Every time I leave or return to the building, I send up a silent word of acknowledgment to John; I’m pretty sure everyone in the band does this when they visit me.
I’d ask Brenna how she got in, because security is tight, but I don’t want to ruin the mystery. The main point is she’s here. Here, at my house.
“When did you get back?” I ask, unable to stop staring at her like she’s a mirage.
“An hour ago.”
A pulse of surprise ripples over my skin. She just got in, and she came straight here.
She’s fidgeting now, her legs blocking what she left at my door. I eye it—and, okay, her killer legs too—with interest. Those long legs just might be my undoing: sleek, toned, and lovingly showcased by her tight navy-blue skirt and dainty spiked pink heels. I want those heels digging into my back while I bury myself in her wet heat.
Reflexively, I clear my throat. “What were you doing?”
Brenna’s cheeks darken, but she lifts her chin to counteract the blush. “You said you weren’t feeling well.”
Inwardly, I smile at the accusation in her voice. “I wasn’t. I went for a walk to clear my head.” I’m not about to admit to running home to Mom. Besides, I did walk those six blocks.
“Right.” She nods briskly, awkwardly. “Good plan. Fresh air is good.”
I have to bite my lip to keep from grinning. “It’s the best.”
Her eyes narrow at the amusement I’ve failed to hide.
“Well…” she says tightly. “You’re obviously doing all right. I’ll go.”
“Hold on.” I step into her path. “What did you bring me?”
Again, she flushes, her gaze sliding sideways as if she wants to be anywhere but here. But then she gathers herself and grabs her gift off the floor. “Here. It’s…for you.”
God, she’s cute. I can’t say that without risking a limb, but she is, damn it. Instead, I take what turns out to be a wicker basket by the handles.
“I figured that.” I glance down at the gift. A stupid smile spreads wide across my face. “You brought me a goodie hamper?”
I’m fairly reeling. It’s just so…cute.
Brenna’s nose wrinkles as she visibly squirms in place. I know she wants to flee. Too bad. I’m not letting her get away now.
“There’s tea,” she says. “Coffee too. In case you’re sick of tea. And those ginger biscuits and lemon curd that you seem to like…and, well, shit.” She huffs out a laugh taut with embarrassment and gives me an accusatory glare. “It’s supposed to make you feel better!”
With my free hand, I reach out and cup her neck to pull her close. “I’m feeling better already.”
Then I kiss her.
It’s meant to be something light, tender, grateful. Because I am grateful. But the instant my lips touch hers, it’s like a shot of adrenaline, surging hot and pure and insistent. I duck my head to get closer; she tastes so good, her lips so soft and yielding that a bolt of lust shoots straight through me.
Her breath hitches, lips trembling against mine. I stumble with her toward the door, one hand grasping the silky cord of her ponytail, the other clutching her gift, our kiss going deeper, messier. She gasps into my mouth, a little puff of air that tickles my lips and inflames my need, and then her arms wrap around my neck, drawing me closer.
I approve. But it isn’t enough. It’s like I’ve been walking through the desert only to come upon her unexpectedly. Part of me wonders if she’s real. But she is. I feel the difference in me already.
For the first time in days, I can breathe. It’s unsettling to realize that the woman who has somehow become my air doesn’t want to be, that she only needs me for quick physical comfort. Even so, I’m going to enjoy every second of her while I can.
“Four days, Bren.” I lick her lower lip like candy. “Four fucking days away. That was not part of the deal.”
She grasps my shirt, tugging, her sweet mouth just as greedy. “Stop lecturing me and get inside.”
I smile against her lips. “Bossy.”
Blindly, I fumble for my keys. It would go more smoothly if I stopped kissing her, but I can’t. It takes me three tries to get the key in, all the while, she’s sucking on my tongue, nibbling on my lips. I’m going to lose it.
The door finally opens, swinging wildly as we all but fall into the apartment with only my arm around her waist to keep her upright. I set the hamper on the floor—carefully, because it’s her gift to me—and kick the door shut.
Then I’m kissing her again because, damn, she feels so good. She’s pure adrenaline, delicious addiction. Sex and candy sliding over my tongue. We stumble along, tripping over some unseen obstacle near the doorway to my room.
