"You've said that at least four times," Brooke interrupted. "Maybe you should save your breath. It's not getting you anywhere."
"Maybe you should answer me."
She folded her arms and rested her head there. She stared in my direction without meeting my eyes. I wasn't positive, but it seemed like she was studying my cock. I had no problem with that, not when her hooded-eye gaze was the most honest thing she could offer.
"Why? Nothing about this needs to be complicated or customized, Jed. It's not like I'm ordering a burrito bowl."
I braced my arms on either side of her, pressed my chest to her back. "Because"—I paused to scoop her hair off her shoulder—"it actually matters to me that you want this."
She lowered her eyes, pursed her lips, stayed silent for a long moment. Then, softly, "I do."
I grabbed her around the waist, jerking her up to her knees. Kept my lips on her back and her shoulders as I slipped my hand between her legs. Without any fancy underwear to slow me down, I was able to touch all of her at once. She jerked and gasped when I traced her clit, her seam, her ass. "You want me to fuck you like this?"
She nodded, hummed. "Yes."
"On your knees?"
She replied with another nod and a high-pitched noise I couldn't decipher. I'd call it a squeak, but this woman didn't squeak. She screeched and screamed and roared, and I wanted to hear all those things from her before the sun came up on this day.
Fisting my shaft, I said, "That wasn't an answer, sweetheart." I dragged the head between her cheeks, through her wet, stopping only to slap her clit. "On your knees, ass in the air, head down?"
It took her a second to find her voice, but when she did, she snapped out an impatient "Yes."
"You're sure about that?" Reaching for the table, I grabbed the other condom and rolled it on. "You know you don't get to call the shots from down there, sweetheart."
"The hell I don't," Brooke replied.
I took hold of her hips and filled her with one thrust. "Go ahead and try."
Jesus Holy Christ, she felt incredible. There was all the usual pussy goodness—hot, wet, tight—but that fire-breathing rage of hers made everything better. I couldn't shake the sense she'd let me fuck her until she couldn't walk right, but then she'd rip one of my kidneys out and keep it as a trophy.
She reached back, grabbed hold of my thigh. "If you don't move in the next zero-point-two seconds, I'm gonna show you what it looks like to call the shots from down here."
I eased out, sucking in a breath as I dragged my length over her folds. "You could do that," I said, staring at the place where her body yielded to mine. "But we both know you didn't come here for that."
Brooke muttered something into the mattress I couldn't understand. She was so damn angry about everything. Most of the time, that poor little rich girl fury clawed at my last nerves, but this was different. I couldn't explain how or why it was different, but I knew this night wasn't like the others. She needed something—or someone—and that need wrapped around the nerves dedicated to this woman in a way that compelled me to give her everything. Even if it meant trashing the life I'd established for myself to meet that need.
She rocked back, claiming the head of my cock. Even that inch of heat was enough to make me dizzy. Enough to start me thinking about the ways I'd take her the next time and the next and all the times after that. And that was only one of the reasons she was ruining my life.
"Is this some kind of art house film where you tell me you're going to fuck me in half and go to a lot of trouble to position me the way you want, but then stare off into space while you wonder where your one true love is tonight?" she asked. "Because that's the way this is unfolding."
I ran my hands over her backside, dug my fingers into her skin, spread her cheeks to get a better look at my cock pushing inside her. I watched as she stretched and opened around me, moving slow to aggravate her and amuse myself. "I'm just making sure you can handle this."
She laughed, causing her muscles to contract around me. For a second, my eyes rolled back in my head. "That's not going to be a problem."
"You sure about that?" I gripped her ass like I meant to mark it, pushed all the way inside her. She responded with a choked cry that shifted into a moan, a hum, and then a hungry, desperate whine. Her hands shifted, scrambling to fist around the blankets. To hold tight. "I don't know, sweetheart. You had a hard time handling me last time and I just lay there, as you requested."
