Текст книги "Sweet Obsession "

Автор книги: J. Daniels

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

Hello, mouth? Let me introduce you to my foot. Go ahead and eat it. You’ll be doing me a solid favor.

I grab my menu and flip it open. My gaze lowers. “No. Of course not. I was just making a joke. I’ve never been anywhere this nice before. I think the atmosphere is making me nervous or something.”

Or, its you. The way you look at me. The things you say. That could be it.

He taps his menu against mine.

Our eyes meet, and the moment he smiles, maybe a bit apologetically, I forget all about my secret agenda to tease him and get him hard underneath this table. The way Mason is looking at me . . . it’s sweet, and candid, and maybe I’ve never had a man take me to dinner without the expectation of sex, but I don’t want to admit that, and I’m also bizarrely happy Mason isn’t doing this for that same reason. I no longer want to take away from the conversation or anything else this dinner will entail.

And I also don’t want to think about how strangely okay I am with that revelation.

He jerks his chin, motioning for me to pick out my dish.

I resume looking at the menu, really focusing in on the words in front of me for the first time since I opened it. Everything is in Italian. Even the drinks.

What the . . .

My gaze travels the length of the menu, right, then back to the left. My eyes narrow. I lean closer. I have no idea what I’m reading. Well, not reading. Reading implies understanding, and that’s definitely not what’s happening here. It’s more of a guessing game, really. Maybe when the waiter arrives I can just point to the cheapest entrée and hope for the best?

Mason must sense my confusion. I’m sure it’s obvious, I’m close to flipping this thing upside down and taking a go at it that way. Or pulling up Google translations on my iPhone. But before I have a chance to do any of that, my menu is stripped out of my hands.

“Hey,” I protest.

Mason smiles, almost wickedly, folding the menu in front of him. “What do you like? Pasta? Seafood? Do you want a chicken dish?”

I shoot him a puzzled look. “Um . . . yeah, sure, I like pasta and seafood. I like pretty much anything except for eggplant.”

The waiter arrives at our table. I sit back in my chair and watch, stunned, as Mason, who up until this moment was already killing me with his accent, fires off our orders in perfect Italian.

Holy. Fuck.

There’s no stutter, no uncertain pause as he trips over a word or two. It’s beautifully fluent, hot as Hell, and I’m melting in my seat at this surprising man across from me.

Seriously? Is there anything he’s not amazing at?

Yoga. Being a decent person. Consuming large quantities of treats and still managing to look like a sex God.

The waiter steps away. I pry my mouth off the floor.

“You’re not really playing fair,” I say after I collect myself.

Mason looks at me thoughtfully, concealing his possible understanding of what I’m referring to. “What do you mean?”

“You just completely blew me away by speaking Italian. I was not expecting that.”

He limply shrugs.

No big deal. Mastering a language is apparently second nature to this guy.

He runs his finger over the edge of his perfectly folded napkin. “I was a bored kid. My oldest sister visited Italy one summer, and I got into her language books she left behind. I spoke it better than she did by the time she got back.”

Our drinks arrive, and I gulp two mouthfuls of wine before I can ask my next question.

“You taught yourself another language? How old were you?”

“Fifteen.”

“Fifteen? Mason, that’s insane,” I chuckle.

He snickers, picking his own glass up for a taste. “Is it?”

“Yes. Do you know what I was doing when I was fifteen? My entire world revolved around cheerleading and boys. I hated school. You couldn’t pay me to learn a language. That is . . .” I pause, leaning back in my seat.

Who is this guy?

“That’s amazing. You are amazing.”

He looks across the table, staring at me with an unreadable expression, stretching out the silence between us by holding up his finger when I open my mouth to speak.

My lips pinch together. I fidget with my hands in my lap, counting the seconds. I hate silence. I especially hate it when I have absolutely no idea what the other person is thinking.

And Mason is a vault right now. He’s not giving anything away.

