by Skye Jordan
She definitely needed to get him out of his clothes.
Pulling out of the kiss, she dragged at his shirt. “Naked, Holt. Now.”
He laughed and let the shirt slide off his shoulders, over his head.
She leaned in to press her mouth to his chest, but paused and pulled back, looking at all the ridges over his abdomen. She’d seen him in swim trunks at least a dozen or more times in the weeks they’d been in California together. When he wasn’t working, he seemed to live in them, but she’d given up hope of ever getting the chance to touch them or kiss them or lick them.
So she started by skimming her hands over his abdomen and experienced the unique sensation of warm skin over steely muscle…
Swoon.
God, she never swooned.
Over anything.
Or anyone.
After so many years in the music industry, it took a lot to impress Brooke. And Keaton knocked her for a loop in so many unexpected ways, she’d lost count.
His hands had found their way under her dress again, and stroked everywhere he could reach. His lips and tongue laid hot trails down her neck and across her chest as he stepped her backward until her thighs pressed the arm of the sofa.
With his hands at her waist, he leaned her backward over the arm.
“Keaton…” She laughed his name, clinging to his arms, but that didn’t keep him from laying her back.
With her shoulders against the sofa cushions, Keaton stepped between her thighs, pressing them wide. He looked down at her with such blatant and overwhelming desire, her belly fluttered and her chest tightened. His dark gaze followed his hands down her body. He cupped her breasts, then caught the hem of her dress already at her hips thanks to gravity, and moved it up to her ribs in a deliberate shove. Brooke pulled in a breath of surprise and curved her hands around his forearms as Keaton’s hot eyes raked her nakedness.
A long, low sound of hunger ebbed from his throat as he lowered his head and pressed his face to the soft space just beneath her ribs. The pressure and warmth, the intimacy, made her shiver. He pressed kisses to her skin in a direct line south. His earlier words echoed in her head—“I can’t wait to get you under my mouth”—and the fire in Brooke’s body flared into an inferno as she pushed her hands into his hair.
But he straightened, pulling out of reach to wrap his arms under and around her thighs. Without warning, he hauled her hips higher on the sofa arm and spread her thighs wider. His gaze remained rapt between her legs, and Brooke’s breathing broke into another sprint.
He lowered his head again, pressing a kiss to her belly right below her belly button. Then lower. And lower. And lower.
Brooke curled the fingers of one hand into the sofa cushion at her side and reached forward with the other, combing her fingers through his dark hair. Loving the thick, soft feel of it while Keaton’s kisses grew hungrier.
And he used his mouth like his hands, patiently, but with clear, deliberate purpose—to drive Brooke insane with pleasure. Each lick or swirl of his tongue made her tighten her grip on the sofa cushions. Every suckle made her arch and reach overhead, using the sofa to push toward him. Until he ate at her like he’d never get enough, driving her to a place where she bordered on insanity and writhed with need. Where the peak was so sharp, there was no way one orgasm would be enough to satisfy it.
When he drove her over the edge, Brooke fisted the cushions over her head. She arched and cried his name. The pleasure seemed to spike through her, ricochet, then hover, making it impossible for her to pull herself fully back to the present. To reality. To his fingers digging into the flesh of her thighs, his mouth eating at her with a ferocity that mirrored the hunger in her own body. But even when she was sure she couldn’t climb another peak, he led her there a different way, drawing more pleasure from her body than she ever fathomed it could even possess let alone exude. Brooke continued to rise and break. Rise and break. And each climax brought something different, something new, something she’d never experienced before.
Then she felt the exquisite pleasure of his fingers joining his mouth. The tips stroking and rubbing, shooting a fresh thrill through her sex while his tongue lazily laved her, adding heat and pressure and friction. She was already choking out a moan and writhing toward his touch when the pressure of his fingers penetrated her body. Then moved inside her. And, bam, ecstasy slammed her like hurricane winds, knocking the breath from her lungs.
