“When do you have to be to your parents’ house?” she asks, flitting her fingers through my chest hair.
I glance over at the clock on the oven and say, “Two hours.”
“Okay.” Seeming shy—which I’ve noticed kicks in when she wants something but doesn’t know how to ask for it—she plays with the buttons on the shirt she’s wearing and says, “Uh, do you want me to go?”
I keep my arm around her waist and say, “I made you breakfast. Do you really think I want you to go?”
“I mean . . . I guess not.”
I tip her chin up. “Why are you acting weird?”
“I’m not trying to act weird. We just haven’t talked about what happened last night, at any point, and we just kept . . . doing it.”
“Yeah, because if felt fucking amazing.” I press a light kiss to her lips. “We have plenty of time to talk, Ruthie. Let’s just enjoy the morning together.”
“I can do that.” She lifts up on her toes and kisses me on the lips one more time. Then she releases me and asks, “What can I help with?”
“Nothing. But you can sit your pretty ass down while I fix a plate for you.” Her cheeks blush and she starts to walk away, when I tug on her arm and spin her into my chest, holding her close. “What’s the blush for?”
“You called me pretty.” She smiles and fuck, it’s adorable.
“Well, you are. Really fucking pretty, especially with your hair all rumpled and while you’re wearing my shirt from last night.”
She presses one more kiss to my lips and then takes off to the table where she sits, crossing one leg over the other. My shirt parts open, exposing her chest.
“Do you expect me to eat pancakes while you’re dressed like that?” I ask motioning to her exposed breasts.
She glances down and then back up at me. “Figured it’s easier than you trying to muster up some X-ray vision to try to see through my shirt like you have over the past few weeks.” And there’s that sass I’ve missed.
I finish up the plates and take them to the table where I set them down and take a seat across from her. “How do you know I didn’t figure out X-ray vision?”
“Because.” She picks up her fork. “Last night when you saw my boobs, your eyes nearly popped out of your head. If you had X-ray vision, your reaction would have been different.”
“They did not pop out of my head.”
“They did.” She nods. “And then your head lifted up, twisted around while you said Awooga and made air kisses.”
I lean back in my chair and stare her down. “Are you always like this after you get thoroughly fucked?”
A smirk peeks past her lips. “Not sure. I’ve never been thoroughly fucked before.”
The heat in my body spikes, a caveman-like mentality taking over as I think about being the only man that’s truly pleasured Ruth.
“Have you orgasmed with other men?”
She shrugs. “Maybe a few times. Nothing that’s blown my mind.”
I take a bite of my pancakes and say, “Are you saying I blew your mind last night?”
She finishes chewing her mouthful and then slices her fork through her pancake for another bite. “You know, Brig, I never thought you would be an after-sex gloater. I’m surprised.”
“I’m not gloating. But if you want me to, I can.” I take a sip of my coffee, clearing my throat. “Last night, you were moaning so loud, I was worried Port Snow was going to think it was the emergency sirens sounding off.”
She sits back in her chair, folds her arms over her chest.
Studies me.
Brings her coffee cup to her lips.
“Now I see why you haven’t had sex in a while. Your morning-after game is lacking.”
“Ooof.” I lean back, hand to my heart. “When you strike, you strike hard.” I chuckle, and so does she.
From over her mug, she keeps eye contact with me, her eyes darkening, the corner of her lips tilting up. “You blew my mind last night, Brig.”
Well . . . hell.
I can’t hold back my smile, no matter how hard I try. “I think it’s safe to say you blew my mind too.”
She looks down at her coffee and quietly says, “I’ve never done it without protection before.” She glances at me.
“Neither have I.” I swallow hard. “I think it’s why I was so . . . quick on the trigger.”
She chuckles. “You weren’t quick on the trigger and were quite the gentleman, letting me come first.”
I push my hand through my hair. “Almost didn’t make it when you were on top of me.”
“You liked that?” she asks, shifting in her chair so the shirt falls off her shoulder, exposing an expanse of skin that is marred with beard burn and . . . hell, I marked her last night.
I stand from my chair and round the small table where I sit on the edge and run my thumb over the bite mark on her collarbone. “Did I hurt you?”
She shakes her head. “No. You made me crazy with need.”
Arousal spikes through my body as my hand travels down her shoulder.
“Seeing you on top of me, writhing, your tits bouncing . . .” I drag my hand over my mouth. “Hell, Ruthie.”
Her hand slides up my leg as she leans forward, the shirt barely even covering her now as it falls off both of her shoulders.
“I loved watching you come undone.” Her hand travels higher. I’m only wearing a pair of sweatpants right now and I’m fucking hard, so she doesn’t have to run her hand over my cock to realize that.
And yet, she still does.
My hands grip the edge of the table. I suck in a hiss when her hand connects with my length. My chest muscles flex with anticipation as her eyes travel up my corded torso.
She licks her lips.
She slowly blinks.
And . . . fuck . . . I need her again.
Not saying anything, she rises from her seat and steps between my legs. With one flick of my hand, I undo the only button securing my shirt on her, and then push it off her body, exposing the soft skin I dragged my tongue all over last night.