Finally, after swallowing a mouthful of wine, he speaks. “Sorry. I have no idea what all you just said. I stopped listening after you mentioned something about you being a cheerleader. And then I spent all that time just now picturing it.”

Heat burns across my face. “Ah, you like that, do ya?”

He nods.

“I did it through college. I was an all-star.”

“Do you still have the uniform?” he asks above his glass.

Yes.

“Maybe.”

“You should wear it for me sometime.”

YES.

“Maybe.”

Now Mason is the one smirking, but this smirk is dangerous. One hundred percent alluring. A hunter who doesn’t need to chase his prey. They come walking right over to him, ready to hand over their destiny without question. Without pause.

I would run at him. I am talking a full-blown sprint. There would be no walking in his direction.

“Do you like to camp?”

His rapid change of subject rips my mind out of the gutter. I had been thinking about sitting on that smirk of his.

I shake my head through a laugh. “Camp? Seriously? As in sleeping outdoors with bugs and wild animals? No showers. No toilets. Just you and nature? Is that what you’re talking about?”

He smiles. “That’s the textbook definition of camping, yes.”

“Then no. Not at all. But you know what I do like? Air conditioning. Civilization. Beds. I love beds.”

“Beds are good.”

I rest my chin on my hand. “Aren’t they? God, they’re so good. I’m not restricted to beds though. I can work with anything.”

Mason lifts an eyebrow.

I can go into detail, right now, about how I’d like to explore beds and anything with Mason, but his line of questioning intrigues me. Of course, he looks like Mr. Nature-lover. I’m sure he is very fond of camping. Hiking. Saving the world one rainforest at a time.

“Let me guess. You’re an avid camper.”

He takes another sip of his wine, then nods. “I enjoy it. I haven’t been since I lived out in Texas, but I would love to spend a weekend outdoors with you.”

Well, that’s completely unexpected. And insane.

I throw my head back with a laugh. Tears brim my eyes. “Sorry but . . . yeah, there’s no way I’m sleeping outside. It’s not happening. I don’t do bugs, Mason. I don’t have any desire to sleep on the ground where a snake can work it’s slimy way into my tent and strangle me to death.”

His eyes flash with amusement. “How big is this snake?”

Nice. Perfect set up.

I hesitate responding, tilting my head, watching as he catches up to my filthy mind. His eyes train on my lips, move lower down the line of my neck, then snap back up as if he’s just been awakened from a trance.

I love these moments when I catch him staring at me like this. As if he’s fighting the biggest temptation of his life by not touching me.

Fuck though, touch me! This doesn’t need to be a struggle for you!

He clears his throat. “You’d like it with me,” he states confidently. “I’d protect you from bugs and the snakes you don’t want around. Trust me. You’d have fun, yeah? We’d lay out under the stars. Share a sleeping bag.”

“I’m listening.”

“That interest you?”

“Sharing a sleeping bag? Tightly pressed together? Yes. Do you sleep naked?”

He doesn’t answer that question. Just slowly grins at me. “Do you?”

I match his expression, only, I can’t simply teeter the line of flirtation. I jump right over it.

I lean forward, running my hand down my leg, angling my body down the slightest bit until Mason takes notice of my cleavage. I play with the chain hanging around my neck, which just so happens to tickle between my breasts. He doesn’t remove his gaze, and my nipples quickly harden under his scrutiny. Then I slowly sit back, crossing my one leg over the other, waiting until he looks up at me before I leisurely raise my glass to my lips and taste my wine. His eyes flare with desire as my tongue licks the residue from the corner of my mouth.

The longer we stare at each other, the wetter I become.

I never realized how sexy silence can be. How hot I could get from unspoken words, or the idea of something as personal as someone’s sleeping habits.

Boxers, I decide. He looks like a boxers guy. No shirt. His lean body modestly concealed, stretching against the sheet.

