Just the Tip of the Iceberg: Mile High Matched Books 1-3

Home > Other > Just the Tip of the Iceberg: Mile High Matched Books 1-3 > Page 16
Just the Tip of the Iceberg: Mile High Matched Books 1-3 Page 16

by Christina Hovland


  Holy crap. The vision of Brek with his hand on his…it…would be forever burned into her mind. She could watch him do that for hours.

  “We’ll go slow. Tell me if you need a break.” His kissed her quickly, and then all she saw was the top of his head as he moved his lips down the slope of her chest.

  This was nice. “Nice” being the least appropriate word ever. “Fantastic” was more like it. His mouth covered her left breast, and he sucked on her nipple, groaning along with her moans. She massaged her fingertips against his scalp, and he released her nipple. A mew escaped her lips, but he continued kissing her torso, down to her thighs. He stopped at her knee and opened her legs. They fell easily apart. Oh dear, he was really going for it.

  She wasn’t boring Velma anymore, not with Brek. “I feel like I’m falling.”

  “V,” he said, the word a command for her to look at him. “You feel like you’re fallin’? Eyes on me. I’ll catch you.” Brek’s fingertip trailed along the inside of her heat, his breath against her most intimate place.

  He spread her legs further and brought her just to the cusp of unraveling before he stopped with the tip of his erection against her entrance.

  The feel of him there, the stretch of skin and, oh, the heat.

  His hips slid firmly against hers, his erection joining them together. The coarse hair of his legs was a contrast to her smooth calves.

  “Eyes,” he said, gentler than she’d ever heard him before.

  Her gaze locked onto his. Her lips involuntarily parted as he invaded her senses, inch by inch. This felt right. He felt right. She reached between them, trailing her fingertips down his abs to where they were together. She gripped his erection and guided him in farther.

  “Brek,” she whispered his name like a prayer.

  “Eyes,” he grunted, seating himself firmly inside her.

  He didn’t move. Muscles in his arms twitched. His gaze never faltered. “Ready?”

  She wasn’t ready for this. The back of his bike was a hookup, but this. This was not. This was her bed and her room and her life.

  “I can hear you thinkin’ all the way up here.” He nuzzled his nose against her shoulder, his thickness still hard inside her.

  To heck with it all. She ran a hand over the muscles of his shoulder. “I’m ready.”

  Slowly, he pulled out and gently pushed himself back in. She arched into him and moved with his body. The length of him pulsed inside her.

  His expression remained fiercely protective. “Relax against me.”

  She tried, she really did. The beauty of all that was Brek overwhelmed her. Gosh, he felt so good. His skin, his mouth…everything.

  He reached his thumb between them, rubbing the sensitive nerves. A coil inside her tightened.

  “Relax,” he whispered.

  How could she relax when his body did things to hers that should be illegal in forty-eight states?

  He slowed his persistence, keeping hold of her gaze. “Pulled into your parking garage. Prettiest woman I ever saw gave me lip about parking in her spot. Those moments? I prayed harder than I’ve ever prayed for anything that you’d open up and let me in.”

  The coiled spring inside her tightened further but refused to release.

  “You let me into your world, and for once, I didn’t want to leave. I always want to leave, V. Always.” His mouth found hers, gently nipping her bottom lip. “’Til you.”

  She moaned into his kiss. Gosh, he was good at this.

  “That’s right, V. Give yourself to me.”

  She opened her mouth to say something. What? She wasn’t sure. Instead, she clenched her thighs around him, her ankles involuntarily lifting to his lower back to give him better purchase.

  “You’re mine. Were from the second I saw you.”

  “I can’t relax.” Even as she spoke, her body disagreed with her words. His continued persistence sent her higher, the tension building.

  “Mine.” His hand moved to her hair. “You’re mine.”

  “Yours,” she muttered, her head falling to the side. The tension inside became more than she’d ever imagined.

  The pressure continued to build.

  She relaxed, and without warning, everything in her contracted, releasing on a wave of intensity. His fingertips brushed her nipples and then pinched. Another wave overwhelmed her, her core pulsing around every part of him.

