by Jayne Rylon
Luke penetrated the outer circle of her pussy. Resistance met his light pushes against the moist folds of her core. Damn, she was tight.
“Don’t chicken out now.” She grabbed his ass, pricking him with sharp crescents that sank into his skin. The muscles below approved of her rough handling. They contracted, shoving his hard-on a tiny bit deeper.
He wrapped his hand around her knee and lifted, spreading her wide before him. After aligning his shaft, he fucked, mostly using his hips. This time he tunneled an inch or two deep. “That’s better.”
“Much.” Brielle sighed.
“Is this okay?” He monitored her for signs of distress.
“Perfect.” A soft smile accompanied her response. “Thank you for making concessions. For me. And my drama.”
He couldn’t prevent the growl that rumbled through his chest. Or the companion thrust that worked him farther into her channel. She rippled around him as if intending to distract him from the lesson he planned to teach.
“I watch enough reality TV to know there’s something a hell of a lot more legitimate than bullshit going on here.” He cupped her cheek in his palm. “Your fears are valid. And yes, sometimes they define you. Over time, I think that will change. But I’ll take you any way I can get you and be glad for the chance.”
“Part of me thinks I’m dreaming when you say things like that. Except, I only have nightmares. You are real, right?” Her lashes fluttered closed as he retreated to the verge of falling from her clasp. Then he returned, plunging an inch or two deeper than before.
“Maybe I’m not doing this right.” A chuckle mixed with a groan when he ground them together. “It feels pretty damn corporeal to me.”
“Do it again so I can be sure.”
They both moaned when he bottomed out. She took all of him, holding him completely within her.
“If it’s a fantasy, it’s one I wouldn’t mind being stuck on repeat.” Brielle kissed him, the hand not pinned by her body roaming everywhere she could reach, as if memorizing every bit of him.
“Even if I can’t always be this gentle?” Luke worried he might snap in the face of her temptation. Concentrating, he kept his strokes even—short and smooth—when he began to fuck her. Soaked, she made it effortless for him to glide within her.
“Yes!” She shouted when he slid home. By feeding her more, inch by inch, he’d helped her adjust remarkably well. Somehow Brielle always did. Flexible, resilient and tough—she awed him. “More.”
Luke couldn’t deny her when he craved the same thing. Their position limited his thrusting movement, but opened the door to a sensual dance choreographed to feature grinding, the press of flesh on flesh and precise placement of his pelvic bone. He enjoyed not having to separate from her even a tiny bit.
“Is this enough for you?” He rotated his hips.
“Too much more and I think my head might explode.” Humor sparkled in her eyes. Blended with passion, the combination intoxicated him.
“I know what you mean.” Kisses distracted him for a minute or ten. “I think my fate is sealed. You feel amazing.”
Brielle rubbed against the full length of his body like a cat. Her breasts teased his chest and the softness of her stomach caressed his.
When he shifted slightly, lifting her leg higher, she gasped.
He froze.
“No!” She looked at him, eyes wild. “Don’t stop. Not now. Do that again.”
“Like this?” Luke experimented. It was obvious when he tapped her G-spot. She moaned and arched in his hold. Relentless, he stroked her again and again. The superb placement for her, unsurprisingly, worked wonders for him.
Cries filled the room as Brielle surrendered herself to rapture. She stopped thinking and simply reacted to the ecstasy he delivered. When he feared he couldn’t hold back a moment longer, she stiffened. Her eyes flew open and her gaze clashed with his.
She didn’t ask for permission.
Instead, she took and gave freely. And when her body spasmed around Luke, she pulled him along with her into a pool of endless euphoria that rippled outward from where their bodies intersected.
He poured himself into the condom, shuddering in her arms, which tightened around him and refused to let go.
A long time later, Brielle hadn’t stopped staring into his eyes as if he mesmerized her half as much as she did him. Wonder reflected in her gaze.
“Aren’t you tired, sweetheart?” His fingers combed through her hair.
“Exhausted.” Eyelids drooping, she wrestled the slide into unconsciousness.