“So good…” She arched, dropped her head back, and moaned, “Oh fuck, don’t stop.”
He did the opposite. He created more pressure inside, teasing her outside. The multiple sensations were too much for her brain to absorb all at once, and it felt like it took forever to rise to climax. By the time she did, she was absolutely delirious with lust, swamped in a depth of pleasure she’d never experienced, and—she already knew—addicted to it.
“Keat—” He closed his mouth over her and growled. The sound vibrated through her. So erotic, so wild, she was out of her mind. “Need…it. Keaton, please…”
He added suction with his mouth, movement with his hand, and launched Brooke into the stratosphere.
The pleasure was so intense, Brooke’s body exploded in a cluster of orgasms that wiped out her mind and ravaged her. She went limp. Her butt drifted off the arm of the sofa, and she sank into the cushions. Her breathing raced and her heart galloped. She had enough brain function to realize Keaton had moved away from her, but didn’t have the strength to make her mind think about where he went.
The rip of paper pulled her mind into the present and brought her eyes open. “Keaton?”
“Right here.” He bent over her, gripped her waist, and moved her up the sofa.
His jeans hung lower on his hips, and he pressed one knee between her thighs, shoving all the loose pillows to the floor. Then he lowered his hips between her legs and propped himself up on his elbows. Brushing the hair from her face, he kissed her, slow and deep.
His hips moved against her, and the feel of skin against skin made her moan. He pushed one hand between them, stroked her with his fingers, then with the head of his cock.
“I put a condom on,” he murmured.
Brooke tightened her arm around his shoulders. “I’ve waited so long for this.”
“Me too.” He dropped his forehead to hers. His eyes filled with lust, his kiss with affection and hunger. He brought his free hand to her breast, still covered in her rayon dress, stroked and squeezed. “I wish I could wait longer. I want to eat every inch of you, but you make me insane.” His voice was raspy and more serious than she’d ever heard the lightest of the lighthearted Renegades. “I need you now.”
His hips thrust, and his thick shaft penetrated her. A sound ebbed from Brooke’s throat before it closed. Before her body arched in both pleasure and pain. Her head fell back, her mouth dropped open. And she could only describe the sensation as searing pleasure radiating along her walls. Burning through her sex.
Keaton’s big body curved over her, every muscle taut beneath her hands where they dug into his shoulder.
“Ah, fuck, Brooke,” he murmured against her exposed throat, his voice rough and strained. “Fuck.”
She clutched at his shoulders with one hand, his hair with the other, caught up in the mind-bending thrill of all his sweat-slicked muscle sliding along her skin. Of his cock stretching her. Of his big body trembling with the effort to hold back.
He withdrew slowly, and the motion washed so much pleasure through Brooke’s body, she moaned, delirious. Keaton’s lips moved on her throat, and he kissed a path to her mouth, where his tongue dipped in to swirl and tease. Eyes open, tongues spiraling, he pushed back inside her. Stretching her until her breath caught. Then he held her gaze…and pushed even deeper.
The sound that rolled in her throat was almost animalistic. A sound she’d never heard come out of her mouth before. But she’d never been this…taken, this deep, this intimate with a man before. Because this wasn’t just about the sex. The wa
y he looked at her, the way he held her, the way he owned her went much deeper than the physical.
He pressed one hot palm to her thigh, spreading her wider. Wound his arm behind her knee and leaned in, hitching her leg higher. Wedged his hips farther between her legs. And penetrated even deeper.
“Fuck,” she breathed, the word hardly a whisper.
“Too deep?” he murmured, showing no sign of backing off as a trickle of sweat slid down his forehead, hit his brow, and veered along the top until it reached his temple.
“Just…so…much of you.”
“You don’t have it all yet.”
“Jesus.”
“Before I ask if you want me to back off, let me show you something I think you’ll like.”
He lifted one brow in a silent request for permission. When a smile quirked her mouth, Keaton used his body weight to push until she felt like he was so deep, he was at the back of her throat.
