“Maybe,” Brooke says, nodding slowly. She looks at me closely, blushing a little, like she knows I was staring at her mouth.
We carry on for hours again, talk of work turning into her asking me for stories about New York, those turning into her stories about a weekend vacation she’d taken with Autumn last year. The night passes quickly, and I can’t get over how much fun I’m having. No one has made me feel like this in a very long time. I’ve spent years sleeping with beautiful women, throwing around my money and trying to live so fast that I forgot all of my pain, but none of it came close to how Brooke makes me feel. She makes me feel alive and whole and happy, and I want to keep that feeling.
Brooke had walked to dinner, and it’s late when we finally leave, so I drive her home. She sets the satellite radio in my car to a station that plays songs from when we were in high school. We sing along, laughing.
“You know, I was thinking,” I say, watching her sing, watching the way the moon lights up her face, “we could use this car and actually take that road trip of ours.”
“We could make it our honeymoon,” Brooke says. She laughs, but it feels a little more serious than the jokes we’ve been making.
When we get to her door, she smiles at me and bites her lip again, eyes moving quickly, like she’s making a decision.
“Would you like to come in? I have wine. We could have a last drink,” she says. She’s fidgeting with the strap of her purse, and her eyes are locked on mine.
I make a decision too. I grab her arm and pull her in, kissing her like I’ve wanted to since I was seventeen years old. Her hand comes up to my neck instantly, and she kisses me back like she’s wanted this too – like everything was leading to this. Kissing Brooke feels heady and addictive, and makes me feel like I really am a teenager with how new and fresh it seems. I’ve kissed more women than I can remember, but kissing Brooke somehow feels different altogether.
“Do you still want me to come in?” I ask when we pull back a little. I put a hand on the small of her back and feel her tremble under my touch. She nods rapidly.
“Please do,” she says. She sounds out of breath and already turned on. I can’t wait to hear what other sounds she makes. I can’t believe I’ve gone this long without seeing her like this: eyes dilated, skin flushed, and breathing heavy. I want more of it.
“Lead the way,” I say, kissing her again as I do.
Chapter Eleven - Brooke
I tug Anthony into my apartment, shutting the door behind him and kissing him again. He puts his hands on my waist, pulling me in closer. I flip on the lights, not sure if we should head toward the bedroom or toward the couch, not sure if I really should pour us that wine or if I should start to work the buttons on his shirt. Anthony makes the choice for me, guiding us to my couch and pulling me practically onto his lap when we get there.
There’s a casual lightness but firm deliberateness to Anthony’s movements that makes me shiver a little. I think thank god and finally as Anthony’s hand creeps under my dress, up my thighs, over my stomach and ribs, up and over my breasts, back over my hips. Each touch feels like so much that they’re sending me spinning. I think I could actually melt – like Anthony could actually melt me and then maybe put me back together again. I think I’d like him to never stop touching me.
“God,” I say, throwing my head back as his fingers dance over my breasts again, teasing my nipples and making me gasp.
“I’ve wanted this since I saw you again. Maybe longer than that,” Anthony says, drawing another gasp out of me as he does. “I’ve been thinking about it constantly.”
“Have you?” I ask, nodding rapidly as he pulls my dress over my head. I’m already soaking wet, and I want him so badly. I want Anthony more than I can remember ever wanting anyone else.
“So fucking much,” Anthony says, cupping my breasts in his hands and licking my neck. He picks me up a little, moving me away so he can lean over me, and pull my legs apart with his hands. “Can I taste you?”
“Please,” I say, grinding my hips up at his words. I’m so wet, so turned on, and it’s been a long time since I’ve had an orgasm I didn’t give myself. Even with Jeff, he was rarely attentive to whether or not I’d come. I’d ended up finishing myself more often than I should have. Anthony looks more than turned on: he looks hungry for me. I shiver.
Anthony leans back down to kiss me, running his hands up and down my arms a few times he does. He pulls back up and traces his hands over my body, stopping to lick lines on my breasts, my ribs, around my navel, my hip bones, my thighs, until I’m whimpering over and over.
