WELL HUNG
BY
ISABELLE DRAKE
Dedication:
For D.
Thanks for listening while I chatter on and for letting me listen while you
chatter on.(!)
Chapter One
Liam Derby stretched, letting the scarred back of the wood chair smack against the wall as he scanned the early evening bar crowd. The tall stools near the televisions were packed with local Red Sox fans, but none of the people were anyone he knew.
Thank God.
“Need another, cowboy?”
After glancing at the nearly empty Rolling Rock bottle nestled in his right palm, he nodded to the overly attentive waitress. “Sure, thanks.”
She started to walk away, but hesitated, turning back to eye him cautiously from beneath dark lashes. “Um...Can I ask you a question?”
He lifted his eyebrows, silently inviting her to continue.
She pushed a few stray, red curls off her cheek and giggled. “Is it true you--I mean cowboys...have sex with your, um--I mean their...hats on?”
Liam wanted to ask her, ‘have you ever seen an Irish cowboy?’ but that might force him into having to explain why he, a city slicker construction worker, was wearing a cowboy hat and an absurd Western-style shirt. The last thing he wanted to do was explain that. So, instead, he winked, and replied slowly enough to mask his Boston born-and-bred accent. “I never kiss and tell.”
Her gaze darted up to the fresh-out-of-the-box black Stetson sitting atop his head down to his denim-covered crotch, and then skittered back to his stunned face. But instead of saying something--which would have been the decent thing to do--she scooted off, dodging between the tables and giggling as she slid behind the bar.
Jesus.
Liam was about to check his watch, again, but the vibration of his phone stopped him short.
He flipped it open and checked the display.
Crusher.
“Where the hell are you?” he asked, not bothering with pleasantries like hello.
No reply from his brother, only deep laughter.
HARD HATS, HARD BODIES
“What the hell…? I’m sitting here in this fucking hat and this hideous shirt, nearly getting mauled by the waitresses, and all you can do is laugh?”
“So you’re wearing it? The hat? And the shirt?”
“Yes. And yes.” Liam glanced down at the snug, red and yellow-flowered shirt and fingered one of the white pearl snap buttons. “The least you could have done was gotten me a shirt that fits.”
After another burst of laughter, Crusher came back with, “Oh shit, I wish I could see it.”
“What do you mean wish?”
His brother replied, but the words were lost in a burst of frustrated yelling when the batter from the Sox struck out again. When the noise lowered to a murmur of discontent, Liam repeated his question.
“You’re really doing it? You’re sitting in Swifty’s wearing that stupid hat?” Crusher was nearly giddy with laughter.
“I lost the bet, I’m wearing the damn hat.”
“And shirt?”
“Yes,” he ground out.
“Want to make another bet? We could add chaps if you lose again.”
Liam checked the score on the screen. Texas 7. Boston 0. “No,” he grumbled. “You’ve made your point. Hurry up and get here so I can leave.”
After another burst of ear-grinding snickering, he replied, “Can’t make it.”
The waitress slid up to the table, set down Liam’s beer with a gentle but firm thump, smiled, and then slowly fell back, keeping her gaze connected with his until she nearly fell over backward when she bumped into a table. Still leering, she spun around and headed back to the bar, swishing her hips as she went.
Liam would’ve laughed, if he weren’t feeling so stupid. As it was, he was in no mood to laugh. “What do you mean, you can’t make it?”
“Got something going on with Natalie.”
Liam softened at the mention of his brother’s new girlfriend. She was a keeper, as far as he--and the rest of their very close family--was concerned. And it looked like she and Crusher were getting serious, which was a good thing.
But still--
“I know. You think I’m an ass. So, we’ll make a deal. According to the bet you had to sit there until the end of the game. Since I’m not coming, you can leave.” He paused for effect, then added, “You’re off the hook. You have my permission to leave the bar.”
“For fucks sake, I--”
“You miss me. I know. I’ll make it up to you, I promise, so--”
While his brother was still babbling, Liam snapped his phone shut and slipped it back into his pocket. He leaned forward, dropped the legs of the chair to the floor, getting ready to leave until a sudden burst of excited shouting stopped him. A square shouldered old man was smacking palms with a wide-eyed college kid while a trio at the end of the bar started pounding on the counter, yelling, “Head for home! Run!”