“Afraid to sleep? I’m right here. I have you. I swear.”
“I don’t want anything to ruin how I feel right now.” She kissed him, making him wish he had supersexual powers of recovery. “Go to bed. I’ll be okay.”
“I’d rather stay up and talk in that case.” Luke rubbed their noses together. “Hold that thought, okay?”
He twisted, picking up the phone. “Good evening. Yes, morning, you’re right. Could you bring a bottle of champagne and a big-ass ice cream sundae to room 3347?”
Brielle giggled behind him.
“Are you a vanilla kind of girl?” he asked over his shoulder. “Or would you prefer another flavor?”
“You tell me.” Her stare dared him.
“Some of both, please,” he responded. “Don’t bother with a little whipped cream on top, either. We’ll take the whole can. Thanks.”
She looked at him and burst out laughing. The sight and sound fascinated him. It had him wondering just how much time they had before the staff knocked on their door.
Screw it. Semi-melted ice cream never hurt anyone.
Maybe this connection growing between them made him more than a mere mortal after all.
Dessert tasted delicious.
And when Brielle surrendered to sleep, it was with a smile and a bit of chocolate sauce on her face. She didn’t stir until long after daybreak.
Chapter Eleven
Brielle peeked beyond the edge of her curtains. A squirrel dashed across the space beneath the oak tree in the courtyard. She abandoned her post at the window for the interior of her apartment. Funny how it had never seemed so quiet—empty—until Luke’s laughter, charm and sexy body had occupied the space then gone missing.
Ignoring the disappointment zinging through her, she put together a strategy for surviving the night alone. Since Luke wasn’t there to ply her with hot fudge and orgasms by the baker’s dozen, she couldn’t count on ultimate relaxation to guarantee her a dream-free slumber.
This morning she’d woken to sunshine.
Groggy but calm, blissfully unaware of any shenanigans her subconscious might have been pulling while she slept. Unfortunately, it had been the unrelenting banging on the suite door that had roused Luke and stolen him from her clinging grasp. The cold left in his swath had stirred her as well.
After questioning them both separately, and then together, the detectives—Mason and Ty, they’d insisted she call them—had documented the nasty bruises on her arms with an endless series of photographs. Each exposure had seemed to agitate Luke more until he growled, “Enough,” through clenched teeth.
They both signed affidavits and agreed to testify against the ex-Doctor Wexford, who was being charged with assault and violation of an order of protection.
Around noon, Luke had dropped her off at work. Thank God Becca and Kurt had her covered. They’d notified her boss of the incident and that she would be late. Hell, Luke had encouraged her to take the day off, but she felt crappy enough for her lack of responsibility, never mind the fact that her apartment held no solace at the moment.
Brielle had sworn to keep stoic when Luke had regretfully informed her of his packed schedule. With the delayed start and his extended caseload, he projected he’d finish his paperwork sometime after midnight if he was lucky.
She’d already consumed so much of his precious time. She hadn’t dared to appeal for more. They both knew she’d likely still
be up then, or soon after. Maybe he’d simply needed a break. Some space from the intensity they’d generated. Or maybe he could tell she was holding back still. She found it hard to believe he carried this same yearning for her.
Every second ticked by as slowly as the tender strokes he’d employed when he’d fucked her to sleep the night before. Hardly moving, he’d introduced her to an entirely new flavor of sex. One that was more about emotional interfacing than basic physics.
Quality versus quantity.
If only she had some way to repay him. In one week, he’d taught her more about herself than she’d reasoned out in the last decade. Seeing things from his perspective had radically altered her outlook. From this vantage, things looked so different.
Her phone rang
She dashed for the cheap plastic beside her bed. When she reached the device, its screen didn’t display Luke’s name and number, but an unlisted one instead.
Brielle couldn’t imagine anyone contacting her at this time of night unless it was Luke. She figured it was a wrong number and let it go to voice mail. Before the caller could have bothered to leave a message, the thing rang again.
Maybe it was Luke’s office.
Damn, why hadn’t she thought of that? She flipped open the phone and pressed it to her ear. “Hello?”
