Until Brew

by CC Monroe

  “I wake up early, around four. Take a ride on my bike up to a running trail a few miles away, and I run that.”

  “Nice. Can’t say I’m much of a runner. The whole thing seems off. Really, who can enjoy the heavy breathing, heart racing, thigh-burning pain of running? Torture if you ask me.”

  That entire sentence painted a picture for me. I didn’t see JJ running. I saw her riding me like a Harley, screaming my name and working that tight body up and down my rock-hard cock. Damn it, Brew. Get out. Now.

  “I better get going. Have a good night.” I exit as fast as my feet can possibly take me, and she hollers after me.

  “Casper and I wish you a great night!”

  I roll my eyes, clench my fists, and actually growl.

  Who did I just let into my life? Who is the enchantress, who could ruin my world if I gave her any way in.

  That’s it, I can’t fucking let her. I won’t. Declaration made here and now and solidified in fucking stone—JJ cannot get in.

  Chapter Five

  JJ

  Holy hell. I rub at my clit vigorously beneath the surface of the water I’m soaking in, the image of the tall man just a few feet from where I’ll be sleeping, running through my mind. I moan, my finger hitting the right spot over again, and I imagine it being his tongue.

  “Fuck! Brew! Yes!” I hiss the stranger’s name as I come, my toes curling, my spine tingling, and my breathing labored. Moments pass, my lip stuck between my teeth, my clit still pulsing as embarrassment floods me. I’m not a virgin, but I’m definitely not the girl who masturbates to a man she spent maybe an hour with. But my God, they do not make men like Brew in New York. I’ve never seen such a burly man—a real man. Not an indie artist who would scoff at manual labor, or a businessman who would pay someone to do all the heavy lifting.

  Brew is the man who invented heavy lifting. The broody man isn’t supposed to be in my head, let alone the face of my orgasm tonight. I shouldn’t have let Chrystal convince me that this would be a perfect and more comfortable place to stay when I called her before my bath. When I told them Brew offered me his guesthouse, they turned the car right back around and told me to stay. I curse them, looking to blame anyone for putting me this close to Brew for this amount of time. He’s bad for me in all the right ways.

  I sit up in the scalding-hot bath in what may be the most beautiful guesthouse bathroom I’ve ever seen. And I have seen beautiful bathrooms—hell, I decorated a huge portion of upscale penthouses on the Upper East Side of New York. But it’s not the décor that is catching my eye. It’s the way the room is built. It has a cottage-style bathroom, with a clawfoot tub under the bay windows with real shutters you can open and close. I kept them open, loving the sight of the high moon hitting the willow trees swaying softly in Brew’s backyard. I lit the candles he had on the window sill and turned the light off to enjoy it.

  It’s quiet. No horns, loud laughing, garbage trucks, or construction noises. Just a peaceful quiet. It’s—dare I say—something I could get used to. Don’t get me wrong; I love New York and the fast-paced jungle of it all. But this—the serenity, the chance to think clearly and feel 100 percent content in your own silence?

  That’s beautiful.

  Eventually, the tips of my fingers begin to prune, and the clock shows it’s getting late. Getting out, I do my skin care routine and slip into a nightie. Once done, I climb in bed, check my emails, making sure everyone has accepted the itinerary, and the night takes me away.

  All day Sunday I hide out and read in the guesthouse, not wanting to run into Brew if I don’t have too. Besides, he left around noon and didn’t return until after dark, making it that much easier to do the avoiding.

  Monday morning…

  “So let me get this straight. You built this home, decorated it like it was straight from a home goods magazine—”

  “Correction, I built it; my mother decorated it,” Brew interrupts, smirking at me over his plate.

  “Okay, still. You do all that, run early in the morning, and then manage to make the world’s best food. Seriously, these may be the best crepes I’ve ever eaten.” I devour the crepes with grape jelly and whip cream, my mouth still salivating as I nearly inhale my second one.

  “I was an only child. Dad was always away on a job, so my mother had me helping her a lot with cooking and maintaining the house.”

  “So Brew never had rebellious years?” I tease. His lips tug into a sexy smile—I hate to admit.

