by J. Daniels
A laugh rumbles in my chest.
“I’ll be there,” I tell her, I promise her, as I back out of the room.
I will fucking be there.
I beat Brooke to the park and claim a vacant bench near the large fountain.
Three sprouts of water erupt from the center, fanning close to the flat stone edge and darkening the rocks. A few children drop coins into the water and stand on their toes to watch them sink to the bottom. Dog walkers and mums with prams filter in between one another along the paved footpath.
It’s a nice day, the cool spring air smelling of flowers and cut grass. The sun slicing through the clouds.
My ringtone sounds from my pocket.
I’m expecting it to be Brooke, telling me she’s on her way, or maybe that I’m still a huge tosser for standing her up earlier and she’s paying me back by for it.
Palming my phone, I look at the screen.
It isn’t Brooke. The woman calling might’ve threatened castration if I would’ve pulled that stunt with her.
I bring the phone to my ear. “Hey. How are ya?”
Tessa grunts. “Finally! Someone answers the damn phone today. Sweet Christ, I’m going batshit crazy listening to these transcripts and I need a reason to not listen to them.” A loud crunch comes through the line. “Humor me. What’s new? What happened with that one chick who definitely does not have bigger balls than me?”
I chuckle, my eyes searching for Brooke. “You know, I should be offended you’re only calling me to get out of working. You’re a terrible mate.”
“Hey, screw you. I should be offended you left the best fucking state in this beautiful country to be all adult and open up your own business, but I’m not, ‘cause that would be shitty of me. Even though I still don’t understand why you couldn’t open up your own studio here. ‘Bama girls love yoga.”
We share a light laugh. I know of one particular ‘bama girl who doesn’t care for yoga one bit.
“How’s all that going anyway?” she asks.
“Good. Yeah, really good. It’s a bit shocking, actually. I might have to consider tacking on another class during the day if interest stays this fortunate.”
“Mason, you’re a great teacher, and you look like a male model. I’m sure your interest stays plenty fortunate.”
“We’ll see.” I smile, rubbing my mouth. “So, yeah, this woman I mentioned, Brooke.” At the mere utterance of her name, something catches in the center of my chest, warming my blood. My mouth twitches. “We’ve been seeing a bit of each other and it’s been great. I’m quite fond of her.”
“Yeah?” Tessa takes another bite of whatever it is she’s eating. “You two serious?”
“Serious?” I repeat, considering the word.
My answer is simple.
In my mind, we are. I have never been anything less with Brooke, and I don’t relish the idea of it. She is quickly becoming a beautiful constant in my life.
Wake up thinking about her.
Go through the day, counting down the minutes until I can pop in her shop for a quick visit.
Pass out and welcome some of the filthiest dreams I’ve ever had, all featuring her sweet face and sinful body.
But if asked this question, how would Brooke answer? I know how this thing started out, her casual plans for me, but how does she see us now?
I rub at my neck. “I’m serious about her. She’s bloody fantastic, and the only woman I care to be around.”
“And how does she feel?”
“Lovely.”
There’s a brief pause. “Jesus,” Tessa laughs. “That’s not what I meant. Though I’m impressed you went dirty before I did. Not many people beat me to the punch. Bravo.”
I look up and spot Brooke walking toward me on the path. Her hand lifts with a cute little wave, and I grin. “She’s warming up to me. I’m meeting with her now so I’m sorry to say you’ll have to return to work. I’ll keep you posted on my developments. Tell everyone I said hi, yeah?”
“Jerk,” she mumbles, then giggles quietly. “Yeah, I’ll tell them. And let me know when you decide Chicago blows and need some help looking for apartments back here. I’ll be all over it.”
I stand from the bench. “Goodbye, Tessa.”
“Later.”
Disconnecting the call, I tuck my phone back into my pocket and continue watching Brooke moving toward me.
Her cream-colored, short-sleeved blouse dips low in the front, courtesy of several unfastened buttons. Dark jeans fit to her curves. And on her feet, a pair of gray flats.