I subtly tug at the bottom of my shirt below the table. My breasts swell. More skin is revealed.

Mason clears his throat.

I have no idea if he is growing hard in his jeans, until he drops a hand to his lap and inhales sharply through his nose.

My smile broadens. His disappears entirely.

But just like that, the aura around him shifts. All signs of a man starving to throw me on top of this table and feast vanishes the second our plates arrive.

I glare at the waiter. Can you let the chef know his promptness is annoying?

He merely smiles at my silent instruction, murmurs something in Italian, and steps away.

I look down at the dish placed in front of me. Seafood pasta, with scallops and shrimp over a bed of linguini. Mason’s plate has a lobster tail, a generous cut of steak, and some greens on the side.

Everything looks incredible. I was set on climaxing before I dined but I suppose it can wait.

I twirl some pasta onto my fork and bring it up to my mouth.

“I always sleep naked, Brooke,” Mason mumbles quietly.

I nearly drop my fork.

Oh, you gorgeous bastard.

He laughs around his bite of steak as our eyes meet. He looks delighted, reveling in my reaction and clearly thinking he’s won this round.

Did I mention how much I love a little friendly competition?

I shoot him my sweetest, most innocent smile as my mind begins calculating my next move.

Silly man. You have no idea who you’re up against.

MASON

Dinner with Brooke is . . . interesting, to say the least.

I’ve never watched a woman so completely focused on my undoing before. So casually sexual with every little movement and shift of her body. Fucking brilliant, on her part. I’m finding it hard to concentrate, which I believe is her every intention. She’s had to repeat a question or two. My voice has grown a bit thick at times, leading me to tug at my already unbuttoned collar. I’ve thought about every way I could possibly get her off at this restaurant, how concealed I would be if I were to crawl under this table and feel her orgasm against my tongue. After thorough investigation of the white cloth stopping well off the floor, my horny arse remains planted in my chair.

What she’s doing, it’s calculated, and fucking torture not to react to. I can hide my erection but I can’t keep that bloody thing under control. Even the placement of her hands while I speak of my classes from earlier today is suggestive.

“I think I’ve established a good client base,” I tell her, tossing my napkin on the table. “I’m seeing some familiar faces come around now and pop in again. That’s encouraging. I was worried about that.”

Her fingers brush against the smooth dip between her collarbones, then trail lower, openly teasing the swell of her tits.

Fuck. What I wouldn’t give to bury my face in there.

She grins. “I don’t know why you were worried. I hate exercising and enjoyed your class. Not just the view either.”

Her voice remains completely neutral, friendly, delightfully engaged in this conversation. That’s the only thing about her that isn’t screaming for me to bend her over that chair she’s sitting in and fuck her senseless.

I discreetly adjust my cock, again. I’m surprised I’m still able to form coherent responses at this point. There can’t be much blood flow still heading to my brain.

“You should come to another one,” I suggest, keeping my hand in my lap, a smile tugging the corner of my mouth.

Her eyes dance with mischief. She drinks the last of her wine. “That’s a fantastic idea. I would love to come.”

And there’s that. So much for innocent banter. I walked her and my throbbing cock right into that one.

Brooke chuckles, arching her back to gather her hair over one shoulder, pressing her chest forward, watching me watch her, because unless this building caught on fire right now I’m not looking anywhere else.

“How old are you?”

My eyes snap up to hers. I almost laugh. She goes from suggesting I get her off to verifying my age? How adorably odd.

“Twenty-nine. You?”

“Guess.”

This time, I do laugh, nodding at the waiter as he returns with my credit card and slip to sign. I shake my head. “I have seven sisters, Brooke. I know better than to guess a woman’s age, and I rather like my testicles. How about you just tell me.”

“Oh, come on,” she chides. “Aim low.”

“Sixteen.”

“What?” She clamps a hand to her mouth, muffling her laugher.

I sit back in my chair after signing the slip, watching the vibrant glow move over her cheeks as she slowly eases her hand away.