“What was that?” she asks, words muffled by my mouth on hers.
“Books.” I’m not exactly tidy, and I like to read. Teetering towers of books rise like stalagmites along the apartment floor.
Her chuckle is a delighted feminine purr that tickles my lips. Grinning, I wrap my arms around her slim waist and lift her over the spilled stack of books, backing us into a wall in my room because I need to brace myself before my knees give out.
I want her too much. She gets me too hot. Dragging my mouth away from the temptation of hers, I step back, draw in air. Doesn’t work; my body throbs in one big pulse of lust.
Slow. I need to slow this down. Savor her.
Brenna leans against the wall, pink lipstick smudged over kiss-swollen lips, her hair mussed and her perky breasts rising and falling beneath a prim, white silk top. She stares back at me with a dare in her eyes, like she expects each of our encounters to be a tussle, a contest to see who comes out on top.
She doesn’t realize she’s already won. But I’m not going to disappoint her; I’ll give her what she wants, then I’ll show her that she’s safe. Thinking about all the ways I’ll show her has a grin spreading over my mouth.
Her eyes go wide, tender lips parting.
Yeah, honey, it’s going to be like that.
And then I’m on her.
Brenna
I can’t breathe. Rye has taken all my air. I don’t know how he does it; all I have to do is think about him and my body goes haywire. Down is up and wrong is right. It’s unsettling to realize that the man I’ve spent my entire adult life trying to forget about has so much power over me. My body doesn’t give a damn. It’s humming with heat and need. I’m slick and hot between my legs, my breasts so sensitive, I feel the drag of silk over my bra with each panting breath I take in an attempt to draw in more air.
Rye looms over me, all hot, hard muscle and intensely focused gaze. He leans in, bracing his forearms on either side of my head—so close, but not close enough. I’m surrounded by his heat and strength, but not an inch of him is touching me.
Lines of strain creep out from the corners of his eyes and shadows lay in smudges beneath them, but a flush of exertion stains the crests of his cheeks. I want to trace that wash of dull red with my fingertips and find out if it feels as hot as it looks. He dips his head and fits his mouth over mine.
This kiss is unnervingly tender but so thorough and decadent, like he’s drinking me in, that my knees go weak. God, he feels so good, I just want to open my mouth wider and lick into him, eat up every delicious inch.
He pulls back with a little suck to my lower lip. “You all good now?” His voice is darkly carnal as he nuzzles my mouth again. “Got everything sorted out in Atlanta?”
A shiver races up my thighs, my mind threatening to blank. I know exactly what he’s really asking, and I give him the answer he deserves. “Yes.”
Rye hums as though he doesn’t quite believe me. He nips me again before kissing it better. “Good,” he says, voice rough and impatient. “No more randomly disappearing on me?”
My hands slide up to his wide shoulders, and I feel the tremor in those packed muscles. It makes me smile a little, because he’s clearly as affected as I am. “No more,” I promise.
He gives me a hard, see
king kiss, and then he draws away just enough to meet my gaze. His is hazy with lust. It’s a good look on him. He eyes my blouse, and my nipples tighten. The flush on his cheeks spreads to the bridge of his nose, and he bites his bottom lip.
“You attached to this shirt?” he asks almost idly, but I don’t miss the way his body tenses, all those glorious muscles drawing up tight. “Or can I buy you another one?”
For a second, I blank, and then it hits me what he wants to do. Bright heat flows over me. Oh, shit. I want that. I want that so badly I can barely form the words. “Do it.”
He holds my gaze, the intensity of his almost too much to bear as he reaches up and grasps the edges of my button-down blouse. I stare back at him as, with one efficient move, he rips the shirt wide open, little pearl buttons pinging around us like hail.
My breasts swell against the confinement of my bra, and I suck in a deep breath.
“Pink,” Rye murmurs, running the blunt tip of his finger along the scalloped edge of lace. “Pretty. But I know something prettier.”
A flick of his finger and the front clasp of my bra snaps open.
“There they are.” He eases the cups aside to reveal my bare breasts. “Such pretty little cupcakes.” Soft lips brush over my nipple, the tip of his tongue touching it. “So fucking sweet.”