Liam reached for the fresh beer, figuring he may as well drink it and see if his team could manage to climb out of the slump they’d fallen into. But all intentions of watching the game skittered from his mind when he spotted a woman make her way into the bar.
A skimpy white tank top that curved around a pin-up worthy rack, long legs and a short, floral skirt so light that a gentle gust of wind could easily blow it up far enough to reveal a lacy pair of panties. Or even better, a thong. When she pushed back the long curls that cascaded down her back, she revealed delicate bone structure and lips that looked full, even from a distance.
Full and begging to be kissed.
Even though the Sox were still pinned to the ropes with no hopes of breaking free, at least half of the men pulled their desperate faces away from the game and turned her way, appreciating the way the soft waves of her hair lie across her tight breasts.
She didn’t even glance at the men seated nearby at the bar as she chatted with the redheaded waitress, so she probably wasn’t looking for someone. Not anyone in particular anyway.
As she dug through her purse, tension seemed to cling to her stiff shoulders and that firm set of her jaw--she was not a woman in the mood for games. Baseball or otherwise.
Too bad.
Liam was recently single and more than ready to hook up with a hot piece of ass. Someone to erase the nagging memories of his high-maintenance, always-made-him-begfor-it girlfriend, Fiona.
Correction.
Ex-girlfriend.
****
Brooke Miller stared at the liquor-lined shelves of the smoky, Harvard Square bar. No chance of running into anyone she knew. All her friends hung out in Kenmore Square and art gallery openings.
Sure, she’d promised herself that she would do something risky and spontaneous before her twenty-fifth birthday, but that didn’t mean she had to do it stone sober. A shot or two--maybe three--would only add to the sense of fun. Right?
Well, maybe it would if she thought risky, spontaneous things were fun then it probably would. Until that day arrived, she’d have to settle for the truth. The shots were required to get past the stark fear she had for doing anything out of the ordinary. The new step-by-step self-help program for artists she was following decreed week seven, the week she’d been on for six days now, to be the week when she broke all her own rules and did something completely, utterly, amazingly out-of-character.
Picking up a man in a bar was about as out of character as she could get.
Sad.
But true.
“Here to watch the game?” the redhead behind the bar asked as she set down the beer Brooke had ordered.
Game?
“Um, no. I guess not. Who’s playing?”
“The way they’ve been playing lately, only the true die-hards still come out to watch the games.” The waitress gestured over Brooke’s shoulder. “You and the cowboy over there are probably the only two people in here who aren’t die-hard fans.”
Brooke followed the wave of the other woman’s arm until she spotted the lone man, gripping a long neck bottle in front of him. The shadow from his wide-rimmed hat was so wide, she couldn’t see his face clearly, but when he angled his head back to take a drink, the corded muscles of his neck rippled. If his neck moved that well, what about the rest of him? Her gaze skimmed across the strong width of his shoulders and rolled down across what was probably a very flat set of abs.
“Look at that hat,” the waitress murmured, leaning closer. “I don’t think he’s from around here.”
Brooke let her gaze linger, admiring the thick muscles of his forearms and the promising bulge of his huge biceps. He sure wasn’t built like any of the rodeo cowboys she’d seen on ESPN. Those guys were wiry and lean. This hunk of muscle...
“If I weren’t at work...”
The waitress didn’t have to finish the thought out loud. That was a man built for riding--and not just horses. Damn. She’d never have the nerve to go after a man like that.
“He seems to be watching the game,” Brooke said, “You sure he’s not from around here?”
“That hat says it all.”
Brooke twisted her mouth thoughtfully.
“I talked to him, no accent, but that doesn’t really mean anything. My cousin has some friends for Austin, and they don’t have accents.”
“He doesn’t have one either?”
“Didn’t seem to.” The woman behind the bar leaned back and grinned. “You looking for some short-term fun?”
Brooke left the question unanswered as she pulled her gaze away from the man. “Can you get me two shots of Tequila, please?”
The redhead grinned, laughing as she grabbed a shot glass.
Chapter Two
Still warm from throwing back the two shots, Brooke watched the cowboy out of the corner of her eye. For an out of town guy, he sure seemed interested in the baseball game. But he didn’t seem to be waiting for anyone.