No warm voice chased away her fears. Instead, scratchy laughter assaulted her.
“Who is this?” She gathered her anger, at what was probably a prank or maybe a drunk dial gone wrong, in an attempt to stifle the instinctive fear that raced up her spine.
“Don’t call here again,” she snapped before disconnecting.
Brielle rubbed her neck, sure she’d never fall asleep now. She wandered into the main living space and double-checked her door was locked. Along the way, she spotted a blaze of color.
The flowers Luke had sent her cheered her whole kitchen. Each time she cruised past in her pacing circuit, she paused, smelled the riotous blossoms, then sighed before repeating the pattern. Her disappointment tinged with nerves ensured she’d be up all night. At least she wouldn’t have to face nightmares.
After dozens of laps, she glanced up from the bouquet and her gaze landed on her new favorite recipe. Cooking was a skill she’d mastered in her seven-year sentence at Casa Brad.
Ah, that wasn’t fair. She was ashamed to admit she’d been hiding from the world behind those bars. The precise measures and rules of chemistry that governed culinary pursuits had helped structure her life and give her control. Of something.
Maybe she’d enroll in a few classes in the evenings and take her hobby a little more seriously.
It was time to try something different.
A few things even. Instead of waiting for Luke to come to her, why not give chase?
Who could resist America’s Test Kitchen’s brown sugar cookies? Oodles of sweetness, crunchy on the outside, gooey in the middle, with browned butter for a rich nutty flavor. Absolute perfection. Sure, they were finicky and time consuming, but well worth the effort.
Besides, if she made some for him, she could taste-test a couple herself. Benefits all around.
It wasn’t like she would be going to bed anytime soon.
With a huge grin plastered on her face, she snagged her apron off the hook beside the pantry and started laying out the ingredients in precise order.
“Hi.” A timid finger wave accompanied Brielle’s greeting.
“Good morning, Brielle. Can I help you?” Kurt had regressed to the epitome of professional. Was it because he was sitting at his e-fucking-normous desk or because Luke had confided a change of heart?
Stop being so paranoid.
“Is Becca around?” Shifting from foot to foot beneath his definitely odd gaze, she wondered if she should bolt. Maybe this had been a bad idea.
“I’m here.” The muffled response grew louder. “Hang on a second, I…uh…dropped something.”
Brielle rolled her eyes when the cute therapist popped out from beneath her husband’s workstation, licking her lips. “Seriously, you two!”
“Well, it is lunchtime.” They both laughed.
She slapped her hands over her eyes lest she be blinded by the syrupy affection oozing from them both. Sweeter than her cookies, it made her teeth ache. Envy threatened to turn her a very unattractive shade of green.
“Were you just stopping in to chat, or did you want to go out for lunch or something?” Becca approached, frowning slightly. She ran her fingers lightly over the long sleeves of Brielle’s blouse, inappropriate given the heat. Neither of them mentioned the unsightly state of her arms.
“Actually, I kind of had a favor…” Nibbling her lip, she wondered again if she was making a mistake. Be bold, Brielle.
“Sure, no problem.” Becca smiled.
“You don’t know what I’m going to ask yet.” Her head tilted as she considered the woman’s genuine willingness to help.
“Spit it out, honey.” Kurt rested his chin on his fist as he gauged her reactions. His scrutiny unnerved her.
“I was wondering if I could get a ride over to Luke’s office. I would take the bus, but I can’t make it there and back in an hour and a cab—”
“Is out of the question,” Becca cut her off. “No need. Luckily, my boss owes me one. So…I’m taking a break.”
Kurt laughed. “Fine. You girls have fun making mischief, ambushing my poor slob of a best friend. Make sure you tease him, Brielle. A lot. He doesn’t stand a chance.”
“Will do. And here…” She reached into the tote bag on her shoulder. “A thank-you present. For Wednesday night. And for lending me your wife.”
“Mmm. I like the way that sounds.”
“You pervert.” Becca laughed.
