by J. Daniels
He’s slurring his words now. He can barely stand.
I don’t need to hit him.
I swiftly back away. He isn’t expecting that. Eyes wide, his feet slide out from under him and he collapses into a drunken heap on the floor, limbs sprawled like a rag doll, head slumped back against the bar. His eyes pinch shut through a groan, then he slowly topples over until he’s laid out between the stools.
A big bloke moves through the crowd and steps in front of me, crouching down to grab Paul.
“Let’s go, buddy. You’ve been cut off.”
I turn to Brooke, then notice the eyes on us, the crowd that’s gathered behind her who I’m certain heard every bit of that conversation, including the cruel words that fucker had to say. Brooke notices them too, her eyes darting quickly around the room, then dropping to a spot between us.
Her shoulders pull forward, and she lowers her head, hiding behind her hair. She suddenly appears smaller.
She’s embarrassed. Maybe a bit hurt. It’s hard to tell when I can’t see her face.
“Hey.” I lift her chin with my hand. “You all right?”
She hesitates for a second, just staring up at me through those impossibly thick lashes as she slowly exhales. Her hand gently presses against my hip. I slide a bit closer, moving my fingers along her jaw and just fucking stare at her.
Christ, she is quite possibly the most stunning woman I have ever laid eyes on.
Her hair is falling out around her in dark curls, covering her delicate neck. She’s wearing more makeup than I’ve seen her in up until this point, but fuck, she doesn’t need it. The way she looked in my class the other day, her skin glowing from exertion, clean and sweaty, that Brooke has me.
Finally after taking in a deep breath, she nods slightly, just a jerk of her chin. “Yeah . . . yeah, I’m fine, but can we go? I’d really like that ride now.”
I grab her hand and we melt into the crowd.
Tipping my head in the direction of the table Brooke’s friends are at, I let them know we’re getting out of here while she stays close to my side. It’s a brief farewell. Brooke tugging on my hand has me getting her out of there before any of them have a chance to ask us what happened. She clearly doesn’t want to linger. I’m not interested in making her stay. Besides, I’d rather have her alone.
We’re out the door, her small hand in mine as we walk along the footpath. The sky is free of clouds, a clear blue scene speckled with stars and a bold moon hanging low.
Brooke pulls her hand back after a few seconds and wraps her arms around herself.
“Are you cold?” I ask.
The air has a slight chill to it, but I think it’s tolerable. She’s not wearing much, though. Her arms could be cold.
She shakes her head, keeping her gaze in front of her.
“I’m just up here on the left.” I tug my keys from my pocket. “The white Denali.”
“Asshole.”
“What’s that?” I turn my head, staring at her rigid profile.
“That guy. Paul. Calling me a whore because I only wanted to hook-up with him.” She breathes a laugh. “Seriously? It’s a fucking double standard. Just because I’m a woman who loves sex I’m automatically labeled a whore? What about men?”
I open the passenger door for her and she climbs inside, securing her seatbelt.
“Men can fuck anything with a pulse and women will actually find that attractive. The whole player vibe. It’s hot. It gets them so much ass,” she continues after I get in on the driver’s side. “But if a woman enjoys sex and goes out to get laid, she’s a whore. Why? What the hell is the difference?”
I run a hand through my hair after starting up the car. My fingers quickly dial down the volume on the stereo. I only want to hear her.
“Well?” She angles her body in the seat, waiting for my response.
I rub my jaw. “I’m not sure I’m the best person to answer that question, Brooke.”
“Why not? You’re a man.”
“Yeah, but I’m not running around sticking my cock into everything with a pulse.” I catch her smile as I glance over before pulling out onto the street. “I think you’re right, though. You should be able to do what or who you want.”
“Exactly.”
“He was wrong . . . saying that to you. I’m sorry that happened.”
I’m sorry I didn’t knock him on his arse before he said it a second time.
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Brooke watching me as I drive us into the city.
“Were you going to punch him? You looked ready to punch him.”