She’d already looked over the rest of the crowd. Locals, intellectual college boys, a couple high school kids who looked like they’d followed their dad into the bar, and some bored looking girlfriends. The waitress was right, except for the uninterested girls, they were die-hard Sox fans intent on shouting until the team turned their losing streak around.
Brooke pushed aside her third shot glass and took a sip of beer and started picking at the label.
Stop stalling.
She checked the display on her phone.
In less than five hours the week would be up. If she didn’t do something risky, spontaneous, and out-of-character in the next few hours--not only would she be breaking a promise she’d made to herself, she’d be falling behind in her artistic self help plan.
For someone about to open an art gallery, falling behind on the self-help plan was worse than breaking a promise to herself. Each new selection she’d made for another artist, reminded her of all her own pieces she had hiding in her studio. Pieces she was too afraid to hang out there for others to see.
Douglas’s mocking words rolled through the back of her mind.
Face it, you’ll always be a bridesmaid and never a bride.
Why had she wasted so much time trying to develop a relationship with someone like him?
When the game announcer reminded fans that the Sox only had two more innings to score, the rowdy crowd at the bar started throwing peanuts at the screen until the bartender threatened to turn off the game. Time was definitely running out. Brooke had had enough personal disappointments in the past six months--getting dumped by that asshole was just the beginning--so even though her new art gallery was about to open in only a week, she didn’t have space on her list of personal disappointments for another item.
Brooke ruled out every last guy at the bar. That left the lone cowboy who kept drawing her gaze.
Maybe she’d just flirt with him. That was out of the ordinary...
Brooke grabbed her long neck, took another sip, and then spun the bottle, watching the golden beer twirl inside. The amber liquid sloshed inside, just like her self-doubts and anxiety--her two best friends.
Two friends she really needed to cut lose.
“Not a Sox fan?”
Brooke flipped around, her gaze connecting with a brilliant pair of blue eyes with tiny flecks of darker blue, and long, dark lashes pretty enough to belong to a woman. But that steady, powerful gaze--that was all male.
“That’s probably a good thing, not being a Sox fan, considering the season they’re having.”
Her gaze dropped to the full smile--also strong and captivating--then circled his rugged face made even more handsome by his afternoon stubble.
It wasn’t until then that she spotted the wide brimmed hat.
The cowboy.
When she blinked in surprise, he touched the edge of the brim, fingering the brim.
“Not many people around here wear those,” she said, “but... um...” Her words drifted off as she noticed the tiny rose buds creeping across his Western style shirt.
“Don’t see shirts like this either, I don’t imagine.”
She tapped one of the tiny pearl buttons, planning on making a silly joke, but when she felt the rock hard muscle beneath the fabric, she faltered, finally, until she managed a lame, “No.”
Instead of lowering her hand, she lingered, intrigued by the heat of his chest.
“I thought maybe it was the outfit you’d been staring at.”
“Oh, I wasn’t sta--”
He grinned. “You think my vision is messed up cause I have bright sun in my eyes all day?”
At least she had a believable excuse, other than ‘yes, I was staring because you have fuck me written all over you.’ “Okay. I guess was staring.”
“You guess.” Still grinning, he glanced down at the rosebuds. “Because of the flowered shirt.”
HARD HATS, HARD BODIES “No, the shirt...” Brooke laughed at the friendly distress on his face. “You don’t look like you’re from around here.”
“I guess that’s true.” He tipped his hat back and looked across at the unhappy fans huddled around their beer mugs, then came back to her with a smile. “You sticking around to watch the end of the game?”
Had Fate made things easy on her by delivering her a man?
Was it possible her life was starting to turn around?
If she’d have spent more time hanging out in bars instead of museums, then maybe she’d know for sure if he was coming on to her. With only her desire to take a leap away from herself, she couldn’t seem to decide what to do next.
He reached out and touched the bottom of her chin, turning her face to his and igniting a sizzle of electricity that zigzagged all the way to her navel. “That’s why I asked if you were a Sox fan. I’d never pull a diehard fan away from their team.”
The heated sensation lingered even after he lowered his hand. “No, I--I’m not a fan at all.”
He angled his head and studied her with thoughtful blue eyes. “You come here to meet someone?”
Suddenly tingling with energy, Brooke found herself wiggling on her stool. “No, not that either.”