“Ah God…” she moaned.
And then he did…something…with his hips. Some dip or rock or…something that made shards of ecstasy rip through her sex. Her mouth dropped open, and sounds rolled out of her. Hungry, oh-my-God-don’t-you-dare-stop sounds. She writhed toward him and dug her fingers into his skin, needing more of whatever he was doing.
“Keat…” She couldn’t talk, couldn’t think. Her mind and body were absorbed with seeking more and more of the intense pleasure. She tried to lift into him, but he had her pinned to the sofa.
“Brooke, baby…” His voice was a breathless rasp, and his micro-thrusts grew faster and stronger and longer until they weren’t micro anymore, but burning ecstasy through her with each stroke. “God…you feel like fucking heaven.”
Her orgasm grew inside her like a bomb. It was nothing like anything she’d experienced before. And her whimpers grew louder and louder…
“Don’t…stop…” She didn’t know what she was begging for, just knew she needed more. “Don’t—”
He drew farther out, then hammered a couple of full thrusts home, surprising a cry out of Brooke. But before she tumbled over the edge of ecstasy, Keaton changed the rhythm with one slow torturous deep drive into her.
“Oh my God… Keaton… Please…”
Reaching overhead, he threaded his fingers with hers and looked directly into Brooke’s eyes. “I’m only going to last…for one…” He dropped his head and wiped his brow on her dress. “But I promise…more…after you let me…rest.”
“Then give it to me.” She flexed and tensed her fingers around his. “Because the sooner you get rest…the sooner I get more.”
A split-second smile flashed across his mouth, before his lips crushed hers and his tongue worked her mouth the way his cock worked her body. He smothered her cry just before the climax hit, and Keaton pulled back, greedily drinking in the sight of her as the orgasm finally shook her to the core. Blinding light filled her head while wild pleasure zapped every nerve ending in her body. And for those extended seconds, Brooke lost herself in the absolute present—no future, no past, just that moment of utter bliss.
She was still clinging to Keaton when his orgasm swept through. The force of it, of the way it rocked his powerful body, humbled her. The way it drew guttural, savage sounds from a man she’d always seen as fun-loving and easy-going, surprised her. And the way it so completely took him over moved her.
Keaton released his grip on her hands and eased most of his weight onto one arm. He rested his face against her neck, and his hot breath came in quick, heavy pants. “Can’t remember…last time I…couldn’t fuckin’ hold myself…together.”
Her brain wasn’t fully functioning yet. And she loved the feel of him against her. His heartbeat against her ribs, his belly against her belly, his soft hair against her neck.
She combed a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I can’t believe we’re still dressed.”
He lifted his head, laughing. “That’s what I’m talking about. You had me so twisted around, I was too impatient to wait. You turned me into a fuckin’ teenager again.”
It took a second for his meaning to register. When it did, she turned her head, looked at him directly, and said, “Really?”
He propped his head on his elbow. “What do you mean ‘really’? Is sex always this passionate for you?”
A laugh bubbled out of her, and one of his dark brows winged up.
“I’m sorry. You make it sound like I do it regularly.” She stroked his face. “And I was asking because, honestly, I’m surprised I would be someone to instigate that reaction, considering who you usually hook up with.”
He brought a hand to her face, cupped her cheek, and stroked it with his thumb. “That’s exactly why. But…”—he winced a little—“can we not call this a hookup?”
“Um…sure.” She drew out the word. “Why?”
“It’s just… It doesn’t fit us. Whether we ever do this again or not doesn’t matter. You could never be just a hookup.”
That spot inside her that warmed every time she thought of him opened and ached. And the affection in his expression seemed to take on more weight, causing Brooke a little bit of alarm. “You’re right,” she admitted, then pushed some of the hardest words she could imagine from her mouth. “But, just so we’re on the same page, as much as the idea of something beyond a hookup intrigues the hell out of me, you know this can’t be any more than tonight given our responsibilities. Right?”