I take her breasts in my hands and smooth my palms over her nipples. She sucks in a sharp breath and moves closer. Her hand slides under the waistband of my sweats and connects with my erection.
“You’re so big, Brig.” She glances up at me. “You fill me perfectly.”
Fuck, that’s an understatement. When I moved inside her last night, it felt so goddamn right. It scared me how right it felt.
I push my sweats to the floor and step out of them, releasing my erection.
Holding my hand out, I say, “Want to take a shower?”
Her eyes smolder, her mouth slightly parts, and she nods.
We walk to my bathroom where I flip on the shower and wait for it to get warm. When I turn toward her, I catch her staring at my chest.
“Care to compliment?” I ask.
She chuckles and sighs, resting her hand on my left pec. “Is it weird to say I like your chest hair?”
“No, I like all compliments.” I push her hair behind her ear. “So big dick, great chest hair, what else?”
“You’re ridiculous.” She laughs when I scoop her up and bring her into the shower stall, which I just had redone with marble tiling and multiple showerheads. The warm water sprays across my back and I maneuver her around so she’s soaked in seconds.
“Oh God, that feels good,” she says, lifting her arms up and running them through her wet hair.
And holy . . . fuck.
Water slices over her body, dribbles off her erect nipples, drips down her flat abdomen and between her legs, exactly where I want to be.
I grab the bar of soap off my soap ledge and hand it to her. Then I lean against the tile and say, “Soap me up, Ruthie.”
Smiling slyly, she lathers her hands with the bar, sets it down, and then moves her hands to my body where she grabs my cock right away.
Christ.
Hands behind me, I hold still as she pulls on my cock,
alternating hands, applying enough pressure to make me slowly shake beneath her.
“Your hands are fucking perfect,” I say, my head falling to the tile.
Stroking me, she travels one hand underneath my cock, straight to my balls where she lightly plays with them. And when she tugs with both hands at the same time, I nearly fly off the wall.
“Whoa, Ruthie. I—”
She does it again.
“Jesus . . . fuck.” I grip her hips. “Ruthie, you can’t—”
Again.
“Fuh-uck,” I breathe.
One more time, and then she’s moved against the wall, her tits plastered to the tile, my body up against hers.
Speaking into her ear, my chest to her back, I say, “Stop trying to make me come too quickly.”
She chuckles, but not for long as I move my hand down her back, over her crack, and then right between her legs where I find her warm, tight center. I circle her entrance with my index finger, teasing her, taunting her. Her hands slide up the tile to either side of her head, and then her cheek is pressed against the wall. Her breathing grows heavy and her legs spread even wider.
“What do you want?” I ask her, fiery desire burning through my veins.
“You, Brig. Only you,” she says on a moan.
And that’s the fucking truth right there. If I’ve learned anything over the last twenty-four hours, it’s that Ruth’s want for me is genuine. Wholehearted. I’ve felt it in her every touch, in her every look.
On her next intake of breath, I press my fingers inside of her. Her hips move with my fingers, seeking relief as I move in and out.
“Yes,” she whispers.
“Spread your legs more.” I reach for the hand shower and put it on the pulse setting. I bring it to the front of her body and let the water beat against her stomach at first. Immediately, she understands my intentions and lifts one of her legs up onto the marble bench, exposing her. “Perfect,” I whisper against her ear, moving the shower head to her pussy. She gasps from the first pulse of water. But then she settles against me, her back to my chest, her hips rocking against my fingers.
“So good,” she says, her wet body sliding against mine. “Yes, Brig.”
I love how vocal she is; makes me harder with every word.
Instead of moving the shower head around, I keep it right on her clit and work my fingers, curving them up, trying to hit that special spot that I know will fire her off.
“I’m going to come,” she says, faster than I expected. “Oh God, Brig . . . oh my God.” Her hand snakes to the back of my neck, gripping me as her body shudders, her climax blasting through her. She rocks against me, her nails bite into my neck, and before I know what’s happening, she has me sitting on the bench, she’s on my lap, facing away from me.
And then she rocks.
My cock is as hard as stone.
She rocks her ass over my erection, her body leaning forward, giving me the perfect view as she grinds against me.
“Ruthie,” I croak. “Need inside you.”
She lifts up, grabs my cock, positions me at her entrance, and then crashes down on me.
“Mother . . . fucker,” I say as her tight heat sheathes me.
She takes my hands in hers and presses them against her breasts then reaches behind her and grips the back of my neck.
I move my head over her shoulder so I get the perfect view of her body, and she rocks up and down. The angle feels unlike anything I’ve experienced, especially the way her pussy grips me. The friction feels that much heavier, more intense.
I roll her nipples between my fingers, pulling on them ever so slightly, just enough to cause her to moan out loud and for her pussy to clench even tighter around my length.
“Ruthie, you’re killing me,” I say as she grinds down on me.
Not skipping a beat, she continues to move up and down on my length, squeezing when she lowers, creating a sensation that drives my orgasm to the brink in a matter of seconds.
“Christ,” I whisper into her ear, pulling on her lobe.
“Yes, more,” she says.