“What’s this?” Kurt accepted the plastic sandwich baggie Brielle handed him.
“A sample of the cookies I baked for Luke.”
“You made these?” One of the circles had already been stuffed in his mouth and bitten in half. Even a logical man like Kurt couldn’t argue with scrumptiousness. “Like from scratch?”
“Hey, I want a taste. I’m chauffeuring fresh cookies across town. I deserve to know what kind of quality we’re talking about here.” Becca crossed the room, again her shoes were tall enough to be stilts, and accepted the morsel Kurt fed her. “Holy shit, Brielle. These are better than the ridiculously overpriced stuff the lady on the corner of Henderson and Lane sells. People would kill for these.”
“Luckily for you, I enjoy cooking. Maybe I’ll decree Friday Treat Day from now on.” She smiled wide.
“I guess I’ll just have to burn more calories to afford snacks like these.” Becca whistled innocently.
“I can help out with that. As long as I have cookies to give me enough energy to keep up with you.” Kurt spanked his sassy wife.
“Um, you know I’m still standing here, right?” Brielle couldn’t believe he’d done that. And Becca hadn’t run, or gotten pissed. In fact, she seemed to enjoy it, sidling closer to her husband for a sugary kiss.
“Uh huh.” Becca shook her head. “Let’s get going so you can spend as much time as possible delivering your cookies.”
They headed out of the office together. Before they made it to the parking lot, Becca asked, “Do you have any more spares in there? I’m serious. Those rock.”
“Of course.” Brielle withdrew another baggie, and didn’t mention it held the ones she’d intended to have for her midday meal after they got back. “Thanks so much for doing this. Is it dumb?”
“No no no.” Becca shook her head vehemently as she backed out of Kurt’s spot. “It’s a fantastic surprise. He’s going to love it.”
The ride over passed quickly as they chatted about everything and nothing. Talking to Becca was effortless. Would tomorrow bring awkwardness, especially since they’d seemed more like friends than therapist and patient these days? She truly hoped not. The foundation they’d built guaranteed Brielle would be able to share more easily than she could have wit
h a stranger.
When they neared, Becca formulated a plan. “Parking out front is a disaster. I’ll drop you off then circle around to the supermarket a few blocks east on High Street. Call me when you’re ready to go and I’ll pick you up right where I let you out. You probably have about twenty-five minutes if you want to make sure we’re gone for no more than an hour.”
“Got it.” Brielle saluted. Anything to hide the nerves roaring to life now that she could see the glistening chrome and glass of Luke’s tower.
“Here we go.” Becca pulled over, ignoring a few honks in the process. “No time to second-guess yourself now. Get out of here, lady. Make sure he thanks you properly.”
“I’m on it.” She smiled as she hopped from the vehicle and strode into the lobby.
She’d crossed halfway to Mrs. Allerton’s desk when she realized she’d made it through the revolving door without even thinking about it.
“First try.” The mature woman raised her eyebrows. “Dr. Malone is pretty darn good, isn’t he?”
“You have no idea.” Brielle’s smug smile told the whole story. She didn’t care.
Excited and on edge, wasting precious time didn’t sound wise. Past the Ficus tree, she paused. Ten minutes was a huge chunk of her twenty-five ration. She’d much rather spend that time trading cookies for intel. Like whether or not Luke intended to come to her place again.
Tonight or any other.
Six deep breaths—hands on knees—and a serious pep talk later, she raced to the elevator before she could change her mind. Fortunately, the mass exodus from the building toward greasy goodness and the bitch at the café meant that Brielle would have the car entirely to herself heading up.
The doors opened. She had to try three times before she could force her legs to carry her forward, as if she were walking the plank. “I’m okay. I’m okay.”
She imagined being in Luke’s arms again, his warm hand over her eyes. She closed them and put her palm over her lids. The trip seemed to take forever.
Each chirp of the elevator sounded like an alarm to her. She counted them, praying for the end to come quickly. Darkness encroached on her excitement. Panic loomed near. But she focused on slowing her heart rate, steadying her breathing, and she kept telling herself she was fine.