  “Oh no. Once I turned sixteen and bought my first Harley, I was a troublemaker. My mother whooped my ass many times, but that never stopped me.”

  “Hmm.” I think that over, and my response pulls him in for an explanation.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Just trying to read you is all.”

  He scoffs. “Good God. You one of them twenty questions type of girls?”

  It’s my turn to scoff. “Excuse me? One of them?”

  “Yeah, one of them girls.”

  Oh, poor man, he’s about to get a lesson in feminism.

  “First off, ‘one of them girls’ is one of the most disrespectful things you could say. ‘One of them girls,’” I air quote with my fingers, “is rude. Women can be anything, and you can’t put them in a box or categorize them so simply. Guess your mama never taught you that.” I tsk through my teeth, lean back, and fold my arms. I quirk a brow at him, and he looks at me like he just got schooled, which he did.

  “Shit. Yes, ma’am.” Bowing his head, he forfeits wisely.

  “Now, don’t call me ma’am. I prefer to be called JJ.”

  “Damn. Yes, JJ.” I don’t miss that look; I couldn’t. Not that deep, palpable, carnal type of look. Me dominating this conversation and putting him in his place is arousing him but in a way that tells me he would let me say this at the dinner table but then ram his cock into me so deep in the bedroom I choked on those words. His hands tight around my neck, fucking me wildly.

  I realize I’m wearing my imagination on my face and snap out of it. We can’t keep having these brief, thick-tension-filled moments or the wild side of JJ will come out and regret it later. I haven’t had a man above me, pleasing me, in so long. And I’ve surely never had a man like Brew. But what’s the point? I leave after this job ends.

  “Uh, I better get going. I’ll call a cab.”

  “Baby,” he growls.

  Baby? And what the hell?

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’re the design team at my newest construction site. My team and I are building those homes. I’ll drive you,” Brew tells me, not asks, as if I have no say. I hesitate as he stands, looking me over as he slowly approaches me.

  I want to move backward and create distance that he keeps closing.

  “Brew?” What is this gorgeous stranger doing?

  “I’m going to regret this, baby.”

  “I’m not your ba—” Before I can finish, he’s on me, gripping the column on my neck with just the right amount of pressure, just like I saw it in my head moments ago.

  “Next time you want to play with that clit in a steaming bathtub with those soapy, perky tits on display, you better close the window before you call my name. That show solidified this—you asked for whatever happens.”

  My jaw drops, embarrassed that he saw me getting off to him. How did I not think about that? As I prepare to protest, he locks his lips on mine, shutting me up with the roll of his strong, skilled tongue. Possessing my mouth. Claiming me and owning me. I lift my hands to push him off, but I stop, his teeth taking my bottom lip between his, weakening my knees.

  Brew doesn’t kiss. He claims. Steals. Owns. Takes. And I like all of it. Against my better judgement. I want it all.

  He keeps taking, and I give right back, letting him have me without any concern. I match his tongue and movements. He tastes so good, like mint and strawberry from his breakfast, and how does that taste good together? I don’t know, but it works for me.

  He moans, tig
htening his grip on my neck. No man has ever handled me like this, and it should scare me, but I know it’s for my pleasure. Brew isn’t a selfish man. He’s a giver. I match that moan and pull him in closer, grabbing him by his shirt at his back just above his hips.

  “Fuck. Baby. I want you, and we can’t…. Fuck.” He pulls away, rolling his forehead against mine, both of us panting.

  “Who says we can’t? I mean, I’m not staying forever, and this could be just something we do to relieve stress.” What am I actually saying right now? Yes, I’ve always been a bold woman with my head on straight, focused on what I want. If I want it, I work hard and take it. Really, that’s how I got to this exact place, standing as close as possible to hands down the sexiest, most captivating man I’ve ever met, in the middle of his kitchen.

  “Don’t dangle you in front of me like that,” he groans, pushing his hard cock against my stomach.

  “But why not? Don’t you want this? I do. I shouldn’t, but I want it.”