  He cursed. The pleasure was so intense, she didn’t even care. He trailed intimate kisses along her neck, to her collarbone, down to her breasts. Yet, somehow, he continued thrusting in her. Then he met her stare and held her hand as they fell together.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Countdown to Claire & Dean’s Wedding: 3 Weeks

  The last thing Brek wanted to think about was reality outside of the bubble he had created around himself and Velma the last week. He fixed the messy bed in Velma’s room, pulling up her sheets and her comforter with the little roses printed on it.

  He slept next to her and held her hand. She was scared of getting close to a guy who would be leaving. He understood. That didn’t mean he couldn’t take her out to a show at the Buell Theatre.

  She had enjoyed the date he planned, too. He hadn’t told her where they were going. But her face went soft and her eyes got misty when she saw the playbill for some pansy-ass old musical. It hadn’t slipped his notice how afterward she’d moved his pillow next to hers, his soap to her shower, and his guitar to her bedroom.

  The fact remained that she would stick around Denver after he left. More and more, he began to think of Denver as his base. His adult life had consisted of living out of hotel rooms, planning concerts, scoping out venues, and managing one of the most popular bands of the decade. He’d been the glue that kept Dimefront together this long. He traveled cross-country, celebrating the roar of the engine, the open road, and his freedom to do the job he loved.

  Dean’s wedding was coming along. Dress was done. Flowers, catering, country club—everything was on track. Still, he’d braced for something to go wrong.

  It hadn’t.

  Velma made him consider changing the way he had always lived. Made him rethink a lot of things. Made him want to stay in Denver and keep their fling alive. Together they would figure something out when he had to take off. They should discuss shit like that. Lately, though, their time spent together was either working or…not talking, that’s for sure. Probably why they were getting along better than ever.

  He came out of the bedroom and tucked his phone into the pocket of his jeans. No shirt, since Velma had stolen the faded blue Dimefront tee he’d tossed on that morning.

  She glanced up from some slick magazine she was reading while sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter. “Hey.”

  “Hey.” Brek tugged the magazine from her grip. Some chick magazine about losing inches while still eating the things you love.

  She snatched it back and smoothed the pages. “I was reading that.”

  His bare toes sunk into one of her foam mats as he opened the refrigerator, absently searching for a post-sex snack. He glanced to her.

  She ran a fingertip over the glossy cover of the magazine.

  He grabbed the half-full jug of milk and a tall cup because he didn’t particularly want to piss off Velma.

  She smiled at something on the page, and it hit him in the gut.

  Brek stared at her nipples poking against the front of his tee. It wasn’t particularly cold in the apartment. But you wouldn’t know that with the headlights flashing toward hi—

  “You want your shirt back?” she asked, interrupting him from gawking at her tits.

  He took a gulp of the milk and set it on the counter. “Nope. Looks better on you.”

  “That’s debatable.” She flipped open the magazine again and skimmed a page.

  He came behind her to wrap his arms around her shoulders. She had pinned her hair up into a mess on top of her head. Little pieces fell down against her back. She leaned into him as he ran his
hands down her sides to the hem of his tee.

  “There’s some stuff I’ve been meanin’ to talk to you about.” He traced the collar of the tee with his fingertip.

  “Yeah? What’s up?” She set the magazine down, her fingertips digging slightly into his forearms where he hugged her.

  “You’re not wearin’ panties,” he muttered to her hair.

  “So?” She craned her neck to meet his stare.

  “So, how do you feel about counter sex?” He turned her and was already pulling up the soft fabric covering her chest, his hand grazing her belly button.

  “Already?” She scrunched her nose. With a teasing glint in her eye, she glanced pointedly to his fly. The button on his jeans wasn’t fastened, and the bulge her presence created made itself apparent.

  “I’m gonna need that shirt back after all.” He raised an eyebrow before kissing her until she squeaked.

  “Counter sex sounds messy. Back to the bedroom sex instead?” she asked, eyes wide. “Maybe even sofa sex?”