A crooked smile creased his face as he glanced at her row of empty shot glasses. “You just stopped by for a couple shots and a beer?”
“Guess so,” she replied with a shrug.
You look like you’re just about done with that beer,” he said, pointing to the bottle in her hand.
Was that an unspoken suggestion or promise swimming in his blue gaze?
Still looking deep into her eyes, he moved closer, pressing into her with the heat of his body. Electricity danced across her skin, making her feel so alive, so desperate, she could hardly believe she was still in Cambridge.
So this is what its like to flirt with guys in bars? What the hell was wrong with her? She really should have tried it before. Grinning, she said, “What’s it to you?”
He moved closer, so close their bodies were almost touching. Anticipation made her pussy swell with heat. What would it feel like to have him deep inside her?
A knowing grin pulled on his mouth. “I’m ready to walk you to your car.”
Settling into the sexual power she never knew she had, she returned his smile. “You’re not very patient are you?”
“No. I’m not.”
She let her gaze slide across him, taking her time to admire each solid, flower-covered inch. “I thought cowboys were relaxed and easy going?”
He shoved one hand into the pocket of his faded jeans and shifted his booted foot, forcing his hips forward, forcing her to notice the prominent bulge under his zipper. “Do I look relaxed and easy going?”
His words were light and teasing, but his intent was clear.
Keeping her gaze connected to his, she gradually raised the beer to her mouth, took a sip, then asked, “Did you used to push your way to the front of the lunch line?”
“Didn’t have to.” He lifted one booted foot and winked. “I’m fast on my feet.”
Instead of replying, Brooke took another drink, working her way to the end of the bottle, waiting to see what he’d say next.
He surprised her by not saying anything. He simply loomed over her, watching and staring at the bottle in her hands, studying the way her fingers curved around the cool, round glass.
“Redecorating your house?”
She looked at her hands, spreading her fingers, so the dim bar light caught the rainbow of flecks dotting her fingers and short battered nails. How Douglas had complained about her “trashy-looking” hands. She swallowed, holding back the truth, offering a vague, “I’ve been doing some... painting.”
“You like doing things with your hands?” he asked, skimming his fingertip over the inside of her wrist. The glimmer in his eyes was friendly curiosity, but the heat of his touch was purely sexual.
What a combination. “Is that a line?”
“What do you think?” his grin widened.
“If it is, you need to work harder. City girls like me have heard it all.”
He reached forward, lifting her easily from the bar stool. Once she was settled on her heels, he grabbed her belt loops and pulled her forward. “Guess words aren’t going to work then.”
Was it wrong to take advantage of a lonesome, out-of-town cowboy? But it wasn’t like she was forcing him to stay and entertain her. He was a big boy--and could walk away anytime he chose. Brooke cast aside all self-doubts and readied herself for some completely out-of-character, over-the-top fun.
She swallowed the last of her beer, set the empty bottle on the bar, and shook her head with a soft smile, giving him a challenging look that said, make something happen, cowboy--or I’m going home.
****
56
Was she the type of woman who didn’t care about any of the niceties--like the truth that he wasn’t an out-of-town cowboy or even the fact that they hadn’t exchanged names? Liam looked into her eyes, wondering if he’d find an icy, emotionless depth, but saw something real. And warm. It was looking like this wanton sex kitten was a sheep in wolf’s clothing.
“You do this sort of thing often?” he asked.
She pulled in her bottom lip, wetting it with her tongue then pressing her teeth firmly against the sweet soft flesh. When she lowered her lashes playfully, she looked anything but demur and gentle.
Okay. So she wanted to play.
He held in a grin--the flowered shirt--who could blame her for thinking he was some helpless, country boy? Although she should know that a man with a cock bulging like his was not going to be easy to handle.
Still holding her belt loops, he moved her closer, grinning at the sight of her nipples brushing against the delicate roses of his shirt. He took her hand and flattened her palm across his erection, pressing hard enough to let her feel his stiff and ready cock.
Her eyes widened, but to her credit she didn’t pull back. Instead, she moved forward cupping as much of him as she could, her sweet mouth dropping open as she applied pressure, making him swell even more.
His gaze zeroed in on her mouth, wondering if she could take the full-length of his shaft.