He licks from my hips to my thighs, circles getting closer and closer to my soaking wet clit, making me feel like I’m on fire. He spreads my legs apart firmly, and I groan at the sensation. Anthony dances fingers on the inside of my thighs, running his tongue over a thousand sensitive spots, before running it up and finally licking my clit.
It’s all I can do to not buck my hips at the sensation, more so when Anthony starts to tease a finger, dipping just slightly inside me but not really – not enough. “Fuck,” I say, breathing hard. Anthony keeps licking me as he slides a finger and then two all the way inside me. Slowly, slowly he moves in and out. The combined feeling of his mouth and fingers is so much I feel lightheaded.
For a while, I just lose myself completely in the achingly good sensation – the slow twist and pull of Anthony’s fingers, the warmth of his mouth, the circles he makes with his tongue, the firm press of his free hand on my hip. For several long minutes, maybe longer, I ride the waves of it. I’m lost and floating until Anthony picks up the speed of his fingers and tongue rapidly, sending me falling over the edge. I’m coming so hard that I scream out his name – so hard that I think I see white at the edges of my vision.
Anthony stands up and takes my hand, and I pull him close and kiss him, my own taste on his lips making me somehow even wetter. I want him, need him, now. I tug on his hands, leading him toward my bedroom.
Halfway to my bed, just inside my bedroom, I decide there is something else I want right now. I kiss Anthony again, suddenly wanting, needing, to make a stop first, before we get to my bed. I can’t get the way Anthony had looked on his knees out of my head. It’s swimming with how much I want Anthony. With how much I think I’ve wanted it for weeks, maybe longer. And right now, now that’s it’s actually happening, I want everything.
But first, I think I want to--
“Wait,” I say, angling us so Anthony’s back is to the wall. I kiss him again, firm and hard. He responds, pressing up against me, rocking his hips, breathing hard. I can feel the swell of his cock through his pants. I know how hard he is.
“What’s up?” Anthony asks. He probably means it to sound light and casual, but it comes out sort of desperate.
“You’re not the only one who's wanted this,” I say, sliding my hands to the edge of his shirt, running my fingers over his muscles.
“No?” Anthony asks as I pull his shirt off.
“No,” I say, running my hands over his chest, his stomach, every curve and line, heading for the waist of his jeans. “And I wanted to see you and touch you and taste you.” It’s a little bolder than something I’d normally let myself say, and it makes feel sort of wild and dirty. I like it. Everything feels different with Anthony. I feel like I can be more upfront about what I want. I want to be with him, want to let myself fully want him like this, appreciate him like this, feel the full force of my attraction to him like this.
“Please do,” Anthony says, and I and kiss him again before undoing the button on his jeans and tugging them down.
I allow my eyes to roam, to travel all over Anthony for a minute, taking in every muscle, every flash of skin, the sight of his cock, hard and waiting for me, bigger than anyone else I’ve ever been with. I run my hands over the all the lines and muscles I find.
I want, I think, to do this memorably – to be the best. I know Anthony has had a lot of sex with a lot of women in New York,
but I don’t care. I want this to be a standout sort of experience. I want this to be burned into his brain.
So, I kiss him again and slowly slide a hand down to wrap around his cock, light and slow. He gasps into my mouth.
“Shit,” Anthony says, “please.”
I keep my hand moving slowly as I lick my way down Anthony’s neck, down his chest, slowly tasting all that skin, all those lines, as I stroke his hard cock slowly. He shudders and puts a hand on my neck. I keep going, lowering myself to spend a while licking his hipbones, hearing all the sounds he makes, the words that roll out of his mouth.
“Brooke, fuck,” Anthony says. “That’s so good. You look so sexy like that.”
His eyes are so dark and turned on that I want to swim in them forever. I stop the motion of my hand, and then take Anthony’s cock in my mouth, leaving one hand around him and anchoring his hips with the other. I don't bother with slow or light now, going all-out, reveling in the devastatingly hot sounds he makes as I do, the gasps and moans I’m sure will burn into my brain. I keep going, letting him buck his hips up into my hands and my mouth.
