by Niki Green
“I do. I just—” She broke when his rhythm and depth changed. Instead of the deep and long thrusts she had been receiving, she now was the recipient of shallow and fast pumps.
“Just what?” He embedded himself into her. Her pussy clenched and tried to hold him there for a minute, only a minute, but he refused. He pulled away slowly and then returned just as slowly.
“Just…out of practice is all.” She thought that other truth would stop him dead in his tracks, or his thrusts as it were, but it didn’t. With one move, Brent changed their positions, landing her on top of him. Her hands splayed against his chest as she pushed her body away from his and put herself in a completely seated position. With each inch she moved, his dick was pushed higher and deeper into her body.
When she was finally seated comfortably, and she could feel every inch of him, she moved. Her hips lifted and lowered slowly at first. She loved to surround him. He did as well. Brent’s breathing had changed and each time she descended she heard a slight hiss of breath escape his body.
“You don’t seem out of practice,” he mentioned in between his moans of pleasure. His hands came to rest on her hips, but they didn’t move her. He let her set her own pace, his pace, their pace. “Peyton,” he whispered.
“I like that,” she said, before increasing her speed and depth.
“What’s that?” he managed to utter from behind his clenched teeth.
“My name coming out of your mouth.” She brought her knees in closer to his body and took total control of their lovemaking. Her rhythm was constant and full of intent. She wanted to come. She could feel the urge building low in her belly and threatening to tear her apart from inside.
She needed that.
She needed to come.
She needed him.
Soft, broken pants escaped her mouth, and she let her head fall back and her long hair caress his thighs she sat on. From the corner of her eye, she caught their reflection in the mirror. With her head thrown back, her breasts thrust forward and her body lifting and lowering with practiced moves, they looked wanton, they looked desirable, and they looked right.
“You like to watch now?” His question made her break her gaze with herself in the mirror in order to answer.
“I always liked to watch. If I remember correctly, you did too. You used to love doing it in front of a mirror.”
“Still do.” She was amazed that even as they talked and carried on a short but competent conversation, their bodies took over and a move was never missed.
“Then why aren’t you?”Peyton asked, a husky tone attached to her voice.
“Who says I’m not?” His hands had been idle at his sides but were now trailing their way up the side of her body and flirting with her breasts. The light tickling sensation produced from his touch caused her nipples to pucker and ache to be touched. “So sensitive.” His voice was low and husky and too damn sexy for her own good. His hands covered both breasts and he held them as she continued with her moves.
“I want more.”
“What do you want?” Brent asked before his fingers found her hard nipples and plucked them playfully.
“I want you.” Wanted. Needed. Had to have him.
“You’ve got me, darlin’.” To prove his point, his thrust up one good time, causing her to cry out from the pleasure.
“I want more.” She wanted to come. She wanted him to make her come.
“Greedy little thing, aren’t you?” His tone was playful, and Peyton didn’t know if she was supposed to respond or not. “I like that in a woman.” His hands fell to her hips once again, but instead of urging her along, he stopped her totally. “Get on your hands and knees.”
Those few words did more to Peyton than anything else ever had in her sexual life, not that it was a long life. She did as he asked, hating that in order to do so she had to lose him for a moment.
When she was on her hands and knees she felt the bed shift and Brent’s body come to rest behind her.
“Look up.” When she did, she came face to face with her and Brent’s reflection in the mirror. She could see the dark, desire-filled gleam his eyes took on. She could see the muscles of his chest and stomach flex and he moved closer. Not being able to see everything he was doing behind her, but being able to feel it, drove her crazy.
“Watch me, Peyton.”
As if she wouldn’t.
Chapter Seventeen
The instant their gazes met in the mirror, Brent thrust true and deep inside of her. He was rewarded by her satisfied moan and the clinching of her walls around him. He loved seeing her face as he took her. He loved to see her breasts sway gently as he pumped in and out of her body. The slight tinge of pink that stained her cheeks and the way her eyes looked glazed and heavy told him all he needed to know—she wanted this as much as he did.
Brent’s hands rested lazily on her hips and his fingertips drew slight circles across her flesh, causing tiny chill bumps to form. He broke the contact their eyes had for only a moment, but he had to, he had to watch. He had to watch his body entering hers. He had to watch as he took her. He had to see how slick his dick was from her juices—and he was slick. He glided easily into her with each pass. When he was buried as deep as he could go, the most overwhelming warmth surrounded him.
Just the feel of her squeezing him, caressing him, teasing him, made him harder. When he caught her eyes once more in the mirror, he saw that she was watching him—watching them. He buried his cock deep within her and stilled.
He wanted to feel her flex around him. He wanted to feel the anticipation of his next move rise in her body. He wanted to see the control she held too close slip away and sway his way. He wanted her—whatever way he could get her.
“What is it? Why did you stop?” Her breath came in leaps and bounds and her words were unsteady.