“Be serious.” She pinches her lips together, fighting the playful smile threatening.

I shrug, standing and offering her my hand. “You said guess. I did. Now, please fill me in on your actual age before I start feeling like a pedo.”

She allows me to help her to her feet and we move together through the restaurant. Her elbow gently connects with my side. “Mm. Nah. I rather like you squirmy and nervous like this. Shame on you for taking out a minor and shoving booze in her face.”

“Brooke,” I press.

“Really, Mason. What will my parents say?”

We step outside and I freeze on the footpath. She spins around to look at me.

I reach for my keys, shrugging. “All right then. I was planning on driving around and finding a dark spot so I could plant my face between your legs. But, I suppose that’s off now. I should get you home. It’s probably past your curfew and I’m not interested in finding out what prison is like.”

“Twenty-five.” She grabs my wrist, tugging me closer until we’re chest to chest, her breaths suddenly coming hurried. “I’m twenty-five. Legal. Very much a fan of dark spaces and heads between my legs. Yours, specifically. I’m sure it looks lovely down there.” Her body vibrates with a quick burst of laughter.

As I slide my hands to her hips, she keeps her head down, staring at my chest, my neck, almost bashfully trying to avoid my eyes while her hands tease the bottom of my shirt.

I like her like this, gentled, and what seems to be a bit unconventional for her. I like imagining that Brooke’s only been this way with me, and that maybe I make her feel a bit undone and out of sorts, unsure of what’s possibly happening between us.

I bend to kiss her forehead. “Shall we find that spot then? I want your taste in my throat.”

She seems to weave a bit on her feet, then mumbles a hoarse, “yes,” taking my hand and leading me down the footpath.

I slowly slide my fingers between hers as we pass a few shops, and my Denali. Interesting. “Have something in mind?” I ask.

She seems on a mission to get me somewhere specific. Determination leading her, along with desire.

Her shoulder jerks the slightest bit. “Maybe.”

She smiles at me. The moonlight slides across her face, a shadow pooling in her dimple.

“I was here a few months ago, down in this part of the city with Dylan and everyone. Juls and her kids were there. Anyway, we took them to this place down the street a bit and I’d like to go there with you.”

“Yeah?”

I can’t hide the delighted lift in my voice, the overwhelming warmth that seems to spread up my spine.

This seems pretty personal for her. I want personal with Brooke. Every tiny detail of her life, bottled up and given to me.

“It’s not anything special.”

And there goes that glorious feeling. I run a quick hand through my hair.

Right, mate. Just relax on her a bit.

She clears her throat. “It’s funny. When I was here before and used this thing I’m about to take you to, my mind was nowhere near the gutter. I mean, gross. There were kids around. That’s pushing it even for me. But now?” She shakes her head, making a soft tsk sound as we cross the street. “Full-on filth. I’m almost a little nervous about this.”

I straighten with intrigue, pulling her closer so I can slide my hand around her waist, so she can tuck against my side and I can feel the quick flutter of her heart against my ribs.

I press my lips to her hair. She smells like honey and vanilla.

“Sweet Brooke. I like you nervous. You get very honest with me.”

Her head tilts up, brows pinched together. “What? When have I ever been nervous with you?”

She thinks I miss it, the way she peels back a layer of that impetuous exterior of hers to take a breath and slow down. The wide eyed look she seems to give herself, not me, confused and a bit cautious when I reach for her hand or get caught simply gazing at her. It’s fleeting, yes. These aren’t obvious moments with Brooke and she recovers from them quickly, but I see them.

My fingers splay along her hip. “The alley I kissed you in. Your shop practically every time I walk in there, more so the first time though. You seemed a bit flushed, yeah?” I smile at her. “I was too. I felt that kiss the entire day.”

Her lips part, her eyes drop to my mouth. “Yeah,” she says on a rushed exhale.