His mischievous grin appeared and sparked her playful side. The one she’d put on hold last year. The one that had to stay on hold for a while. “That intrigues you, huh?”
She laughed but gave him the we’re-adults-we-have-to-be-serious-sometimes look and repeated, “Right?”
He sighed, and his smile lost some sparkle. “I guess.”
She stretched up and kissed him. “Now go clean up so I can officially undress you.”
Keaton was damn glad he didn’t have to work today, because he’d be fuckin’ useless.
He turned his head away from the sight of the sun rising over the Colorado River through the French doors of Brooke’s suite and focused on the strands of her hair he was twirling round and round his finger. Rich, chocolate brown, with an occasional streak of deep red. As soft as silk.
He was propped against the headboard, and Brooke had fallen asleep halfway on top of him, which gave him an incredible view. He could never get enough of the sight of her body from shoulders to ass. Of the white sheets tangled around her, framing her creamy skin. Of her chocolate hair spilling over her shoulder and down her back. Of her head resting on his belly, one rosy cheek, plump, pink lips, and long dark lashes accentuated in the morning light.
She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen in his entire fucking life.
He’d already taken so many pictures of her, his phone had run out of storage. He wanted some way to capture the night.
“Dammit,” he whispered, dropping his head back against the headboard and squeezing his eyes shut.
He didn’t want to go home.
No, that wasn’t right. He did want to go home. He didn’t want to leave Brooke. And who in the fuck expected that to happen?
He sighed and rubbed his eyes, shifting his hips to alleviate the nagging morning hard-on that obviously hadn’t gotten the memo that he’d had more sex last night than he’d had in the last three months.
And every moment of last night had all been a-freaking-mazing. He couldn’t say that about any of the sex over the last three months.
A phone rang, jerking Keaton from his thoughts. He sat forward, searching for the source, to silence it so Brooke wouldn’t wake. But her head popped up before the second ring.
“What time is it?” she asked, her words slurred, voice groggy.
“Five thirty.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” She half crawled, half slid across Keaton to reach for the phone. “Crazy. Fucking. Bitch.” Then answered, “Yes?”
She listened for a m
oment. “You can call— I understand that, but you’re just telling me instead of—”
She hung her head, exhaled, rubbed her eyes. “Of course.”
Keaton stroked her back, following the curve of her spine that he’d been admiring while she slept. So warm. So soft. So beautiful.
With other women, it was one-and-done. But Brooke kept refilling his tank, making him need her again and again.
“Mmm-hmm,” she said into the phone.
She sighed and rolled her head, putting his erect cock directly in her line of sight. And even just having her eyes on him made his ache intensify. Brooke’s hand swept that direction, her small, warm palm stroking his thick length like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Before he knew it, Keaton found himself focusing on her nicely shaped, nicely toned ass, then dipping his hand between her legs and brushing his fingers across the sensitive skin at the tops of her thighs, teasing her until she lifted and wiggled.
“Yes,” she said, a little breathless now.
He rewarded her with a fingering treat that made her cover her mouth with her free hand.
His cock, standing at full attention now, drew her gaze, and she angled that direction so she could slide her free hand over his length. Sparks shot through his cock.
When he flinched, her bright eyes sparked, and she shifted position, sliding her belly down between his thighs. The little smile that turned her lips told him she knew he was hungry for her mouth. He’d become addicted to the way she gave head within two minutes of the moment she took his cock between her lips. Brooke was generous and erotic, and she loved it. And he craved her mouth the way she craved his fingers.
With her gaze on Keaton’s, she took hold of his cock like a joystick and pulled gently, drawing his sac up until she could take one side into her mouth.
And erotic shock jolted Keaton to the soles of his feet. While her hand stroked the shaft, her mouth sucked and licked the sensitive skin of his sac, and his hands fisted in the sheets. “Ah…God…Brooke…”