He licks me like a cat seeking cream. Once. Twice.
Biting my lip, I arch into the touch.
“You like that, Berry?” His voice is a dark rumble. He licks me again then grins when I whimper. “Good girl.”
My stomach quivers, the bristles of his beard tickling my sensitive skin. He kisses the tip of my breast, just enough to make me want more.
“Rye,” I whine. Yes, whine. I’m dissolving into need, and it’s his fault.
“Be still,” he says in that deep, stern tone, affection mixing with something sharper, possessive. “It’s my turn now.”
Understanding hits with a breath that leaves in a whoosh, and hot prickles race over my skin.
I don’t want to be in charge. I want to be taken care of, let someone else take the lead.
You want me to take you in hand.
I’d asked for that. Wanted it in the quiet, needy corners of my soul.
At my silence, Rye looks up at me from under the thick fringe of his lashes. Slowly, while holding my gaze, his tongue slides over my hot nipple. I feel it between my legs, in the tight clench of my stomach. A whimper escapes, and he responds with a deep, sharp suck.
“Shit.”
Rye chuckles in pure male satisfaction, releasing my nipple with a decadent pop. His lips touch my wet flesh. “Unzip your skirt.”
Not a request.
I shouldn’t like it. I shouldn’t.
My hands tremble, fingers fumbling to comply.
He doesn’t watch to see if I do. He’s preoccupied with peppering light suckling kisses across my chest, seeking out my poor, neglected other nipple to torment. But the second the skirt slides to the floor to pool at my feet, he hums in satisfaction.
“Good, Bren. That’s a good girl.”
He kisses me soft and dirty, a lazy lick into my mouth, his thumbs gently rolling my stiff nipples. The combination has me mewling, arching my back to beg for more and harder. And he smiles against my lips, knowing exactly what he’s doing to me and loving it. His mouth slides away, and I tilt my head to the side, panting and so hot I am heavy with it.
Hands kneading my breasts, he sinks to his knees, mouth mapping its way down my belly, over the flimsy line of my panties. He pauses between my legs, lips pressed to the wet silk that clings to my aroused flesh, and, oh, God, he inhales, like he’s drawing me into his lungs.
A groan tears from him. “I needed this.”
Fingers hook into my undies to drag them down my hips. Big hands bracket my thighs, spreading them wide to expose me to his view. Rye’s lashes lower, a look of almost exquisite pain flashing across his face. “I needed this so much.”
Then his mouth is on me. And I’m the one groaning, my body a live wire. I writhe against the cool, hard wall, my fingers scrambling to clutch at his hair so I can pull him closer, hold him to me.
Oral sex is a skill. Rye has skills. But that isn’t what has me on fire, my body rushing toward an incandescent orgasm. It’s his unfettered devotion to devouring me, as if I’m his last meal, his first.
When he grunts, a greedy, wet, selfish sound—mouth hot and seeking, fingers biting into my ass—I fall apart, melt right there at the edge of his room. But Rye doesn’t let me go. He eases me through it, holds me steady. Hot blue eyes gaze up at me from between the pale columns of my trembling thighs. He nuzzles my swollen clit with the soft bristle of his beard, nibbles on the little aftershocks before all but purring against my sex.
Neither of us speaks for a long moment. Rye runs his hands up and down my legs, feeling their contours, trailing his fingers along the curves of my calves, the backs of my thighs. With a lingering squeeze, he rises.
“Let’s get you comfortable, Berry.” He tugs me into the shelter of his big body. “Because I’m not nearly done with you.”
How had I managed this long without having this? How do I go on when it’s gone? For the first time in my sex life, I’m afraid. Not because I think Rye will hurt me; I trust him implicitly with my care. But because I’ve lost control.
Control has always been mine, no matter the partner, no matter the situation.
Rye is another story. Hell, he’s a whole other genre.
I can’t control Rye. I can’t control my feelings when I’m with him. I’m on a Tilt-a-Whirl in the dark, terrified the harness might snap.
Rye steps to me, all hard focus and softly smiling mouth.
“I didn’t come here for sex,” I blurt out.