I don’t stop until he puts a hand on my shoulder to still me.
“Come here,” he says, pulling me up and kissing me. He’s still rock hard. I can feel his cock pressed against my leg as we kiss. “I want you.”
“I want you,” I say back. “I need you to fuck me.”
“After you,” Anthony says, gesturing to my bed. I feel shaky as I walk. I don’t think I’ve ever been so wet and turned on in my life, and I’ve already come once tonight. I lie back in bed and Anthony crawls over me, smiling as he does.
Anthony runs his hands over me again, teasing my stomach and thighs, and I think could come again just from the pressure. I might if Anthony isn’t inside me soon, fucking me.
“Please,” I say, kissing Anthony again. He gives me a smile that makes my breath catch, and then he’s sliding inside me, deep and hard. I feel like I’m falling apart from the first roll of Anthony’s hips. He’s already hitting spots inside me that no one ever has before, and I never want him to stop. I fall back with him against the bed, and I try to keep my eyes open, to look at the way Anthony is looking at me, to hold onto this moment.
I’m covered in sweat, and I feel helpless to the delicious motion of Anthony’s hips, to being fucked like this, to the blinding heat and feeling that hits from my fingers to my toes with every thrust Anthony makes. I cry out, feeling amazing.
I’ve never felt so close to someone while having sex – never really knew what that would be like. Now, I feel like Anthony and I are moving together like we’re one. When he moves a hand to rub circles on my clit while he fucks me, creating a back-and-forth that has my head spinning, it’s so good. It’s so beyond good that I think I’m floating. I’m so high that I think I’ll never come down.
It makes me feel like I’m Anthony’s – like we belong to each other. I could stay here and do this over and over, forever.
Anthony speeds up and then asks, “Ready to come for me?” He speeds up his fingers, pressing them just right over my soaking clit and making me explode, just as I feel Anthony shudder and come inside me. My mind melts and all I can feel is Anthony. The intense orgasm rocks my whole body.
Anthony pulls out of me and lays beside me. I bury myself in his strong chest, breathing hard and never wanting to move again.
Chapter Twelve - Anthony
I wake up in the least comfortable bed I’ve slept in a long time. The mattress is lumpier and the sheets are cheaper than the ones I had in grad school. I don’t care because I’m also waking up happier than I have in a long time. Waking up next to Brooke feels like the best, most natural thing in the world. She’s nestled into my chest, still asleep under my arm, and she looks beautiful and soft and perfect. Last night was amazing, and all I want to do is touch her and taste her again. I want to feel what it’s like to be inside her like that again, feel her come around me. I want to have sex with her in every single way. I want to do nothing but spend days in bed with her. I want her to be naked and happy and mine.
I’m used to sleeping with someone and then immediately thinking about who my next gorgeous conquest will be. With Brooke, all I can do is think that I want more of her. So much more of her. She stirs under me and blinks, squinting her eyes at me and then smiling.
“Good morning,” I say, kissing her forehead. She looks beautiful, even here with her hair messy and in her eyes.
“Morning,” she says. She puts a hand on my chest, over my heart, like she’s checking that I’m real.
“Have I told you,” I say, tucking her hair behind her ear, “that I really missed you? I think I missed you more than I even knew.”
“I missed you too,” Brooke says, folding into my touch and swallowing, hard.
“I can’t believe we went so long without doing that,” I say, laughing. Brooke laughs, too.
“Would have been a little hard to do when you were gone,” Brooke says, sounding a little sad. I’m about to reply, to tell her we can make up for lost time now, when her doorbell rings and startles us both. Brooke bolts up and grabs a robe, tying it around herself tightly and heading for her front door.