Not a question. She isn’t asking me if I’m telling the truth, which I sure as fuck am. I’m honestly not sure if I’ve stopped feeling that kiss, or if I will.

She’s agreeing with me. Another layer is exposed, and I want to keep her like this, open and unconcerned with revealing too much, too soon, too fast. I want her letting go and letting me have her secrets, being perfectly unashamed and trusting that I’ll not only like every honest moment she gives me, I’ll protect them for her.

But before I can ask her to elaborate on that single perfect word, Brooke presses her hand against my chest, halting our progression.

“This is it.”

I look up at the building we’ve stopped in front of. The large sign set off in neon colors and strobe lights. The hordes of children scurrying in and out of the door with tickets and carnival prizes.

This is it? This is what she has in mind? I never would’ve guessed anything close to this.

I smile at Brooke, my hand circling around her back. “Are we playing skee-ball, gorgeous? I must warn you, I’m a bit competitive. I’ve never believed in letting a lady win simply because she’s a lady. Nothing honest in that.”

She stands on her toes, getting as close to my face as she can, her small hand sliding over my elbow to my bicep. “I’m going to let you in on a little secret, Mason,” she murmurs, her breath hot and hungry against my jaw.

I smirk, tilting my head down. “Yeah? What’s that?”

“I’m not a lady. Not even close. And I’m about to show you why.” She grabs my hand and eagerly tugs me inside the arcade.

The large space is dark and noisy, awarding sounds from machines mixing with the heavily bassed music pumping through the speakers. Children rush past us, alive with laughter and exuberance. Parents are lined up against the wall engaging each other in conversation while keeping an eye out.

I look around the room. I’m betting aside from the staff, Brooke and I are the only adults in this place who aren’t here to chaperone.

What the hell does she have in mind bringing me here?

She leads me to the back of the room and down a long hallway. A young bloke wearing a name-tag steps through a doorway and moves in our direction, nodding at me before asking Brooke if she needs help with anything.

“Bathrooms,” she more states than asks, alluding to her knowledge of their location. He takes her meaning and keeps moving in the opposite direction we head in.

The room breaks open. I spot the two doors indicating our destination, I veer right. Brooke goes left.

“This way.” She curls a finger, beckoning me to follow.

I glance at the signs on the doors. Frowning, I make my way to her. “No toilets? I’m a bit lost here, Brooke. What are we doing?”

She smiles at me over her shoulder, waving her hand floppily in the air. “Bathrooms are a bit played-out, don’t you think? Or toilets. Whatever you want to call them. Everyone fools around in bathrooms. I’m sure you have.”

“No,” I admit, a bit shocked at her suggestion. “Public facilities that probably aren’t cleaned often enough? Am I missing the appeal?”

We stop just outside a small, nearly pitch-black room. Her eyes widen as she looks up at me. “Shut up. You’ve never done anything sexual in a bathroom before?”

I shake my head.

“Not even a little hj between mates?”

“Bloody hell.” I lean back, searching her face, which is now alive with amusement. “A good wank between mates? Is that something you’ve witnessed in a toilet? ‘Cause I sure as fuck haven’t.”

She giggles, dropping her head against my arm. “Well, I do live with two men. There’s a lot of wanking going on in that condo. Semen flying everywhere. It’s like a minefield getting from my room to the kitchen.”

“Excuse me?”

What the fuck?

I’ve met both of Brooke’s roommates. Nice blokes. Seem to be very much in love and fully committed to each other, which I assume means they aren’t into sharing. But if I am way off here and they walk around whipping their cocks out around her, I’m going to have a major fucking problem with both of them.

Her laugh blooms to something louder, her small body vibrating against mine. She brushes her lips against my neck. “You seem worried. I’m kidding, mostly. Joey is terribly unashamed, much like myself, but Billy locks that bedroom door and keeps his private life very private. I haven’t seen anything. Only heard.”