“Just savoring the moment is all.” His answer must have pleased her. She cocked an eyebrow at him and he received one of those sly, sultry smiles of hers that haunted his days and nights. Brent realized that smile was one of the things he loved most about her. It was more of a frown than a smile, but still a smile in its own right. She didn’t give them out freely or without thought. Her other smiles, the many different ones she had, were more carefree and thoughtless, but this one was controlled and full of intent. Its intent was to arouse and lure—she succeeded in both. He began to thrust and pump once more.
His strokes this time were fuller, harder and deeper. His hips rocked with hers and the front of his thighs rubbed the back of hers, creating a stimulating friction he hated to ever break. Every touch she bestowed upon him was heaven.
Brent gripped Peyton’s hips tighter and drew her body nearer to his. He kept her close as he pounded into her. He was close. He could feel the tingle rising in his belly and lowing south. His balls became tight and the need to come and fill her was almost too much. He wanted it. He wanted to feel his seed mingle with her juices. He wanted to know that he was a part of her. He wanted her to remember the feel of him emptying everything he had into her.
“Peyton.” The low, guttural tone got her attention. Her eyes had fallen shut as she rode the waves to an earth-shattering orgasm, but now they were focused on him. “Look at me.”
He wanted her to see. He wanted her to know who was deep inside of her. He wanted her to know who the man was behind her bringing her to yet another orgasm. He wanted her to see his face as they came in time with one another.
He wanted her to know.
Know that she could have him, all of him, mind, body and soul.
“Brent.” That one word falling from her swollen lips was Brent’s undoing. His mind no longer controlled his body. He withdrew almost completely and then slammed back onto her. Their moans mixed together and those sounds mixed with the scents of their lovemaking to make Brent’s head swim. He did his best to concentrate, to pay attention. He wanted to etch this moment in his memory, but the orgasm growing in his belly took everything away from him.
> Her pussy clenched down on his cock, her perfectly rounded bottom pushed back into his thrusts and she came with a whispered moan and with his name on her lips. Brent let himself go and let nature take over. With one more deep thrust his seed erupted from his body and filled her.
With both of their bodies limp from desire, they collapsed into the scented sheets together, Brent resting slightly to the side of her and their legs still entwined. Her breathing was almost back to normal, but he could still feel the slight pulses her pussy released around his cock. He refused to pull away. He wanted to stay inside of her until it was no longer possible.
With a lover’s touch, he pushed the thick and damp locks away from her back and placed small kisses across it until he reached the curve of her neck and shoulder. Her pulse fluttered beneath his lips and he smiled into her skin. He noticed her eyes were closed and her breathing was that of a sleeping woman. That made his pride swell—and his ego as well.
With one final kiss, he pulled completely away from her. He rolled from the bed and retrieved his discarded clothing from where it lay in disarray on the floor and dressed quickly.
He hated to leave her without saying goodbye, but she needed to rest and he needed to leave unnoticed and return home in the same way. It was for the best.
With his clothes back on his body, he turned to leave. He took one quick glance at her and noticed the first few rays of morning light were starting to make their appearance. He also noticed how the light caught the edges of the ring she still wore on her finger. He didn’t like the fact that she still wore it, but it made him feel better to know she wouldn’t be wearing it for much longer. Not if he had anything to say about it.
Chapter Eighteen
At two o’clock on the dot, Peyton ushered Lucky Davis toward the front door. He was drunk, sourly so, and kept repeating her name. Over and over again.
“Peyton, Peyton, Peyton…” Lucky slurred as his body swayed from side to side.
“Lucky, Lucky, Lucky,” Peyton replied as she tried to shuffle them both closer to the doors.
“When are you going to give this all up and let me take care of you?”
She opened the heavy wood and glass door and held it with her booted foot, allowing Lucky to waltz through it. Over an hour ago, Peyton had called her Uncle Mitch McCready, Lucky’s current employer, and asked him to pick the man up. Mitch, being the man he was, was parked right in front of the bar waiting on Lucky.
Lucky saw Mitch, lifted his hand in a wave and then turned back to Peyton.
“I can take care of you, girl. Make you happy. A lot happier than that Nash feller ever could. At least I’m around the majority of the time.” What he said was true, and she was getting tired of hearing and thinking the exact same thing. Lucky staggered once and his heavy body fell into hers. She was expecting it and caught him before they both hit the concrete.
“Lucky, you’re here all the time and you can’t even take care of yourself, let alone me.” She helped Lucky right himself as she spoke.
“But I loves you, Peyton.” Slurred speech and whiskey-sour breath didn’t help Lucky’s declaration.
“I understand, Lucky. But you’re going home alone.” The weight that was Lucky Davis lifted from Peyton as her Uncle Mitch hefted his employee toward the truck.
“Thanks for calling me, Peyton. I would have hated for him to be on the road tonight.” Uncle Mitch was a bear of a man with the demeanor to go along with it, but a teddy bear’s heart when you got right down to it.
“I appreciate you coming to get him. I wasn’t about to let him have his keys. Speaking off…” Peyton reached into her front pocket and retrieved a set of keys and handed them over to Mitch.
Mitch took them, opened the passenger side door of his old beat-to-hell-and-back work truck, and helped Lucky in. He slammed the door once Lucky was seated, more in an attempt to make it close than in anger, and then walked around the dented hood to his own door.