He pauses, head cocked, that small curve at the corners of his lips remaining. Calm blue eyes search my face, assessing. “Do you want to leave?”
Lord, but his voice is rich with arousal. He doesn’t move but stands loose-limbed, a lovely flush of exertion on his cheeks. I want to trace my palms down the thick column of his neck where I know his skin will be like satin over steel. Do I want to leave?
“No.”
“Hmm…” His voice dips with quiet amusement as he leans in. Smiling lips brush along the sweet spot under my ear, as those clever fingers ease the blouse and dangling bra from my shoulders. “Do you want a drink?”
He asks the question while taking my hand to help me step out of the pile of clothes surrounding my feet, leaving me in nothing but my petal pink Louboutins.
Rye’s gaze slides over me like hot cream. “There you are. God. Look at you…” He licks his bottom lip, a man thirsty. “Damn, Bren, you blow my mind.”
I’ve never felt more utterly exposed. I don’t believe I’m perfect. But right now, under the admiration of his gaze, I feel close to it. My lips quirk as I rein in a smile and answer his previous question. “No drinks. I’m good.”
“Yes, you fucking are.” With surprising grace, he steps up to me, sliding an arm loosely around my waist. His hand spreads wide over the small of my back, the other one clasping mine by his shoulder, and it’s almost as though we’re about to dance.
The pleasant rumble of his voice touches the shell of my ear. “We can read.”
Light punctuated kisses follow a path down my neck, the soft bristles of his beard tickling. I tilt my head to the side with a smile, my eyes closing. “Maybe later.”
Rye grumbles low within his wide chest. The tips of his fingers glide down my spine and over the curve of my butt. He draws an idle circle and nuzzles the hollow of my shoulder. I sway into him, my fingers threading through his hair.
Rye pauses, lips just touching my pulse point, hand roaming as though he can’t stop feeling my skin. When he speaks, his voice pours out like tumbled rocks. “Do you want to fuck?”
My breath hitches, and I rest my lust-addled head on his broad shoulder. My lips find the tender spot on his neck, loving the way h
e shivers at the contact. Desire coils low in my belly. Do I want to fuck?
“Yes.”
I love the way his big body seems to buckle, just for a beat. Then he grunts, a satisfied sound that sends a swoop of heat through me.
“Good. That was my preference too.” He steps back, and with brisk movements, tugs his shirt off.
I don’t think I’ll ever be immune to the sight of Rye’s naked chest and arms. He’s too beautiful. Power and grace. The silver barbell piercings in his nipples wink in the lamplight, his pecs twitching as he tosses the shirt aside and then toes off his battered black Converse.
His worn jeans hang low on trim hips, highlighting the lovely valleys of taut external obliques that point to the rude bulge of his cock. I’m so distracted by that edible sight that I almost miss him turning to walk away.
“Where are you going?” I sound far too needy. His fault, though.
Rye pauses, a twinkle in his eyes as though he knows perfectly well what state he’s brought me to. “Getting condoms. A stack.”
Without thought, my hand whips out to grasp his wrist. He stills, brows lifting in question.
“Rye.” I pause. Fingers press against the steady beat of his pulse. “Can we go without?”
His pulse kicks up, but he doesn’t pull away. He steps closer. “You want me bare?”
I don’t know why I do. It feels like another weakness, another crack. But I want something different with him, some small marker that says it’s not just a fleeting arrangement. And I don’t want to pause and think about logistics.
My voice isn’t steady or very strong when I finally answer. “I want to get messy with you.”
Rye’s breath leaves in a chuff. His hand slides to the damp nape of my neck, and he rests his forehead against mine. “Oh, honey, we’re going to get so messy.”
I’m not certain either of us is referring to sex. Doesn’t matter. He kisses me slow and seeking, drawing my tongue out to play with little licks and nips.
The roughened pads of his thumbs lightly caress my cheeks when he pulls back. “Turn around.”
As though I’m a princess, he guides me to the end of his bed and then bends me over it. My fingers curl around the padded, gray linen footboard, a fierce blush burning my cheeks as I imagine the picture I make: buck-ass naked, legs elongated by my heels, the aroused pout of my sex peeking out like a taunt.
Exposed (VIP Book 4) Page 16