  “I don’t want to treat you like a sex toy—a one-night stand.” He cups my face, kissing my lips softly, then my nose, then my cheek and ear.

  “I’m in control of me and my body, and I want it. If you want me, then say it, because I have thirty minutes before I need to leave, and I’m dying to have you.” My chest is rising and falling.

  He watches me for a minute, searching my eyes, our breathing now matched.

  “Twenty-nine minutes, Brew,” I remind him, and he makes his mind up.

  “Fuck it. I want you.” Quickly, he picks me up by my ass and carries me to the counter. Sitting me on top of it, he unbuckles and undoes his pants, pulling his jeans and boxer briefs down enough for his cock to spring free.

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah, you like that, baby?”

  I bite my lip and nod, looking over his thick, veiny cock that has to be at least nine inches long.

  “Good girl. You on the pill?”

  I nod.

  “You clean?” I ask, reaching forward to remove his shirt.

  “Yes. You?”

  “Mm-hmm,” I respond, leaning in to kiss and lick at his chest.

  “Good. Now listen to me.” Stopping me, he grips my neck and catches my full attention.

  “If it hurts, you better tell me. We don’t have time, and this will go fast, but once I get a taste, I won’t be able to stop. You get that?”

  Nodding. Even though I don’t really know just how intense this is going to get or just how strong his conviction is. I’m too aroused, and I need it.

  “Say ‘yes, sir.’”

  Holy hell. Is he… a dominant?

  “Yes… y—yes, sir.”

  “Such a good girl. Unbutton your pants and lift those hips for me.”

  With shaky hands, I do it. When I get them loose, he rips them and my thong down, pulling me to the edge of the counter. My pants land at my feet, and he helps slide them off. I take a moment to say a quick thanks in my mind for not putting shoes on yet. I watch his veined hands, mesmerized as he aggressively spreads my thighs. The stark difference of his strong hands on my feminine thighs is almost enough to make me come.

  “You have the sexiest pussy, baby. I bet it’s even more beautiful choking this cock.”

  “Brew,” I moan. Another thing to add to his checklist of things that turn me on—dirty talk. When he drops to his knees swiftly, I’m caught off guard as he licks and laps at my opening, starting there and moving to my clit, and he moans in pure male appreciation. “Fuck. Please. I want it,” I cry.

  “I’m not done with you.” Brew stands once again, coming to his full height. “You taste so damn good, baby. Spit.”

  “Wh—what?” His hand is just inches from my mouth.

  “My tongue was being squeezed by your tightness. I refuse to hurt you. Now spit. We have fifteen minutes, and I want to make them count.” If he wasn’t as urgent as I am, I would maybe have hesitated or protested, but I don’t. I, as gracefully as possible, spit in his hand. Our eyes don’t leave one another’s until he moves his hand to his shaft and strokes himself, using my saliva as lubrication.

  Who the hell does that? And why is it so hot?

  “You ready?” Brew asks.

  “Yes.” I go to lean back, but he stops me, grabbing me by my neck again, and I have to say that is becoming my new favorite thing.

  “I want your lips and eyes while I fuck you.” With that, he lets go of his cock and grips my hip, using it for stability as he slams into me.

  “Fuck! Brew! Oh God, yes!” I scream.

  “Oh yeah. So hot. Tight.” Rolling his hips as if it’s a dance—a skilled, learned dance—he pleases me. I’ve never been able to come vaginally. I have always had to have clitoral stimulation. But the way his tip hits me and the possessive way he grips my neck and keeps my eyes focused on his, I think this will be my first.

  “You made a mistake, JJ,” he growls, not breaking his steady rhythm.

  “Why’s that?” I moan, my hands moving to his hips.

  “You offered yourself up to me, and now I’ve felt what I know is mine. And while you’re here, you will not see another man. You will not let anyone touch my woman.”

  I gulp.

  “Are you a dom?” I cry out as he keeps fucking me like he won’t be able to stop.

  “No. I’m worse. I’m an alpha, and you’re mine.”

  That’s all I need—something I didn’t know I did, but it is. Control. I needed a man to take power over me in a way I take power outside of sex.