“I can,” she murmured, a confident smile slanting across her mouth. “Whatever you want, that is.” She stepped forward, intentionally rubbing one of her nipples across the rough stitching of his shirt. “As long as you’re willing to return the favor.”
Liam had had a lot of women come on to him, but never in such direct terms. And it had been a long time since he’d been so horny in public. Not since he’d been following his brother around at college parties.
College parties. That gave him an idea.
He grabbed her hand and pulled her through the bar.
Outside, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and headed for the bank of Charles River, hoping more and more with each stride that the old storehouse was still there.
Chapter Three
Liam felt the river-cooled air about the time they reached Memorial Drive. After he guided her across the street, he spotted the old row house, still there. By the time he pulled her up to the side of the weather battered storage shed, they were both breathing hard. Her from running alongside him in those sexy heels, and him because all of his blood had pooled in his groin. His cock, actually.
Standing close to the door, he gave it firm jab with his elbow. The gleaming latch squeaked, but didn’t break. He slammed against it again, nothing. The third time, the screws gave up and the door swung open with a dull thud.
He grabbed her arm, pulled her in, and kicked the door shut.
Rays of street light cut through the uneven slats of the walls, giving them just enough light to see each other. In her eyes, he saw the last thing he expected.
Hesitation.
Ever since she’d cupped his cock, he’d been thinking about two things. Her mouth gliding across his skin and pounding into her pussy until she whimpered, begging for release. But he understood her pause.
What they were doing was not a good idea, but damn, it all felt so completely right. Stop? Impossible.
Ignoring his jab of conscience, he distracted her with his first outright lie of the night. “I saw this place from the road.”
She glanced over, then stepped away, taking in the rows of skiffs and ropes hanging from the rough walls, her hands pulling on the edge of her skirt.
Nerves?
Or maybe she was simply considering.
The wind carried shouting and music from parties, the sound small by the time it reached the storage shed, but still a reminder of the outside world. An outside world Liam did not want to think about.
And he didn’t want her to start thinking about either.
Thinking led to questions, and questions led to answers. Answers came in two forms--yes and no.
And he was all about yes.
Liam pushed the door shut, then to keep the wind from blowing it open, slid a heavy wood crate against it.
He reached her in two steps, and shoved his hands under that flirty skirt to cup her firm, bare ass. Not completely bare, he noted as his fingertips brushed across the smooth strip of lace of the thong that ran between her checks.
She sighed as he grabbed her, instinctively spreading her legs and lifting her face to look him in the eye. The hesitation was gone. In its place was confident certainty.
After wiggling out of his grasp, she stepped out of her sandals, set them by the door. Then, she took hold of the bottom edge of her tank top and peeled it up.
The simple movement was nothing like the experienced Combat Zone strippers. Those women made a living of dragging out the littlest detail, enticing the men to wait-and spend. This woman’s movements were efficient, matter-of-fact, and sexy as hell. Like she knew what she wanted, knew what he wanted, and was ready to go after it.
She set her shirt on a bench near her sandals, then turned to him, watching his reaction as his gaze fixed on the swells of her breasts and the white lace of her low-cut bra.
“Is this what you had in mind?” she asked, stepping forward with sharp steps that made her breasts bounce.
Liam wanted to speak, to agree, but his throat had gone dry.
The rays of light that sliced through the cracks in the siding skimmed across her smooth skin, inciting him to touch, and making him wonder how she would react if he tasted her nipples.
Arching her back and lifting the hem of her skirt just enough for him to see the top of her thighs, she murmured, “Are you as big as you think you are?”
Liam didn’t need to be asked twice.
He flipped open the rivet of his jeans and carefully glided the zipper down, easing it slowly across the arch of his erection. The careful heat of her gaze followed each tiny movement of his hands, not missing any detail.
When he put his fingertips at the top of his briefs, ready to pull them down, she put her hands across his. “Wait. Let me.”
Moving her hands to his shoulders, she backed him to the wall and then curved his fingers around the railing that circled the interior of the shed. Once she was satisfied that he was firmly anchored, she knelt before him, pulling down the band of his briefs as she settled herself near his booted feet.
He expected her to tug down the band and free his straining rod, but instead she lightly trailed her fingertips down the fine line of hair that ran down his center. She glanced up, offering him a teasing smile, then scooted closer and set her mouth just below his navel. Her sweet ass wiggled side to side each time she touched her mouth to him and the sides of her bra brushed against his skin as she moved lower.