"That's because after high school your dick grew up to be a freak of nature elephantine baseball bat that might actually destroy my uterus. Thanks for warning me about that, by the way."
She shot a withering look at me over her shoulder, but that didn't stop her from working herself on my cock. She was taking what she wanted. Finally. She was gorgeous like this, her face flushed, her hair everywhere. And on her hands and knees for me while I carved fingertip bruises into her ass.
"You're welcome." I brought a hand between her shoulders, pushed her head back down to the mattress. "Hush, now."
"Hush yourself," she yelled into the blankets. "Fuck me like you know how to do it or let me go home to my vibrators."
The mental picture of Brooke spread out on a bed, her knees bent and her hand working between her legs while a battery-powered hum and the sharp spice of her arousal filled the air, was enough to snap my thrusts into an urgent, primal rhythm. "You'd be there right now if that was what you needed, Bam."
I expected a retort, but not the one that came. A high, breathy whimper sounded in the back of her throat and— "I don't know what I need."
I paused, my hand still flat on her back and my cock as deep as she'd take me. I blinked down at her, ran my thumb over the bony ridge of her spine. This was how she did it, how she destroyed me. How I let her.
Leaning down, I licked a trail up her back, along those notches. Rested my forehead there, kissed her once—then again and again. Whispered into her skin, "Then let me show you."
I felt her nodding, felt her cry, "Yes, please," felt her clench around my cock like she never wanted to release me. Then, "For fuck's sake, Jed, please."
Once she spoke those words, we stopped having sex. It wasn't about anatomy or friction anymore. This was fucking, fast and frantic, as if we were trying to get away with something we knew was wrong but couldn't help wanting.
She thrashed beneath me, her eyes shut and her mouth open as I hammered into her. The bed creaked, scraped at the floor, pounded against the wall. She cried out; I growled. I flipped her on her back; she wrestled her way into my lap. She swore at me; I swore right back. Sweat clung to my brow, my hair came loose from its knot. We batted away pillows, blankets. The sheets were off, gone. She scratched; I sucked. Nothing was off-limits, and we pushed hard at those boundaries.
We were loud, messy, almost violent. It ended with shouts and roars certain to wake half this town, but I didn't care. I'd wake the whole fucking world to feel Brooke come apart on me again.
Without a doubt, I would. I ruined my life for her and I'd do that again too.
Chapter Six
Brooke
Break-Even: the level of revenues and expenses at which a project earns zero profit.
This was a mistake.
The word mistake felt inadequate for my current situation. Mistakes were buying bubble bath instead of body wash, or closing a spreadsheet before double-checking it was saved. Mistakes were not running down a hill, through a village, and along a side street at midnight and demanding sex not once but twice from a man who despised me—and doing it on my damn birthday.
But I wasn't prepared to call this a disaster, not even when he locked his arms around my torso and fused his lips to my neck. Knowing Jed, he wasn't cuddling so much as debating whether he wanted to smother me with a pillow or bite my carotid artery open. No, this wasn't a disaster. Those left damages in their wake. The only damages here were the ones to my vagina and I'd invited those.
Not a mistake but not quite a d
isaster meant this was a problem teetering into crisis territory. I'd breach that threshold if I stayed in this bed—in this man's arms—for more than five minutes. That was the limit, five minutes. Enough time to catch my breath and plan my parting remarks.
"What's wrong?" he asked, his words sleepy. Almost scratchy.
I managed a small shrug in spite of his straitjacket hold on me. "Nothing's wrong."
"No, of course not. Your ass is always tight enough to bounce quarters off it."
"As a matter of fact—"
"Save it, sweetheart. We have argued enough for one night, don't you think?"
Something about that roughly spoken we scratched up my spine and sent me scrambling off the bed. "I think this is never happening again," I said as I gathered my things. "And we're never speaking of it either."
JJ propped his head on his hand, watching as I plucked my bra off the curtain rod. "Would you care to explain to me what just happened?"