  “I’m coming. Right there. Shit! Don’t stop!” Like an out-of-body experience, I orgasm, and the sound that leaves me is animalistic. My spine tingles, my toes curl, and the top of my head burns in the best way.

  “Yeah, squeeze me like that, baby. Just like that. Fuck.” He comes, his warm jets filling me, and that just amplifies the sensation.

  It takes a minute or two before we can speak. Stepping back, he fixes himself and places his shirt back on. I watch him, the arousal fading and the guilty awkward silence taking its place. He walks away, rounding the counter to go to the sink for what I’m assuming is water, and I blush, ashamed that I just slept with a man I met less than twenty-four hours ago. Fucked me then walked away.

  Great job, JJ.

  As I start to move, his voice fills the quiet room. “Don’t move, baby. I need to clean you up.”

  Looking at him over my shoulder, I watch him with inquisitive eyes. Coming back to me, he drops to his haunches, and it becomes more intimate. Taking a wet cloth, he gently cleans me, kissing my thighs with soft, open-mouthed kisses. I wince a little. No amount of prep could have prevented that. Brew is the largest man I’ve been with, and I’ve only been with one, a few years ago with my now ex-boyfriend.

  “Beautiful. So fucking beautiful,” Brew praises, peering up at me as he kisses the spot just above my slit. Usually, I’m not shy and can find words to make an awkward situation not so awkward. However, it’s as if I’m this timid, shy woman.

  “Let’s get you dressed and off to work.” There are no words coming from me. As I stand, he stays positioned on the balls of his feet, and he picks up my black lace thong. With a soft tap of his hand on my ankle, he signals me to step into them. I do, and it surprises me as he moves them slowly up my legs, his fingertips grazing my skin, awakening a thousand goose bumps along my skin.

  He does this again with my jeans, and after that, we don’t say much, now out of time and needing to get to work. We take his work truck, and five minutes into the ride, I finally find my voice, thank God.

  “Hey, I’m so sorry that happened back there. I shouldn’t have thrown myself at you and made this awkward. I’m sorry and promise it won’t happen again.” Looking over, I see he has one hand on the wheel, the other turning down the music, so silence fills the truck.

  “To hell it won’t.”

  “Excuse me?” The way he said that pushes a button in me. Brew sounds so sure of himself, cocky, arrogant even.

&nb
sp; “You heard me. When I was inside you, I told you the rules.”

  “The rules? I’m not a pet. Or property.” I scowl.

  “No. But you are mine, and you let me have you. You fed me the drug, and now it’s in my system.”

  “You pig!” My jaw must be on the floor. Sure, in the throes of passion, we said some things, but it was hot; we wanted each other. I didn’t think he really meant it.

  “If that’s what you need to say, then go for it.”

  I entertain him, seeing just how off the deep end this man is. “So, I’m ‘yours,’” I say with air quotes. “And what does that mean?”

  “Exactly what it sounds like. Listen.” He readjusts himself. I cross my arms and turn my body toward him, curious to see what insanity is going to come flying out of his mouth. “JJ, I don’t do this. Fuck women one time during a one-night stand? Sure, a long time ago. But I don’t connect with women the way I do with you. You drive me fucking insane.”

  “How! It’s been like—what—fourteen hours?”

  “Yes. And you just make me mad,” he growls, gripping the steering wheel tight with both his hands, the knuckles going white.

  “Because I’m hot?” I laugh sarcastically. Unbelievable. Such a typical man. Can’t handle women the way they come. He’s intimidated.

  “No. You’re not hot.”

  Rude.

  “You’re an ass, you know that?”

  “You’re not hot. You’re fucking insanely beautiful and sexy. I could fuck you for hours. I could make that shit my damn job. You challenge me. You’re strong and independent and so smart. I want that. No one has ever made me feel that.”

  Wow. What do I even say to that? Here is this man I barely know, who has—so far—not been a man I roll my eyes at every two seconds and, up until a minute ago, didn’t make me think he was a total womanizer. Then he says that, and even that thought goes flying out the window with the rest of my logic, apparently.