  “Aren’t you even the least bit curious?” He nuzzled her neck, right next to the red hickey he had placed there days ago, and stepped between her parted legs. “Cool countertop, bare ass. My coc—”

  “Don’t call it that.” She cupped her palm against the stubble of his jaw.

  “What? My coc—”

  “Bit’s o’ glory.” She placed an index finger to silence him.

  Fuck. She was adorable. “Bit’s o’ glory?”

  “Or dangly bits. Just not the c-word.” She nodded.

  He dropped his hands to his hips but didn’t step back. “You are not calling my dick dangly bits. He takes offense.”

  She pursed her lips, clearly biting back a grin. “Your…it…can’t take offense. It’s not sentient.”

  “See? Now you’ve done it. He is out to prove you wrong about that.” A smile tugged at Brek’s lips. He hooked his thumbs at his waistband and dropped his pants to the hardwood.

  Her eyes sparkled as he pinned her on the stool, leaning over, an arm on each side of her shoulders. A laugh escaped her throat as he lifted her gently onto the hard slab of granite counter and crawled up after her. He shoved aside her not-so-subtle pamphlets about individual retirement accounts and grabbed the magazine. He rolled it into a tube, tapping it against his palm.

  “You’re going to break my kitchen.” She scooted backward, her hands searching behind her as she went.

  He pulled her legs open and tugged her back to him, kneeling there. “Nah. It’s solid. I break it? I buy it. And, V? I’d have a damn good amount of fun breaking your counter.”

  She gulped and laid back, her legs spread, her perky rack practically staring him in the face. He ran the rolled-up magazine over her parted lips, down over the valley between her breasts, stopping just under her navel. She raised her eyebrows at him. He smiled his best attempt at a menacing grin, but she giggled. He tossed the glossy paper aside and did a push-up over the top of her, holding there until she squirmed. Lack of contact did that to her. He had noticed that.

  “Am I going to like this lesson?” She covered her eyes with her hand, peeking out between two fingers.

  “Oh. You’re gonna like it. Then you’re gonna owe him an apology.” He glanced down to where his bits o’ glory stood at attention, ready to fight the good fight for honor and bravery.

  She giggled, gripping the edge of the counter above her head so her belly arched to touch his. “Is that right?”

  “Mm-hmm.” His mouth found hers again as he lowered his body over her.

  He’d talk to her later…about something important. At the moment, he couldn’t think straight about anything other than the little noises she made when he moved inside her.

  Velma had grown to admire the way Brek plowed through life without hesitation or apology. Worry tugged at her, though, that his luck wouldn’t last. He would plow too far, go too fast. She preferred safety…security. And, presently, scarves to cover the hickey Brek had left on her neck.

  She toyed with a ballpoint pen and the yellow legal pad she’d brought along to Aspen’s office at Montgomery Events near Cherry Creek.

  “We should meet in the conference room,” Velma suggested, changing the subject.

  “Works for me.” Brek followed her down the hall.

  Aspen had decked out the meeting space in everything bridal—from the long white conference table with matching chairs and the fuzzy peach carpet, to the faux flower arrangements decorating one wall next to thick catalogs hawking everything from wedding stationary to veils. She had added wickless candles scented with essential lavender and vanilla oils, so the place smelled like a fancy spa.

  “Sophie really didn’t say what she wanted?” Velma straightened the chairs. Neither of them had heard a word from Sophie or Troy following the disastrous almost-wedding, until she’d called Brek yesterday to ask for a meeting.

  He’d asked Velma to come along.

  “Nope.” Brek sat and leaned his chair back so the top of it touched the wall, his fingers linked behind his scalp, elbows wide. He was so going to crack his head and need stitches.

  Velma dropped the pen on the notepad. Her stomach turned at the thought of how Sophie and Troy’s wedding had gone sour. She couldn’t help but feel guilty for her part in it. She hadn’t been vindictive, but she also hadn’t thought about the effect her words would have on a skittish bride on her wedding day.

  “Is everything ready for the Rosette photo shoot?” Velma asked.

  “Yup.” A full day of scruff peppered his face since he hadn’t taken time to shave before they’d left the apartment. Scruffy-sexy suited him.