“I felt ready to punch him.” My hand curls around the wheel.
“Have you ever hit anyone? You don’t really seem like the violent type. Yoga master who uses organic toothpaste. You probably recycle too.”
I turn my head. She shrugs impassively, twirling the ends of her hair around her finger.
“Well, I’m usually not threatening to toss people through windows,” I chuckle. “But, I did get into a few brawls when I was younger. Nothing major. Some neighborhood kids pissed me off and I went after them.”
“Majahhh. I love how you say certain words.”
I give her a quick wink.
“Why did you go after those kids?” she asks, her voice lifting to a mischievous pitch.
Even in the dark, I know this little devil is smiling.
“Did they steal your koala?”
I gape at her. Her quiet laugh fills the car. “Is that what you Americans think? That we keep those nasty little buggers as pets? They’ll claw your eyes out the second you get close enough.”
“Would they? But they’re so cuddly looking.” She hugs herself. “And so, so cute.”
“Cute. Right. Real bloody cute. I had one nearly take my head off when I was trying to pet it at the zoo once. I was only eight. That mangy bastard scarred me for life.”
“Oh, so it’s just your opinion that they’d make horrible pets,” Brooke chuckles again. “Look at you. Giving those sweet things a bad name over here. I bet you were just a little wanker and pissed him off.”
She smiles, all big and clever, clearly pleased with herself for using that word correctly.
I relax against my seat. It feels good talking to her like this. Easy, unhurried conversation. The delightful sound of her laugh. Her sweet dimpled face against the backdrop of the city.
I want this drive to last all night.
“Was there a bunch of you? Maybe the cute, gentle, completely innocent and non-threatening koala didn’t like crowds.”
We stop at a red-light. I shrug, looking over at her.
“The zoo was crowded, yeah. It was me and my mates, a few others gathered around. I don’t know. I’ve tried to forget about the day a koala went psychotic on me. I had nightmares for months. Surprised I didn’t need therapy after that.”
She slaps at my arm. I grab her hand before she can pull away and lace my fingers through hers, resting our joined hands together on the console. I haven’t held her like this yet. I’ve wanted to all night, in my studio, on the footpath that first day. My hand practically engulfs hers. She feels a bit tense. Her nails, dark as the night, tap restlessly against my skin.
She stares down between us, biting at her bottom lip.
“So . . . I’m guessing you aren’t a fan of kangaroos either? Did one chase you down the street or something? Kick you around a little?”
I grin, giving a gentle squeeze to her hand. She’s not pulling away.
Bit of a shock. I was expecting some resistance.
I press down on the accelerator and ease through the intersection.
“Nah. I never had a problem with kangaroos. Although, there have been some cases of rogue ones attacking people. The mums can be vicious.”
She laughs softly, gazing out the window.
“Have you always lived here?” I ask her, smiling when her fingers relax against the back of my hand. I turn us onto a side street, avoiding the pile up of
traffic ahead.
“Mm. Yeah. Born and raised Chicago girl. I thought about moving to the beach a few years back but . . .” Brooke jolts upright, leaning forward in her seat and staring out the window. She tugs her hand free and braces it on the dash. “Uh, Mason. You’re going down a one-way street right now.”
“What?”
“One-way street. Shit! There’s cars coming! Pull over! Quick! Get off the road!”
My eyes sweep the small alley I’ve turned down.
“Fucking hell.”
I was so focused on not crushing Brooke’s hand with mine, on the feel of Brooke’s hand, on Brooke, I hadn’t noticed the well-lit street signs posted in warning, indicating that I have indeed turned down a one-way street.
Cars are parked along either side, leaving me with little room to pull off as head-lights loom closer.
I tap the brakes.
“Shit,” she whispers, squirming in her seat, her head whipping left, then right, then behind her. “Can you back up or something? Quickly, like floor it?”
I glance in the rear-view mirror, then ahead of me once more. “It’s all right. Look up there. I can pull off a bit in front of that motorbike until they get by.”