“When are you moving out again?” I bend to kiss her. “Tomorrow?”

She rolls her eyes and pulls away, stepping into the room and swiping her hand along the wall. A light turns on in the corner. I follow her inside what appears to be another gaming room. Table games. Foosball, air hockey, pool. I’m shocked there aren’t any kids back here. I know this is where I would be if I were their age.

“Apparently you can only rent out this room for birthday parties and stuff. It’s not available to the people just here for the arcade. That’s why they keep it separate,” Brooke answers the silent questions circling in my head as she walks around the tables.

I take a moment to watch her.

Dark hair curling down her back. That tight black skirt, showing off her slim waist and perfect fucking arse. She turns to face me and I slowly lift my eyes, catching her smirk, knowing she’s caught me staring at her and hardly caring. I think she rather likes it when I do that.

“Do you know what this is?” With a quick hand, she pushes back the red curtain of the photo booth she’s stopped at in the back corner, then sticks that same hand to her hip. “I mean, do they have these in Australia or is this strictly an awesome American thing, like setting off fireworks on July fourth?”

With an intrigued smile, I step forward. “Ah, your pull from those bloody Poms. I’ll celebrate that.”

She tilts her head adorably. “Poms?”

“English. Brits. And of course we have photo booths. I believe they are quite popular at weddings and parties, yeah? People take pictures with silly props and what not.”

“Sometimes.”

I reach her, touching the smooth skin of her arm with the back of my fingers. My smile gentles. “What are we doing here, Brooke? Do you want to take photos with me?”

Something sharp gathers in the center of my chest, spreading down my limbs and prickling in my scalp. Is it possible she wants a keepsake from our night together? A piece she can store away and slowly build on?

The evidence of the beginning . . .

Fuck, it’s staggering how badly I want it. How affected I am. She isn’t the only one feeling out of sorts here.

Brooke steps inside the booth, which seems to be much larger than any of the ones I have ever seen before. I’m guessing you can fit groups of people in here instead of just one or two. Perfect for a large party of kids, I suppose.

Facing me, the corner of her mouth lightly pulls into a smile. “It’s a dark spot. I’m hoping there’s enough going on out there to keep the staff occupied for a bit.” She holds out her hand to me. I don’t miss the slight tremble in it. “I need ones. Got any?”

I stare at her, wondering if she’s about to do something she’s possibly never done before. If maybe this fresh, charmingly sexual woman wants to give me one of her firsts.

I’ll take it.

I dig into my wallet and hand her a few bills. When I move to step inside with her, she presses against my chest, keeping me out.

“Watch for your photos. There.” She nods at the slot on the outside panel.

I give her a wary look, but ultimately agree to this. Maybe she wants to give me photos of herself first before we take any together.

Too fucking right. I would love photos of Brooke.

I step back with a quick jerk of my chin. “All right.”

The curtain is drawn. It stops a short distance from the bottom of the booth, completely obstructing my view of Brooke. I move to the side and press my back against the panel, waiting. A soft shuffling sound comes from behind the curtain, followed by a click, the shutter of the lens. Three more follow between long seconds, and I imagine her changing her pose, going from something innocent and playful to something a bit silly. Brief flashes of white light streak across the tile floor at my feet. I cross my arms over my chest, only to push away from the panel when I hear something slide into the slot behind me.

I pick up the sheet of photos.

Good God. Holy . . .

“Fuck,” I groan, my cock quickly lengthening as I stare at the four shots of Brooke; topless, pinching her rose colored nipples, licking and sucking the skin of her tits. Her pretty little arse turned toward the camera in the bottom shots while she fucks her pussy with two fingers. Over her shoulder, her eyes are round with abandon. Feverish and frenzied. Her red lips parted with a sigh or a moan.

She’s giving me this. This gorgeous girl is giving me images of her body to not only admire, but to keep and stare at for later, stroke my cock to, do what I want with.