The heat of her light kisses burned through him, making his heart pound and his pulse thrum. As he focused on her gentle, slow movements, the muscles of his thighs tensed, making his need for release painfully urgent. Her slow approach was not what he’d expected, and somehow that made it even more of a turn on. A shock, considering he was an impatient man. On all counts. Sex included.
With each tiny movement of her soft lips, the need to drive his cock into her hot, wet pussy strung him tighter and tighter. Thank God he was experienced enough not to lose control and come right then and there.
Still, just to be sure, he lifted his gaze from the round curves of her breasts and stared at the boring, weather beaten wall in front of him. Listen to the hushed hum of the evening traffic.
As though she knew he was trying to avoid looking at her, she rocked back onto her heels, commanding his attention as she spoke to him by sliding her fingers under the band of his briefs. “All that outside work does good things for you.”
Liam opened his mouth to reply, but just as he did, she reached inside and took his cock into her hands. Her palms were rough, her fingers strong and capable. She wrapped the fingers of one hand around his throbbing shaft and pulled his briefs down with the other.
“You’re even bigger than I expected,” she said on a sigh, caressing the tip of his head first with her finger and then with the tip of her tongue.
The embarrassment of wearing the sissy flowered shirt was long gone. Liam couldn’t ever remember ever feeling so strong and masculine as he did right then, with a sexy, beautiful woman at his feet, marveling at his pulsing hard erection.
Her tongue was gentle, yet demanding, and soon she was sliding his shaft into her mouth with delicate precision.
She took more of him until his tip bumped against the back of her throat.
He groaned and thrust forward, tightening his grip on the railing to keep his balance. “If you keep doing that, I’m not going to get a chance to fuck you.”
Laughing lightly, she drew back completely from his jutting dick and looked up from under her lashes. “And that would be a shame.”
She turned her attention back to his throbbing penis, but he was done letting her take the lead. Hauling her to her feet, Liam covered her mouth with his. She welcomed his kiss, responding to his silent request for more by angling her head back and allowing him full access to the sweet warmth of her willing mouth. The instant connection was intense and more than just physical.
After months of having to nearly beg for sex from Fiona, this woman’s eager acceptance was a balm to his wounded pride. He moved his hands up and spread his fingers wide, holding her ribcage firmly in his palms, but she wasn’t content to remain still. Keeping her mouth pressed close, she wiggled against him, twisting side to side until her skirt was bunched up around her legs.
With each sway of her hips, she ground her pelvis against him, bumping into his jutting erection and working it between her legs. The tiny triangle of lace was the only thing keeping him from thrusting into her wet, willing pussy.
When Liam flicked his tongue into her mouth, mimicking the movement in his mind, she whimpered and reached down to tug at her panties. After lifting one leg to let the bit of lace fall to the dirt floor, she brushed her furry mound against the tip of his shaft.
Instant flames.
Nearly panting, he broke away from her mouth. “Hold on honey, we need some...”
For a spilt second he mistook the daze in her eyes for confusion, but when she blinked, he realized it wasn’t confusion at all.
It was lust.
His eyes must have been swimming with it too.
Thanks to Fiona, who couldn’t be bothered to take care of contraception, Liam had gotten into the habit of carrying condoms. He hated to break contact with the woman in his arms, even for a second, but he had to retrieve one of the packets from his wallet. Even in the darkness, he had no trouble finding it. As he unwrapped it, she reached out and stroked his thigh. It was as though she was as reluctant as he to be apart for even a few seconds.
His swollen shaft was so stiff, the condom went on quickly, within seconds he had her back in his arms, and she was wiggling against him again, sliding her eager hands under his shirt.
One of her bras straps had fallen down and Liam spotted her pebbled nipple peeking beneath strands of long, dark hair. When he lowered his head to take the tip into his mouth, the hat brim caught on her shoulder. With a curse, he knocked the damn thing off, not bothering to see where it landed.
He pushed her bra out of the way and took her breast into his mouth. She moaned and arched back, encouraging him to take whatever he wanted. Her generosity stunned him, and he lifted his head to look into her warm brown eyes. “Before we, I... What’s your name?”