Stepping into my panties, I said, "This is how it ends, Jed."
He went on lazing in the bed, the sheets gathered at his waist and his head bent as if I was a great curiosity. "Uh huh. Sure, Brooke. If that's what you want."
I gave him my back as I pulled on my bra. "Let me explain a few things to you, Jed."
He barked out a laugh. "No explanations needed. You came here with one thing in mind and you got what you wanted. Now it's over. I got that loud and clear, sweetheart."
I stared at the wall, a bitter smile twisting my lips as his rough, faintly Maine sweethahht washed over me. It wasn't meant as an endearment. It wasn't intended to hit me in my hardest, toughest spots and I wasn't supposed to like it.
Whirling around, I said, "Again, we are never speaking of this or repeating these events. We have altogether too much shared past and more than enough shared present. There shall be no hookup routine between us. No future dick appointments."
He ran his knuckles down his jaw, frowned at the mattress. "That's unfortunate. I was really coming around to the idea of you making a reservation for my cock."
A stiff, slightly manic laugh shook my shoulders. "That's funny. Really funny, Jed. But let me explain the facts of this matter to you." I held up my index finger. "One, this town is microscopic. There's no room for secrets here and we both know they don't keep."
"They sure don't." He blinked at me, the kind of intentional, pointed blink that suggested we were talking about different things. "Doesn't matter how hard you try."
"Whatever you're doing, stop." Forgoing all semblance of dignity, I wiggled into my jeans. "Second, I'm not interested in a repeat performance. This was fine and it's over."
"Yeah. Your pussy was adequate at best."
My jeans halfway up my thighs, I stopped to glare at him. "You're an asshole."
"Just following your lead."
Returning to my jeans, I murmured to myself, "I knew I shouldn't do this in my backyard."
"Right, because the entire town is your property."
Not bothering to look away from my button fly, I replied, "Unnecessary."
"Yeah? I'm being unnecessary?" He sat up, leaned against the headboard. The sheets pooled at his hips. "How about you going on a rant about how I'm not allowed any more dick appointments with you when I don't recall asking for this one?"
"Oh, so, now I forced you to have sex with me? Really, Jed? After you spent a goddamn hour asking me whether I wanted it, you're the one who didn't?"
His jaw worked as he glared at me. "That's not what I said."
"No, it's not what you said at all. You made a rude little quip about my pussy and then had the good sense to bring up my family owning the entire town." I jammed my feet into my shoes and wished like hell I could find my sweater. "This happened once—"
"Twice," he interrupted.
"—and it's not happening again."
He kicked off the sheets and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Still glaring at me as if he intended to draw blood, he stepped into his jeans and buckled his belt. "Seems like you're having some trouble understanding me, sweetheart. I'm not interested in fucking you again."
"Perfect." I stormed into the hallway and toward the front of the house with JJ right behind me. My sweater lay in the middle of the hardwood floor, a pathetic heap of cashmere and regret. I snatched it up, pulled it over my head. "I expect you'll keep these events private. There's no reason to share this with anyone."
From behind me, he said, "Least of all Annette."
Fuck. "As I stated, there's no reason to share this with anyone."
"Agreed."
He stepped around me, fetching his boots from beside the door. At some point in the past few minutes, he'd donned a shirt. A tiny part of me wished he'd left it off. When he tugged the boots on, I asked, "What the fuck are you doing?"
"A real piece of work," he said, laughing to himself. "I'm walking you the fuck home, Brooke."
I dropped my hands to my hips. "I'd rather you not."
"That's tough shit, sweetheart. It's almost four in the fucking morning. The last thing I need is you getting mowed down by a moose. That would really screw up village traffic and I got a big beer delivery coming in from Harpoon this morning."
"All right, Jed," I said as indulgently as I could manage. "You can keep an eye out for moose. You do that."