I wrench the curtain open and step inside, dropping the sheet of photos on the bench and grabbing her face after I conceal us.

She’s still topless. Her skirt is still gathered at her waist, and she’s panting, breathless from her own touch.

I slide my mouth against hers. “Jesus Christ, Brooke. You’re trying to kill me, yeah? You sweet fucking thing.” She answers with a moan as I kiss her jaw and suck on the skin beneath her ear. Sugar sticks to my tongue. Gripping her arse in my hands, I groan against her neck. “You taste so fucking good. Like one of those bloody cupcakes you make.”

“It’s my body lotion. Vanilla cake batter. It’s edible.”

“Fuck. Don’t tell me that.” My groin throbs against her belly. I pinch my eyes shut.

Stay focused, mate. You don’t want to rush with her.

Brooke giggles against my ear. “Why not? I’m wearing it for you. Lick away.”

I lean back and bring her hand to my mouth, drawing on the tips of her fingers.

“Mason,” she whispers, moving in to kiss me, sucking her taste off my tongue. Pressing, pressing, harder. Her lips are soft yet commanding, and she tastes like her wine from earlier; a warm, ripe fruit. I bite her lip and she gasps, tilting her head back and brushing her heavy breasts against my shirt. She does the same to me, a quick bite of pain, and I groan, slapping her ass and relishing in the quiet shudder that ripples through her body.

Fucking hell, she likes it.

Her warm hands travel under my shirt and across my stomach, nails dragging against skin, fingers squeezing my hips and pulling me closer while her mouth slowly devours me.

“Filthy fucking devil. Sit. I want to kiss you here.” I press my hand between her legs, my other palming her breast, roughly squeezing it.

She drops back onto the bench, meeting my eyes as I lower to my knees in front of her, as I spread her thighs open with my hands and settle my body between them.

“Were you wet before you touched yourself?” I ask, bending over her and licking between her breasts. I pull a nipple into my mouth and she arches her back, hands fisting my hair and breaths growing hurried and sharp. A whimpered yes catches in her throat when I drag my teeth across the hardened peak.

I know at any second someone could come walking into this room, see the bottoms of my legs, hear Brooke’s quiet, aching noises and investigate behind the curtain.

What would Brooke do? Would she stop me? Cover herself up while I continue working her with my mouth? Maybe she wasn’t only shaking when she stepped inside here because this is a first for her. Maybe she was thinking about the risk, doing this here when we can easily be somewhere more private, a room with four walls and a lock on the door.

I don’t relish in the thought of anyone seeing Brooke, topless and coming against my face, but I want to give her this. Be the person she associates with this memory.

With a thick voice, she begins begging me with quiet words.

More and move and more and yes.

“How wet were you?” I ask her, kissing her ribs, her stomach, licking the skin of her hip. The sweetness from her lotion soaks into my throat, making me dizzy and delirious.

She tastes too good. Smells too good.

“V-very. It was dripping down my leg.”

“Fuck, Brooke,” I growl, ducking my head, meeting her gaze as I press my lips against the smooth skin of her inner thigh. “Here?” I ask, opening my mouth and sucking.

She nods, her lips parting, fingers digging into my scalp. “Higher too.”

I smile against her. “Obviously. But I rather like kissing you here. Can I keep going?”

“Mm.” She tugs gently on my hair. “No. Move up. I want you to taste me.”

“I am.”

I switch legs and slowly drag my tongue closer to her pussy, kissing and licking her skin. She never stops watching me, her hazel eyes wide and hungry, capturing and captivating me.

“Play with your tits,” I tell her, blowing against her clit.

With a soft cry, she lifts and squeezes them, rolling her nipples between her fingers as I slide her legs to my shoulders. I press my nose against her clit and inhale, groaning, blinking up and seeing the awe bloom across her face.

She’s beautiful; the way she smells, the way she tastes. That heavy look in her eyes as she watches me.