“That’s not going to give them enough room to pass you.”
“It might.”
She groans, covering her face with her hands.
I pull ahead and squeeze as close to the motorbike and the car parked in front of it as I can get without knocking into one.
Damn. This is going to be tight.
I shift into park. “Right. See? It’s all good, gorgeous. No worries.”
A blaring horn pulls my attention off Brooke.
I roll my window down as the car at the front of the line heading our direction inches past me at a snail’s pace. Their side mirror nearly strips my door of paint.
“This is a one-way street, you idiot!” the man yells up at me, shaking his fist as he slows to a stop.
I hold up a hand. “Yeah, sorry about that, mate. New in town. My apologies, yeah?”
His face visibly relaxes. The female passenger, I’m guessing his wife, leans over him to look up at me. She waves a quick hand. “Welcome to Chicago! We visited Sydney a few years ago on our honeymoon. Beautiful city. We had the best time.”
“Oh, my God. You have got to be kidding me,” Brooke mumbles next to me, her voice breaking with a soft giggle.
I give her a quick smile, then turn back to the couple. “Oh yeah? I’m glad to hear that. And again, I’m terribly sorry about this little blunder. I hope I haven’t ruined your night.”
The driver waves his hand dismissively. The car behind him lays on his horn.
“All right! Jesus! Are we all in a hurry?” he yells, craning his neck around to look at them. He gives me a sharp nod. “Enjoy Chicago. Watch out for one-way streets.”
“Right. Got it.”
They pull ahead and continue down the street.
The next car brushes past, this bloke settling on giving me the bird instead of a quick chat. I nod apologetically, waving a hand at his gesture.
Brooke couldn’t be more amused sitting next to me, her head back against the seat and her hands covering her face as she laughs into the silence of the car.
“Unbelievable. You could’ve done anything if it was just that one car! You could’ve blocked the street entirely and refused to move. Opened fire on them. Acted like a dick. I’m pretty sure that couple was close to offering to name their first born after you. That guy was pissed, and then . . .” she pauses, pointing a finger at me. “As soon as you opened that mouth of yours, dropping those adorable ‘yeahs’, it was like the second coming for those people. Mason the Messiah.”
I flash her a grin as I make it out of the one-way street. “I told you it would be all right. We had plenty of room.”
“Plenty of room. Yeah, okay,” she snickers. “It was that mouth. I’m telling you. I know what that mouth does to me. Now I’m seeing it work on the general population. You have a gift, Mason. You should probably go into politics.”
I don’t hear anything after . . .
“What does it do to you, Brooke?”
An ache pinches in the center of my chest.
She slowly turns her head, then drops it back against the seat, staring at me as the city lights move over her face.
I want to continue looking at her. In the daylight, preferably, where I can really see every emotion wash over her face. The heady look in her eyes I’m hoping is there. I don’t need my attention being pulled away for the sake of safety right now, but that’s exactly what happens before she can answer me.
“Wait. Just hold on. Don’t say anything yet.”
I pick up speed and take us back in the direction we came.
We drive through the city in silence until Brooke fiddles with the stereo, tuning the station to soft rock. Coldplay and One Republic become the background noise of our night. It mellows my suddenly anxious mind, my restless body, impatient against the seat.
It takes us twenty minutes to get out of the city.
I want to reach out and take her hand again. I want her to finish what she was going to tell me, but I keep my hands firmly planted on the wheel and my questions to myself until I pull us onto a dirt path that leads to an overlook I found when I went exploring my first day here.
It’s a secluded spot. I believe there’s a few trails that lead to some campsites, and a lake nearby. I made a mental note the other day to come back here. Discover more of it. I hadn’t realized at the time I’d be doing it so soon with Brooke.
I park near a lamp post and turn my attention to her.
She smiles warmly at me. She looks like she’s glowing under the amber lights provided from above.
“Wet,” she whispers, angling her body, her hair spilling over the edge of the seat.