  His phone buzzed. He glanced to it, frowned, and tapped out a message.

  “Everything okay?” Velma asked.

  “Ma’s having a rough day. It’s the anniversary of my dad’s car accident. Doesn’t get easier for her.”

  The knots in Velma’s stomach multiplied. “What happened?”

  “I was seven. Aspen was three. Dad had a heart attack driving me to baseball practice. He swerved. The other car didn’t. Aspen and I made it. He...” He shook his head.

  Velma suspected something had happened to his father, but it had never been her place to ask. Men ran off all the time. She figured that was what had happened. Death had never crossed her mind. “I’m sorry about your dad.”

  “Me, too.” Muscles in Brek’s jaw skipped; his teeth ground together.

  She crossed her legs toward him, her heart breaking for the boy he had been. A kid whose life had changed on the way to a baseball game. “Were you guys okay?”

  “I was.” He dropped his elbows to his thighs. “Aspen shattered her pelvis and broke her leg.” His words held a raw edge she had never heard from him before. “This day always brings up stuff that shouldn’t be brought up.”

  “By stuff, you mean feelings?”

  He grunted.

  “Is that why you run?” She figured a guy didn’t run from a family he loved as much as Brek cared for his unless something had spooked him.

  “I don’t run,” he huffed.

  He totally ran. “I’ll rephrase. Is that why you avoid Denver?”

  “Is this the part where you turn into a shrink?” he muttered.

  The jingle of the front door signaled the start of their meeting.

  He wiped a hand down his face. “Showtime.” He stood.

  “Why am I so nervous about this?” Velma’s voice shook.

  “’Cause last time we saw ’em, you were wearin’ my shirt as a dress,” he replied, heading for the reception area.

  Velma rose and smoothed her pink wool skirt, adjusting the high waistband where she had tucked a cream blouse. Brek, ever the creature of habit, wore his uniform of ripped jeans and a worn T-shirt that showcased his biceps and stretched across his pecs.

  She hurried after him to find Sophie and Troy. They held hands. Hope that they could salvage their relationship bloomed in Velma’s chest.

  Sophie immedia
tely dropped Troy’s grasp. She moved quickly to Velma, enfolding her in a hug. Velma awkwardly hugged her, patting her on the back, because what else was she supposed to do with a runaway bride?

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” Sophie whispered, pulling away. Tears welled in her eyes.

  Brek raised an eyebrow at Velma. She shrugged. What the hell-o was she being blamed for now?

  “Thank you for what you did,” Sophie continued.

  “What, exactly, did I do?” Velma asked cautiously.

  “You gave Troy my note.” Sophie stepped back to Troy, and now the tears streamed freely down her cheeks. He smiled at her like she held the meaning to all that was real and good.

  A jealous twinge in the vicinity of her heart stopped Velma’s breath. What would she give to have a man look at her that way? The way Brek looked at her like she was dinner and he was starving was nice, but it wasn’t the same.

  “We’ve spent some time figuring things out. Thanks to the note, I knew she still loved me.” Troy’s gaze never left Sophie. “Things just got away from us with the wedding plans. That’s, uh, actually why we’re here. We’d like you to help us plan a new wedding. A better one.”

  “Shall we move to the conference room?” Velma asked, herding them along.

  “We can meet here. Troy? Sophie?” Brek gestured to the tight love seat and pulled up a chair from the reception desk for Velma. He grabbed one for himself from along the wall and straddled it.

  Um. No. They had agreed to meet in the conference room. Velma had even turned on the scented-candle things. That’s where she left her notepad. Brek didn’t even have a writing utensil out here.

  “Are you sure? We’re uh…all set up in the other room.” Velma tried to telepathically encourage Brek to follow her lead. He wasn’t having it.

  “We’re good. I’m good. You good?” he asked the couple on the couch.

  They nodded. Fudge. Velma reluctantly sat in the chair Brek offered. She leaned over to him. “My notepad is in the other room,” she whispered.

  He grinned at her. “You can go get it if you want. We won’t need notes, though.”

 

‹ Prev