I pull my phone off her nightstand, texting my mom to thank her again for staying with David last night. I know I’ll have to answer questions about it later, but all of me is sure it was worth it. I head for the bathroom to wash off and brush my teeth. I’m hoping whoever is at the door doesn’t take too long. I want Brooke again. I want to repeat last night. I’m already turned on and half hard just thinking about fucking her again.
I’m thinking about the way her skin had felt under my hands, the way she’d responded to my touch, when I hear the voices from her door. They’re raised and angry. There’s a man’s voice, and it sounds like he’s yelling at Brooke, maybe threatening her. Brooke sounds angry too – angry and possibly a little scared. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but their tones worry me. The door slams a few seconds later, and I step back into the bedroom.
Brooke’s face looks pale. Her eyes are wide, and her hands are shaking. I grab her hands and take one of them, holding it in mine.
“What’s going on?” I ask. Brooke shakes her head rapidly.
“Nothing,” she says. I frown, sure something is wrong.
“I heard yelling, and you look really shaken,” I say. I reach for Brooke’s face, tilting her chin, but she won’t meet my eyes.
“I’m fine,” she says, looking at her own knees as she talks. “It was nothing.”
“It seems like it was something pretty serious,” I say. Brooke’s hands are still shaking in mine like she can’t control it.
“Really, it’s nothing,” she says.
“Brooke, come on,” I say gently, “Tell me.”
“There’s nothing to tell,” she says, pulling her hand out of mine and shaking her head again.
“I can tell that there is,” I insist.
“You’re wrong,” she says, finally meeting my eyes. I run my hand down her arm, hoping the touch helps.
“Let me help you,” I say. Whoever had been threatening Brooke at the door had sounded pretty serious about it. I hate the thought of anyone talking to Brooke like that. I think of the day I’d first called her and she’d yelled at me to go to hell, saying she thought I was someone else. I think of the tired and stressed look she has at times. If it is all connected, then it seems like it is all part of some huge problem she’s keeping from me.
“I don’t need help,” Brooke says, pulling away further and standing up. “I need to go take a shower. Excuse me.”
She darts into her bathroom before I can say anything else. I lay back on the bed, frustrated and feeling like something is very, very wrong. I hear the shower start and consider leaving, but I decide that Brooke is too important. She might not want my help right now, but I can do more being here than I can if I leave.
I head into her small kitchen and find her coffee, startin
g a pot for us, thinking she might want it when she gets out of the shower. She doesn’t have much else in the way of food, but I fry up a few eggs too. I’m not much of a cook, but there are several things I can make very well. I fed myself when I was single. Women have always loved my cooking and said it was a turn-on, but it’s also something fun to do with David now that he’s old enough to help.
I hope the coffee and breakfast make Brooke feel like she can trust me with whatever is going on.
Chapter Thirteen - Brooke
I stand in the shower for as long as possible, until all of my hot water turns cold. I want to cleanse the thought of Jeff and his threats 0ff of my skin. I don’t want Anthony to hear me cry. I cry until I feel sick with it, shaking and gagging. Jeff’s visit had left me feeling terrified and unsure of what to do. Worse, it had interrupted my morning with Anthony. I’d been so happy. I’d felt light and floating, and then Jeff had ruined it all. He’d burst my bubble and reminded me that I wasn’t safe, that Autumn wasn’t, and that I was carrying huge secrets.
I hated lying to Anthony, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell him. I didn’t want him to know about any of it. That I’d ever dated anyone as awful as Jeff, that Autumn and I had been attacked, that Autumn carried a gun because she’d been assaulted a few years ago, that she had used it that night, that we’d watched a man die, that Jeff was stalking me now, that this small town he’d brought his son to for safety and stability was full of such ugly and terrible things.
I cry for myself, for Autumn and all she’s been through, for Anthony and Michelle and David, for all things I don’t normally let myself cry about. I cry like I haven’t since that night itself. Since I’d been laying on the floor, terrified that a giant man was about to choke the breath out of my baby sister and take her from me forever. I cry until I feel like my skin is tingling and my brain is crawling.
Shattered Daddy: A Billionaire Suspense Romance Page 5