Those pink heels she likes to wear are sexy as fuck, but I might like her in flats better. When I pull her close and fit our bodies together, she’s the perfect height for me to rest my chin on top of her head.
“Hey. You made it.” She places her hand to my chest, offering me her cheek. She knows that’s where I’m heading.
I fucking love that she knows that.
“I almost called to remind you,” she adds, smirking.
“I told you I’d be here.” I bend for a kiss and then motion for her to have a seat. Sliding the sandwich bag into my lap, I hold out the to-go box for her to take.
She studies the label on the top of the box, then slowly eases it from my hands.
“You went to Rosie’s,” she states through a soft laugh. “You know I’ve only ever been there for breakfast? I have no idea what their lunch menu looks like.”
It wouldn’t matter, I think, smiling to myself.
I dig my sandwich out of my bag, keeping my gaze in my lap. “Lots of sandwiches and soups. A few salads. Typical lunch stuff.” I peel away the wrapper to reveal the top piece of rye bread.
A soft gasp perks in my ear, followed by cardboard creasing. “Oh, my God, Mason. This is impossible. How did you get them to make you this? They stop serving breakfast at ten-thirty!”
I glance over at her, watching as she lifts the box to her face and inhales.
She makes a soft, moaning sound in the back of her throat as her eyes fall closed. The wind picks up, blowing her hair off her shoulder.
I stare at neck, her dimple, the adorable wrinkle in her nose as she practically submerges her face in that box.
She turns and bumps our knees together. “Mason.”
“What?” I casually ask, taking a bite of my sandwich and finally meeting her eyes. “Oh, do you like that kind of French toast? It’s a bit odd, yeah? With the cereal? I wasn’t sure you would like it.” I pull a set of wrapped plastic silverware out of my pocket and hold it out.
Our fingers slide together as she reaches for it. I feel a jolt of energy pulse under my skin.
Brooke’s eyes widen, lowering to my mouth.
With a quick jerk, she leans forward and hovers an inch from my face, her lungs straining for breath. The movement is so abrupt and clearly so startling for her, given her staggered expression, it’s as if she is being pushed into me and held there.
“Brooke,” I murmur, looking all over her face. I bring my arm behind her and rest it on the bench, angling us together.
She blinks up at me. “Mm?”
“Do you want to kiss me?”
She doesn’t answer, but her eyes, those beautiful fucking eyes drop to my mouth and stay there, flickering open a little wider when I wet my lips.
A heaviness gathers in my limbs as I wait, and wait, and fuck, wait for her to make a move. A decision.
This is a first.
Every kiss, every sort of affection we’ve shared has been instigated and carried out by me. Sure, she’s been an active participant, minus a few of the times I’ve tried to hold her hand, but she’s never reached for me. She’s never forced the seal of our mouths together and shocked the hell out of me.
I inch closer, just the smallest shift, enough to feel her breath on my face. It’s warm and smells like fruit, something berry.
“Come on,” I whisper.
It sounds like I’m begging. I feel like I am.
Her pink ton
gue darts out and slides across her lips.
I can see the wild hammering of her pulse beneath her ear. I can practically hear her thoughts and the argument she wages with herself over this monumental affirmation.
Come on, Brooke.
I keep reminding myself to breathe and to not move and to just fucking wait another second. Then another. Time becomes a double-edged sword. The longer she considers this, the more shattering or satisfying the end result will become.
I’ll look back on this moment and think it was torture and damaging in the end. She wasn’t ready. She might not ever be. Or, I’ll only remember the feel of her lips and the taste of her warm breath and I’ll think, ‘I would’ve waited hours for that’.
A hand touches my thigh. My blood turns to lava, scorching and slow-moving.
Then with a gasping breath she leans in and presses the softest kiss to my mouth.
FUCK.
I’ve shared a lot of kisses with Brooke. Hot, hungry ones where it feels like I’ve captured her after a long-winded chase. Ones that seem imperative and essential to my survival. But this kiss, even though it’s fleeting and painstakingly faint, feels superior to every other kiss she has or will ever give me.