I flung open the door and stepped into the chilly night air. Early fingers of dawn poked at the horizon. I hugged my arms to my chest as I headed toward home, walking as briskly as I would in Manhattan. People around here didn't understand the sidewalk laws of the city. They favored leisurely strolls in these parts. They'd survive ten minutes in the city.
Behind me, I heard a whistle, a door shutting, and footfalls on the pavement. And also—panting? I glanced over my shoulder and found a dog walking beside Jed. "Where did you get a dog?"
He shoved his hands in his front pockets, shrugged. "She found me."
"Like, right this instant?"
Jed seemed to share a laugh with the dog. I didn't know much about dogs, but she looked like a Labrador or a retriever. One of those big, sturdy dogs who understood commands and herded children when need be.
"About three years ago," he replied. "She showed up behind the tavern."
I stopped to gaze at them as they caught up with me. "You're telling me there was a dog in your house—the whole time?"
"Yeah, Brooke." He touched his hand to my lower back, urging me forward. "Is that a problem?"
"Uh, no," I replied. "I just don't know how I didn't notice a dog."
"Butterscotch conks out around ten o'clock and doesn't wake up until I tell her it's morning. A band of pirates could've stormed my house and she would've slept through every second of it."
I glanced at him as we crossed into the village. "You named your dog Butterscotch?"
"I mean, look at her." He gestured to the dog's golden coat. "Also, she'll steal an ice cream sundae out of your hand if you're not careful."
"I suppose that fits," I conceded. "But I didn't know dogs ate ice cream."
We walked up the hill to my father's house—which sat on a parcel of land that'd been in my family for hundreds of years and covered almost half of Talbott's Cove—in silence. When we reached the entrance, JJ eyed the house and dropped his hand to Butterscotch's head, scratching behind her ears.
I spread my hands out in front of me. "As you can see, no moose."
He snickered. "You're welcome."
"Yes, Jed. Thank you. Your generosity is appreciated."
"Yeah, well…" His voice trailed off as he glanced toward the water. "Good night."
He turned to leave, but I couldn't let him go. Not without killing this with fire. "Jed?"
Stopping, he studied me with a wary smirk. "What is it, Bam Bam?"
"The next time I try to pick someone up at the tavern, you won't interfere." I offered him a sharp grin and marched up the walkway, not waiting for a response.
When I closed the front door behind me, he was
still standing on the sidewalk with Butterscotch.
One last shot fired.
Chapter Seven
JJ
Reserve: an accounting entry that properly reflects contingent liabilities.
Barry O'Connor turned in a wide arc, his head tipped back and his gaze fixed on the exposed beams overhead.
The beams, the birds' nests, the bursts of sunlight streaming in through gaps in the roof. The old cider house presented my business partner with plenty to see.
"You think this will work?" he asked, still staring at the remains of the roof. "Or are you thinking we knock this popsicle stand over and start from scratch?"
"I think this will work," I replied, working hard to keep the impatience out of my tone.
If I’d wanted to start from scratch, I would've shown him any one of the many parcels of vacant land available in this town. This distillery project wasn't about building something new. It was about building on that which already existed.
Barry ambled to the far side of the cider house. He rapped his knuckles on a post, tapped his shoe against the cracked cement floor. "It's gonna need a lot of work," he said. "It might be cheaper to knock it down."
"But that forecloses the possibility of selling on the story," I argued. "No one makes a destination out of a new-construction distillery. That's no different than any number of breweries along the seacoast."
"That's only part of the pitch," he argued back. "Even with new construction, we still have the locally sourced angle, the Prohibition Era bootlegger angle, the charming small town angle. We have enough angles to do without the most expensive one." He frowned at a dark stain on the floor. "Was someone killed here?"
I shoved my hands in my pockets, ignoring the tug of well-used abdominal muscles. I couldn't think about Brooke or the things we did to leave me sore today. Not while I dealt with my part-time pain in the ass business partner. "Ever in the history of the cider house? Probably, yes. That I know of, in recent times? No."
Far Cry: A Talbott’s Cove Novel Page 5
