Shameless(51)

If I thought his expression was intense before, it’s a volcanic eruption now. And there’s no doubt how much he wants me as his thick bulge presses against my hip.

“You excited to see me?” I ask, out of breath.

He slides his other leg over and wedges himself fully between my thighs and rasps, “You have no f*cking idea.”

Here I am, stretched out beneath him, completely at his mercy. I’m panting, from being tickled or wrestling with him or being so turned on, I think I might die. And I need relief. Now.

So I undulate my hips beneath him to feel that bulge and smile when he groans and drops his head to my neck. I’m rewarded with a hot, open-mouthed kiss along my jaw.

I close my eyes and arch my back, needing more friction. His hand slides under my t-shirt and pinches my nipple before he tugs it.

“Yes,” I gasp, wrapping my ankles behind his back. Those strong hips move against mine in a dirty rhythm that makes me see stars. Through his thin track pants, I can feel everything. His thickness. His length. The ridge of his cock.

I feel myself blushing all the way down to my roots. Cock. Because that is certainly what’s pulsing against me. My skin burns as I wonder what it would feel like in my hand. How he’d feel against my tongue. How he’d taste.

A moan escapes my lips as he kneads my breast. I want to tell him how wet I am right now, how he’s the only one to make me this way—a wanton little sex maniac who’s willing to give it up without a promise for anything in return. But I don’t because I’m not quite that brave.

He rises up so we’re nose to nose. His lips are close, so close to mine, but he makes no move to kiss me as he grinds his length between my thighs and flicks his thumb over my taut nipple.

Freaking tease - he wants to play this game? I can dish it out too.

I smirk as I lick my lips. Slowly. Arching into him, I work one wrist out of his hold and tangle my fingers through his hair. His eyes darken as I lower my hand to hold his jaw and brush my mouth against him. Once, twice, and then I lick the seam of his lips.

The groan he releases is music to my ears. And then his mouth crashes down to mine.

We kiss, and it’s frantic, all gasps and lips and tongues. After a moment, I yank on his shirt, and we part to strip out of our clothes until I’m left in my boy shorts and he’s in his track pants. And then he’s back on me.

But before his lips descend on mine, he pauses and looks me over. I half think he’s changed his mind again, which means I might have to strangle him, but he levels me with a stare. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

I hate the indecision in his eyes. Hate that he isn’t as consumed by the moment as I am and has the presence of mind to ask that question.

Damn him for not being more wound up. Because I want him to give in to this attraction that’s been building between us from the moment he stepped into this house.

So I go for broke, whispering words that I’ve never before uttered. “Yes, Brady, I’m pretty sure I want you to f*ck me.”

His nostrils flare, and then his hand winds into my hair, yanking until I feel a bite of pain, to hold me still as he presses his mouth to mine like he’s finally claiming me.





32





Brady





She tastes like sugar and spice and my own wicked fantasy.

I could hear her reacting to the game I was watching through our shared wall. What I couldn’t figure out was why she’d rather watch it alone than with me.

It’s been hard to resist her this week—telling her no all the while wanting to make her scream yes.

My resistance was hanging by a thread. Especially once it looked like she accepted the fact I wasn’t going to make a move.

Because, yeah, I want her to want me. And yeah, I get that this makes me an *.

But coming in here and finding her sweet ass on display in those hotter-than-hell booty shorts had me instantly hard. And when she decided to unleash that smart mouth on me? Game over.

And goddamn. She feels good.

I’m nestled between her legs, mulling over the genius of these thin track pants I’m wearing. Because right now, my cock feels like a heat-seeking missile homed in on the warmth of her *.

One that I know is bare except for a small triangular strip.

She arches, her soft curves fitting to my hard lines, and I wish the lights were on and not just her ancient TV set so I could see her beautiful body. Her breasts are pebbled against my chest, and with every thrust, they bounce.

I tug her hair so her head tilts over, and I bury my nose against her skin. This scent will forever remind me of this girl. Clean, floral, sweet.

Reaching behind her, I run my hand down one of her legs, dipping underneath the crease of her thigh until it gets close to where I know she needs me. Back and forth I stroke, under the gorgeous globe of her ass until she gasps, and I grip her hair tighter.

Her panting breaths are the only thing I focus on as I gently bite her neck. I’m rewarded with an unintelligible sound from her mouth.

“Feel good, baby?”

She groans her response, and I run my finger against the hem of her boy shorts. Her legs drop open beneath me, and I hold in a chuckle. My girl wants it. But Jesus Christ, so do I.

I pause.

My girl?

Fuck.

I shake my head.

I shouldn’t be thinking this way. I shouldn’t be thinking about her so possessively.