And in that moment, my life becomes profoundly simple, consisting of only one person.
Brooke.
With a quiet laugh, she pulls away and opens her cutlery. She lifts a brow when our eyes lock. “You are crazy. Did you promise to rock Rosie’s world? Is that why she made this for you?”
It takes me a minute to process her question. I’m still reeling from the ghost of a kiss that just knocked me on my arse.
I run a quick hand through my hair, gathering my wits about me. “No. I never saw Rosie, although I’m sure she’s lovely and a minx in the sack.”
Brooke laughs, reaching up and tucking some hair behind her ear.
“I asked a waitress if they could make an exception and help a poor bloke out. There was some gentle begging. I may have mentioned how badly I fucked up this morning and that I was declaring my adoration for this one particular woman through the weekly meals she’s giving me, which I’m hoping will soon convert to days.” I take a bite of my sandwich, shrugging when she turns her head. “If you think about it, I’m already creeping in on lunches. Next it will be routine dinners. Minutes in between. I’ll claim a day from you soon enough.”
“Are you talking about once a week? Like every Tuesday is Brooke and Mason day?”
I smile. “Yeah.”
“Oh, okay. In this fantasy world, do either one of us have jobs? Because I need to work.” She licks some powdered sugar off her lip. “How am I supposed to give you a day if I’m working?”
“Weekends, obviously. Or I’ll forgo your time in between meals and have you after work.” I lower my voice, leaning closer as I set my sandwich on the paper wrapping. “Although, fair warning. I might not be so willing to give you up after the sun goes down. I’ve imagined how perfect you are waking up to and if I have a chance to entertain that idea, I’m taking it.”
She stares at me for a moment, her mouth slowly lifting into a mischievous grin. “And what exactly have you imagined? Anything particularly tight and wet?”
My cock stirs beneath my shorts.
I lower my eyes to the white lace peeking out of her blouse. “Mm. And soft. I wake up with my face buried between your spectacular tits and we go from there.”
She lowers the box to her lap and shifts closer, her chest pressing against my side. “Tell me,” she murmurs.
I lift my gaze to hers.
She wants me to go into detail about what I’ve imagined more times than I can count? Now? Here?
With heavy eyes, she slowly nods as if she’s heard my internal thoughts. Her hand moves back to my thigh.
I swallow, my heart pounding in my chest, my cock quickly lengthening as pornographic thoughts run rampant in my mind. I turn my body more and hold the sandwich bag strategically in my lap, concealing my unwelcome erection.
This is a crowded park. There’s bloody kids running around. I can’t will my prick not to react to this woman, but I can at least keep it hidden.
“Dirty girl,” I whisper against her ear. “You want to know what I think about?”
“Yes,” she replies breathlessly. Her hand squeezes my leg.
“I lick and suck your tits until they’re wet enough for me to slide between. Will you let me fuck them, Brooke? I want to. God, I’ve thought about it. Your hot little mouth opening for me, lapping at my head. Your gorgeous eyes going round while I milk my cum onto your nipples.”
“Oh, God,” she gasps.
“I dream about your tits, Brooke. And your arse.”
She blinks rapidly. “My ass?”
“Fuck yeah, your arse. Are you kidding? I want to come on that too.”
Her hand moves closer to my cock. “What else? Just . . . keep going. I won’t touch you. I just want to drive you a little crazy.”
I groan when her fingers brush against my length. “Brooke . . .”
“Oops. Sorry,” she says through a giggle, jerking her hand back. “I forgot how much room you take up down there. That was an accident.” Her hand tightens on my leg. “Go on. What happens before you come on my ass?”
I bend to kiss her mouth. I can’t fucking help it. Sugar coats my tongue, and again, I’m reminded of the way her skin tasted the other night.