So I nibble down her neck, suck on the curve of her shoulder, and then move back up again. I angle her head so I can reach her lips, and that’s where I dive my tongue into her mouth, seeking desperately.
She groans loader. Her pace picks up. I keep one hand on her breast, massaging, kneading, pinching her nipple.
Together we build the pleasure between us until I can practically taste it. Delicious delirium fills the shower along with steam, and my balls pull in, a laser shot of bliss zipping down my spine.
“Shit, Ruthie, I’m going to—”
I don’t even finish as we both roar together, our hips thrusting against one another, our mouths colliding, the sounds of our orgasms reverberating off the tiled walls. I pulse inside her, pounding out every last drop until we’re completely sated.
Her back leans against my chest, I lean against the wall, and I hold her, still connected.
“Oh my . . . God, Brig.” She chuckles and turns her head, bringing her lips to mine.
I reciprocate the kiss, realizing that . . . yeah . . . oh my God is fucking right.
* * *
“You realize I’m going to have to do the walk of shame down Main Street, don’t you?” Ruth calls from the shower where she’s finishing up. I hopped out in fear that I would try to fuck her again. I know she’s got to be sore, so I don’t want to push her . . . even though she’s the one who initiated shower sex.
Or was that me?
Who knows at this point? Either way, when she started soaping up her hair and rinsing it under the spray, I had to get out.
“I’ll drive you to the back entrance,” I call out.
“That’s okay, you have things to do today.” The shower turns off and the shower door opens. I lean back to catch a peek at her through the open door. When she spots me, she just laughs and shakes her head, then she shimmies her bare breasts at me, and I nearly choke on my own saliva.
“Shit,” I mumble.
“Don’t peek if you can’t keep it together, Knightly.”
She’s right. No peeking. None at all, or I’ll never get out of this apartment and to my parents’ house. Walking over to the bathroom, I slowly shut the door while saying, “We’re going to have to keep this shut until you’re dressed.”
She laughs on the other side and says, “I don’t have clothes in here.”
“Hold on.”
I run to my dresser, my towel wrapped around my waist, and I pull out a shirt and some shorts for her. I shove them through the door and say, “Take these for now. Not sure where your dress is.”
“Do you have lotion?”
“Under the sink and for the love of God, keep the door shut while you lotion your body.”
She chuckles some more, the sound so sweet. The door clicks shut just as my phone buzzes.
I glance around looking for it. Where the hell did I put it?
I glance at my nightstand, don’t see it there, scan my dining table, kitchen . . . desk.
There it is. I reach for it and sit at my desk.
Griffin: Hey, are you headed over here at some point this morning?
I type him back quickly.
Brig: I have forty-five minutes. Chill.
Griffin: Just making sure. Normally you’d be here first thing in the morning, jumping up and down, screaming that your brother is getting married.
I chuckle. That is something I would do.
Brig: I’ll be there.
Griffin: Okay . . . don’t forget to stop by the Landing for the fresh scones.
Brig: Got it.
I set my phone down and lean back in my chair, staring at the papers on my desk. Normally, I would be at my parents’ house, acting like the obnoxious little brother that I am, but Jesus, getting the motivation to leave this apartment feels—
My eyes land on a stack of envelopes . . .
Familiar envelopes.
Envelope
s that I’ve relied on this summer . . .
Ah, fuck!
Anguish rips through me as I reach out and pick one of the envelopes off the pile and unfold the letter. Familiar red lips caress the bottom of the page, hugs and kisses, a connection so strong, so familiar, it wraps itself around my heart.
My eyes snap toward the bedroom.
Back to the letter.
Holy shit. What the hell have I done?
I press my hand to my forehead, anxiety creeping up the back of my neck.
Summer.
In the whirlwind of Ruth, I forgot about Summer.
I drag my hand over my mouth. Regret and unease push through me, making my skin prickle with dread. Confusion rips through me.
The intimate details we’ve shared.
The same emotions of feeling lonely and unlucky at love.
I glance toward the bathroom one more time.
I’ve felt such an intense connection with Summer. Did I allow Ruth’s attention, her kisses, her advances, to distract me from Summer? The girl I’ve already committed my heart to. The girl I think is the one . . .
I slump in my chair as my palms start to sweat. How could I do that? I’m not that guy, who pursues one girl and has sex with another.
That’s not going to break the curse.
I won’t be forever cured.
Fuck. No.
Only Summer can do that. What I feel for her . . .
What the hell do I do now?
Chapter Seventeen
RUTH
I stare into the mirror, the reflection a completely different person from what I’m used to seeing.
There’s a spark in this girl’s eyes.
A radiant smile on her face.
A contented glow surrounding her.
He likes me.
He actually likes me.
I bury my face in my hands and silently squeal. I’d have never in a million years thought I’d spend the night in Brig Knightly’s arms. Yet here I am, the morning after, coming from shower sex with the glorious man, putting on his clothes so he can drive me back to my place.
Taking a deep breath, I gather myself, put on his shirt—his shirt that smells like him—then slip his shorts on that are far too big, requiring me to roll them at the waist.
That Swoony Feeling Page 23