. He’s going to find out what his mom said.
“Well, this party can’t end soon enough,” Rylee says, standing from the table. “And I’ll start the exiting process for everyone.” She claps her hands. “Children of mine, clean up, Auntie Ruth needs some private time with a man.”
“Can you not?” I ask as Brig sits taller and chuckles to himself.
Glad he finds this amusing.
* * *
“I thought I’d find you in here,” Brig says, coming through the front door of the Parlor. “Is the kitchen clean? I want to make sure Reid did a good job.”
Standing behind the register counter, I nod. “Everything is good.”
“Good.” He locks the door behind him and shuts off the lights, leaving only the backlight to the kitchen
on, illuminating me from behind.
The evening went as expected: me burning up inside every time I made eye contact with Brig and then avoiding him every chance I got until he finally caught me with Rylee. From there, things went downhill. I was so embarrassed by Rylee’s confessions, that I took myself over to the Parlor to clean and pack up leftover food.
And that’s where I’ve been since. I have to say, I’m still in awe. Surrounded by my new venture, I feel so proud. The boys captured the sense of decadence and fun I wanted, with little input from me. But I know now that Brig ensured every placement, every detail was just as I’d designed it. And that means the world to me. As does the man in front of me with a look of resolution and purpose in his eyes.
Determination in his stride, he cuts the space between us and comes up right in front of me, pinning me against the counter, hands on either side of my body.
The air between us seems to shrink as he stares down at me.
Irritation.
Fascination.
Lust . . .
It’s all there, swimming in his features.
“You’re infuriating, you know that?” he says, his breath tickling my neck as he brings his face close to mine.
“Brig, I really think we should—”
“You’ve done enough talking,” he says, that anger returning. I feel his body tense and then he pushes off the counter, gripping his styled hair. The suit jacket he was wearing is gone, and instead it’s just his button-up shirt tucked into his dress pants. The sleeves are rolled and the top two buttons are undone, giving me a peek of a sprinkling of hair. “You should have told me,” he says, looking me in the eye.
“It wasn’t that easy, Brig.”
“Seems pretty easy. All you had to do was tap me on the shoulder and say, hey, I like you. Lord knows, you’ve had plenty of opportunities.”
“You never would have given me a second look.”
“Bullshit,” he says. “You can’t say that about me. You have no fucking clue how I would have reacted.”
“Are you really mad right now?” I ask, growing irritated.
“Yeah, I am. Do you know how many people at the party knew about you liking me? Almost all of them.”
“Jesus, Brig, what did you do, take a tally?”
“Doesn’t matter what I did. What matters is that you didn’t tell me.”
“Why does it matter so much to you?” I ask, my voice rising. “Do you really think you would have done something about it? I practically propositioned you with my breasts. I held your hand and showed you more affection than ever before. And you didn’t react. That showed me that you weren’t interested in me. So, how can you say that I should have said anything when it was clear you weren’t seeing me as more than a friend? Do you think you would have reacted or done anything differently?”
His eyes sharpen, and before I can take another breath, he’s lifting me up on the counter, spreading my legs, and pressing his body against mine as his hand snakes to the back of my neck.
“I sure as fuck would have done something about it,” he says right before his mouth crashes down on mine.
Need rushes through my bones, weakening my muscles, and softening my resolve. It takes all but two seconds before I give in to the demands of his mouth. I press my hands to his chest, exploring the thick contours of his pecs, the way they slope perfectly with his body, thick and strong.
My thumbs stroke across his hardened nipples, and he groans into my mouth, pulling me flush against him, my center meeting his pelvis.
And, oh God . . .
I lose my breath, gasp against his mouth, his erection sparking something deep within me that’s felt darkened for years.
My fingers sift through his hair, pulling, tugging, my voice a distant whisper when I speak. “Brig . . .”
“Fuck,” he mumbles against my jaw, moving his lips down to my neck as his hands travel over my torso to my thighs. His large hands span the width of them, his thumbs dragging deliciously toward the center.
Higher
And higher.
Until they are under my skirt, at my hipbone, pressing against the string of my thong. His thumbs loop under, pulling, tugging, indicating his intentions.
Heat envelops me, common sense is thrown out the window, and I lift my hips, using his strong body to help me, and he tugs on my thong, pulling it over my ass and then down my legs. I watch as he bundles it up and sticks it in his back pocket.