My hand forms to her neck and she tilts her head. “I get you face-down on my bed. You ask me to spank you, and I make you beg for it. I bite and lick your skin. I straddle your legs and hold your ass so I can slide my cock between your cheeks. And then,” I pause, kissing along her jaw, smiling against her cheek when she lets out a shuddering breath.
“And then?” she asks.
“I found a quarter!” a tiny voice yells, way too fucking close to whatever the hell is happening on this bench.
With a muffled curse, I frantically move the sandwich bag further up my lap.
Brooke yanks her hand away and falls against my side, laughing unashamedly with a hand to her chest.
“Having a good time?” I ask her before addressing this little mood killer.
I pull back and stare between the round face in front of me and the coin that’s being held out for me to notice.
“Look!” The young boy turns the quarter in the air. “There’s only ever pennies in there. Sometimes nickels. I found an actual quarter!”
“Brilliant. Why don’t you run along now?”
“Aw, let me see.” Brooke holds her hand out and takes the coin. She studies it for a moment, smiles coyly at me when our eyes meet, then places it back in the boy’s hand. “That’s so cool. What’s your name?”
I gape at her.
Is she bloody serious? Does she not know how uncomfortable this is for me? What’s next? Asking the little bugger if he’d like to join us for lunch?
“Willie!” A woman yells, waving her hands in the air and running at me.
Jesus fuck! Can she see my cock from there?
Heart racing, I look down into my adequately concealed lap.
No. Everything’s good here. Nothing hanging out.
My pulse steadies. I suddenly remember how to breathe.
When the woman stops beside the boy and places a hand on his shoulder, I realize she was calling out for him, not announcing to everyone here that I was giving shows.
She gives me an apologetic look, then glares at the kid. “What have I told you about walking up to strangers? Come on. It’s time to go.” She tugs on his hand and leads him down the footpath.
Brooke laughs unapologetically as she settles back against the bench, then stares down at the bag covering my now flaccid cock. “How are things down there? Anything turning a shade of blue yet?”
“You’re the devil.” I move the bag and pick up my neglected roast beef sandwich. “Let’s spend the rest of your lunch-hour eating, shall we? Hands where I can see them.”
She picks up
her fork and shoves a massive bite into her mouth. Her lips strain to close. “So good,” she says, although it sounds more like the noise a dying animal might make.
We laugh and eat under the midday sun, and I slip a little bit further under Brooke’s spell.
BROOKE
Camping . . .
Am I completely insane?
Not only do I have absolutely no idea why I agreed to this absurdity, I also have no clue how to pack for a weekend in the wilderness.
Outdoors. Zero climate control. According to my weather app, I’m looking at temperatures anywhere between forty and eighty-five degrees this weekend.
Say what? That’s basically my entire closet. Random Packing 101 right here.
I have jammed my oversized Victoria’s Secret duffle bag full of the oddest combination of clothing. Shorts, sweatshirt, bathing suit, a pair of snow pants just in case. I refuse to be unprepared for this. I even break another shopping rule and run out to the local sporting goods store to grab a few camping essentials, or at least what I classify as camping essentials.
Is there such a thing as too much bug-spray? Are road flares frowned upon at campsites? The answer is no and I don’t really give a fuck.
I have never been camping. I never wanted to be a girl scout. I have absolutely no desire to spend any time outside unless I’m lounging by a pool with a fruity umbrella drink.
There are outdoorsy people, and then there’s me.
So, why am I lugging this duffle out of my car and surrendering myself to Mother Nature for two days? Simple.
Orgasms. Mason’s mouth in general. That accent? Jesus. I can listen to him talk for hours. And . . . okay, if I’m being honest, it’s not terrible hanging out with him and doing things that don’t involve safe words.
He makes me laugh. A lot. The only other time men I’ve been interested in have made me laugh in the past is when they’ve dropped their pants.
That didn’t happen with Mason. That will never happen with Mason. I will take his cock very seriously.
And soon, if I have any say in the matter.
After locking up my car and making sure I have everything I think I’ll need, I adjust the strap on my shoulder and wait for a break in traffic.