I lean closer, fitting her sweet face between my hands. “What’s that, gorgeous?”
She inhales sharply as I slide my mouth against hers. Her perfect fucking lips open for me, inviting me to take her. We both moan, her hands fisting my shirt and mine moving to her neck, tangling in her hair as I tilt her head. Her warm tongue strokes along mine.
“It makes me wet,” she says breathlessly between kisses. “I’m . . . so wet, Mason. God, my thong is probably soaked right now. Useless. I can take it off if you’d like.”
I groan as my hand falls to her lap, then moves along the smooth, warm skin of her upper thigh underneath her dress. I press against the lace of her g-string.
Soaked.
“Yes,” she moans, her head flopping back. “Yes, please, touch me. God, I need this.”
I lick up her throat, dragging my teeth along her skin as I slide one finger inside her, then another. She’s silky and hot. She trembles when I press against her clit.
“Mason.”
“I want to take you out on a proper date,” I whisper against her ear, my fingers slowly pumping inside her, slower when she starts to rock into my hand.
“Greedy little devil. You want to come?”
She groans and I suck on her lip.
“This weekend. Dinner. Say yes to me, Brooke.”
She growls, chewing on her lip. “Mm, what? Dinner? Why are we discussing dinner? Can’t you just . . . focus on one task at a time? This first. Negotiations later . . . Jesus.”
I bite back a chuckle. Her plea, even though it is humorous, sounds desperate all the same.
She wants this, my fingers fucking her in a vacant field under the stars. My mouth clamping down on every visible, flawless inch of her body. Maybe she’s thought about me doing this to her. God knows I have. I’ve thought about doing everything. Right now, I’m thinking about pulling her over the seat and stripping her of these clothes, tasting the soft skin between her legs. Toying with her clit while I pump my shaft against her heavy tits.
But anything with Brooke is perfect. This right here, my cock throbbing, straining against my zipper, harder than fucking steel, h
er breathless words against my mouth . . .
“Harder,” she whispers.
“More,” she begs.
I move my thumb over her clit and she arches away from the seat, gasping.
“Like that?”
She nods frantically, clawing at my arm, my shirt, the hand between her legs. Her hips begin circling, her pussy seeking friction against my palm.
“God, Mason . . . Mason.”
I twist my wrist and claim her mouth again, swallowing her indecent noises, the sweet way she pants my name. I want to drown in her. I want her taste to linger in my mouth, her smell to cling to the walls of my lungs.
Brooke.
How can I be so lost in this woman already?
“Perfect,” I whisper against her jaw. “You are fucking perfect.”
She turns her head to capture my mouth, biting and sucking at my tongue. I add another finger and grip the back of her neck, keeping her pinned to me.
“You’re close, gorgeous.”
“I know that,” she growls, her head rolling back, thighs spreading wider. “If you stop right now, I swear to God I will make it so you never have children. I will pin your balls to the seat with my heel.”
I laugh quietly. My cock surprisingly doesn’t react in an offensive way to that threat.
I’m too hard to care. To stop. To think.
Curling my fingers, I pump them inside her and move my thumb wildly over her clit. It only takes a few more seconds and she’s drenching my hand. Writhing against the seat, she gasps into my mouth, the pleasure tearing through her so perfectly, so exquisitely, I break the seal of our lips and lean back to get a better look.
I thought she was beautiful before . . .
“Mason,” she pants, eyes heavy-lidded, her hair sticking to her cheek as she tries to steady her breaths.
“Dinner, Brooke. This weekend. What’s your answer?”
Her eyes fall closed. “Yes,” she says through a heavy exhale. “Okay, fine, I’ll go out with you to dinner. You earned it. That was . . . worth a meal.”
The light from above catches in the corner of her mouth. It’s lifted slightly. A hint of a smile.
Fuck me. I’m so done for.
I’m suddenly grateful she can’t see me clearly. My mouth stretches into what has to be the biggest grin of my life.