When he looks back up at me, our eyes connect—our heated gazes collide—and the air erupts with sexual hunger as he charges forward again. This time, he pushes my legs even farther apart, completely exposing me.
Carnal desire drips off him as his mouth finds mine again, his tongue lashing at mine, his hands gripping my face with such intensity that I have no other option than to succumb to his demands.
His thumbs move my jaw, widening my mouth, making way for his unhinged fervor. Like waves crashing into the harbor rocks, desire beats into my chest, constricting my lungs, causing my mind to float somewhere else, somewhere dreamlike. A place where all you do is feel and listen.
His grunts permeate my ears as his tongue dives and slides against mine.
The air pumps between our bodies, licking against the blaze between my legs.
The shift of his dress pants is like a dozen feathers rubbing along my inner thighs.
Sexual need beats through me like a pulse, seeking release it hasn’t felt from a man in a long time.
As if he can sense how ramped up I am, he takes my hands from the back of his head and places them on the counter behind me. Then he kisses my jaw, my chin, my neck . . . my collarbone.
“Oh God,” I whisper. “Brig . . .”
He doesn’t answer. He dips lower, rubs my legs with his strong hands, lifts the skirt of my dress, and then he groans.
Eyes heady, he glances at me briefly, as if looking for permission. When I don’t stop him, he bends forward and brings his mouth to my inner thigh.
Tears prick the backs of my eyes as my head falls back, my gaze focusing on the ceiling as Brig directs his mouth right to my center.
Mouth falls open.
Legs spread even wider.
A zip of electricity bolts up my spine as Brig’s tongue swipes across my swollen clit.
“Oh fuck, Brig.”
“Jesus Christ, I’m hard,” he says, looking up at me. “And you taste so fucking good, Ruthie. Shit. You taste good.”
And then his mouth is back on me, sucking.
His tongue peeks up, flicking.
His breath hums against my clit, warm.
He brings his thumbs to both sides of my pussy and then parts me even wider, only for his tongue to flatten against my clit and pulse.
“Jesus,” I moan. My entire body is on fire. The feeling of falling off the counter threatens the gravity holding me down. My legs shake, nothing to anchor on to. “I can’t hold on,” I say, his tongue performing long, languid strokes.
“Wrap your legs around my neck,” he says, while assisting me.
And dear God, never in my life would I have pictured this with Brig Knightly. Getting tongue-fucked by him, on the counter of my business, my legs wrapped around his neck, keeping his head permanently placed against my throbbing pussy.
It’s hot.
It’s unreal.
It’s almost unbearable.
Using Brig as a foothold, I’m able to lean back some more, granting him a different angle. He presses his fingers against me, inserts them, and curves up. My body nearly flies off the counter from the automatic bunching of nerves collecting between my legs.
“Oh God, yes.” I lean back again, my teeth pulling down on my lower lip. “Brig, oh God, I’m going to come.”
Fire blazes through me, collects in my center, and then blasts up my spine, turning my limbs into liquid, euphoric bliss.
His tongue is relentless, as well as his fingers.
He adds one more.
Driving u
p.
Flicking.
Fucking me.
He’s fucking me and it’s my undoing.
I cry out, my body thrashing uncontrollably. He presses down on my pubic bone, holding me in place, making it impossible for me to tear away as he continues to draw my orgasm out. Pulse after pulse of pleasure pushes through me like a semi-trailer, hitting me harder than before until I can’t take it anymore, until the pleasure is too much and I’m pulling on his hair.
He doesn’t move.
Instead, he rotates the other way and I cry out even more. My body is lying flat on the counter now, my arm draped over my eyes, which are tickled with tears.
“Oh . . . fuck,” I say through a sob.
His tongue slows down.
His fingers slide out of me.
And when he pulls away, I glance in his direction, watching him place his wet fingers in his mouth. “Upstairs. Now.”
Without even a second thought, he tugs on my hand, helps me off the counter, and leads me to his apartment.
I’m pretty sure he’s about to break me. And holy shit, I want that. I want him.
Chapter Fifteen
BRIG
I can’t fucking think straight.
My body’s humming, buzzing, ready to explode.
The guy I’ve been pining after, it’s . . . you.
Those words have been on replay since Ruth uttered them.
What the actual fuck?
She’s liked me . . . for years? And never once said a goddamn thing. I’m still trying to process that, along with the conversations we shared about this guy, the look in her eyes when she spoke about him, the hesitation toward speaking to him.
It was me.
All fucking me.
That Swoony Feeling Page 21