When the ignition caught, Mitch waved once more to Peyton and pulled away from the bar. Lucky was already sound asleep against the glass of the window. Peyton waited until they made a left out of the parking lot before she stepped back into the bar and locked the door behind her.
Once alone, she surveyed the damage. Well, her jukebox was still intact, which was something. The tables that took up the left side of the room were littered with beer bottles and napkins and condiment holders. A few chairs had been knocked over in everyone’s haste to leave at last call. Peyton set them back upright and was glad to see they were still in one piece.
Taking a break from the chore of sweeping, she slid onto one of the many stools the bar owned and rubbed the tension from her neck and shoulders. If she were lucky, within the next hour or so she would be soaking in her large sunken tub with bubbles galore. It was rare that Peyton took a bath, she preferred the convenience of a shower, but tonight she would pamper herself a bit. It did a body good.
She ran her hands from her aching back and neck up her throat, across her face and hair and then let them rest on the bar top. Glancing at the mirror behind the bar revealed what Peyton knew to be true—she looked tired. Too tired. Her eyes looked dim, her face seemed pale and her hair looked lackluster and limp. At least the bruises were fading and the smelly-as-hell ointment had done its job and the scratches could barely be seen.
“Pretty one, aren’t you?” she said to the reflection. Peyton laughed at herself and pulled the ponytail holder from the heavy mass and massaged her scalp where the band had been for so many hours. She toyed with the idea of cutting the mess. It would be easier, and would put an end to the headaches she always seemed to have at the end of a long night, but she knew she wouldn’t go through with it.
Peyton scanned the bar once more and dreaded the fact she had to clean the place up. Wade had left just after last call as he always did on Saturday nights, which left her alone in the place to clean up. Not that she cared. Being alone gave her time to herself and her thoughts—not that she needed any more time with them. Over the past few days she’d had more time to think than she wanted.
What to do about Brent was at the top of her list every night. They couldn’t keep on like this. True, it was exciting to a point, but it was also confusing and insane and dangerous. The danger was for her and her alone. When it ended, and it would, she would be the one left with nothing—no Brent and no Carter. She needed to pick a path and follow it. She just didn’t know what path to take.
In one direction there was the truth. The truth about Carter, his current status as her ex-fiancé—an ex-fiancé who was conveniently missing most of the time. The truth could do things. The truth could open the doors wide enough for Brent to enter or slam that same door in her face.
Then in the opposite direction was silence and Brent. Brent. Her heart beat his name. Brent was complicated. Her and Brent’s current relationship, if one could call it that, was complicated. She hadn’t seen or heard from him in four days—four very long days. After spending the entire night in her bed, wringing orgasm after orgasm from her body, he had departed with the rising sun.
What to do? That was the question. What the fuck to do?
Deciding the mess was not going to clean itself up, the mess of the bar and the mess of her life, she hopped off the barstool, grabbed a broom and dustpan and started to fix what wasn’t broken.
She strolled past the jukebox, dropped a dollar’s worth of quarters from her pocket into the slot and picked six selections to entertain her while she worked. Kenny, Pink, Hank and a little Paramore would make the time go by more quickly.
Kenny had just begun with his latest heartbreaker when Peyton heard a light tapping against the glass of the front door.
“We’re closed,” she said to the visitor without looking up from her task. The tapping turned into a knock, a persistent one. Peyton huffed a bit, placed the dustpan on a table, leaned the broom against one of the pool tables and made her way to the door to tell the late-night drinker they would o
pen tomorrow at four, not before.
“We’re closed,” she said as she opened the door and ceased the knocking. The man standing at the threshold both shocked her and sent a thrill through her bones.
“Don’t you know better than to open a door late at night when you don’t know who is on the other side?” Brent propped an arm against the doorframe and waited on Peyton to answer him.
“I can see through the glass. What do you want?” Peyton said, leaving him and returning to her work. She heard the door close and looked over her shoulder to see him leaned against the frame, hands in his pockets, eyes boring into her. “What?”
“Do you always open the door to anyone who knocks?”
“Are you serious?” She swept the shattered remains of a bottle into a pile and tried her best to ignore him. It was a difficult feat. He was well over six feet of muscle-wrapped bone and long-legged sexiness. The worst part was he knew it.
“Hell yeah, I’m serious. I could have been anyone. What if I had been here to rob you?”
“Are you?” she countered, cocking a dark eyebrow at him.
“No.” He pulled out a chair from the table closest to him, turned it around and straddled it.
“Then I have nothing to worry about.” She squatted and raked the pieces of glass into the dustpan and emptied them into a trashcan before looking at him again. He was watching her. His dark chocolate eyes matched his hair, but they seemed darker and more brooding than usual. Which was saying something. “What’s on your mind Brent?”
“What makes you think there’s something on my mind?”
“Well, let’s see. It’s a little after midnight on a Saturday night and you’re sitting here watching me sweep glass into a dustpan. Either you’re extremely bored or something’s on your mind. So, being the person that I am, I’m asking. What’s on your mind?”