She smiled, the expression open and honest. “Brooke. And what about you, cowboy?”
“Liam.”
She blinked, and for a horrible instant he thought she might back away and ask why his name wasn’t Hank or Cutter, or whatever real cowboys were called.
“Liam. It suits you. Strong, but gentle.”
And with that, she wrapped one of her legs around his ass and guided his penis inside her.
Her pussy was tight, slick, and welcoming.
Perfect.
But without something to brace against, he couldn’t thrust into her without knocking them over. Holding Brooke’s hips in one hand, and cradling her back against his forearm, he backed her against the spot in the wall where he’d been. She reached one hand back to grab the railing while holding onto his shoulder with the other.
Taking full advantage of the support of the wall, Liam angled his hips back until only the tip of his cock brushed against her clit, then thrust in.
The first three strokes, he held back, afraid he might hurt her, but when she whimpered and bucked against him, encouraging him by whispering, “Fuck me hard,” into his ear, he let go of his restraint and pounded into her.
“More, harder,” she said, then added, “I want to feel your cock inside me.”
Liam had been inside a lot of women, probably more than he’d want to admit, but he’d never had a woman talk to him that way. So direct and clear. The words weren’t a game to her, a way to get him horny; they were a request--a desperate plea.
And he was more than happy to grant it.
He caught his breath, then said, “Hold onto the rail.”
Once she had both hands on the rail, he reached behind his back to steady her leg. Holding her calf in his palm, he drove into her with thrusts that were both long and quick, gliding his cock out of her pussy to brush her swollen clit with the tip of his shaft, and then driving all of himself into her.
The rasp of her breath caressed his ear, encouraging him to continue pounding into her eager cunt. Soon she tensed with the first waves of her release. Panting, she clung to the railing, matching his strokes with sharp thrusts of her hips.
Liam drove on, only letting his control go when she began to sag against him. He sucked in a gulp of air as the initial jerk of his climax released the first pulse of come. As the pulses became stronger, his mind went blank, and he gave himself over to the all consuming need to pound into her tight center and possess her completely.
“Damn girl,” he mumbled on a groan once he’d caught his breath. Rolling the condom off his cock which was still partially erect, he asked, “You do this to every guy you set your sights on?”
He’d meant the question to be light, but a cloud passed through her eyes.
Regret?
A woman who went after what she wanted the way she did couldn’t have many regrets in life.
Self-doubt?
If that was the case, he could get rid of that problem easy enough. He kissed her softly on the lips and smiled. “I loved fucking you.”
A slow smile brought light back to her face. She grinned and smoothed the wild locks out of her eyes. “You like riding me, cowboy?”
He was happy to tell her the absolute truth. “Yes, Ma’am.”
She reached behind her back to unzip her skirt and let it fall. Then she unhooked her twisted bra, freeing her breasts. Naked, she strode over to where his hat had fallen, picked it up, plopped it on her head with a crooked, sassy grin.
He’d never look at another cowboy hat without remembering her that way.
“May I have your shirt, please?” she asked, holding out one upturned palm.
How could he turn down a naked woman?
She laid the rose covered monstrosity across the ground and lowered herself onto it, spreading her legs wide enough for him to see the shadows of her slick, throbbing pussy. “That’s a good thing that you liked fucking me. Cause you’re going to do it again. Right now.”
She arched her back and rocked side to side, making her breasts bounce playfully. “Looks like you’re ready. Mount up.” She was right. His dick was already stiff. ****
Brooke’s eyes skimmed across Liam’s tanned chest and then moved to admire his powerful forearms. If only she could see him in action. Roping horses or hauling feed sacks.
Damn, that had to be a sight.
Sure, the night had started out as a personal challenge, but she’d met and matched that the moment she took her clothes off in front of him. It’s what happened after that that’d changed her. She’d uncovered a side of herself she’d had no idea existed.
Sexy, demanding, confident.
With that thought boosting her determination to live this fantasy out to the fullest, she reached up and caressed her left breast. Gazing directly into his blue eyes, she squeezed the nipple until it peaked tightly, sending quick jolts of heat to her already over heated center.
She lowered her gaze to his rising cock and grinned. It was as hard as it’d been when she wrapped her leg around him and guided him into her.
Obviously, he wanted her as much as she wanted him.
Maybe he needed a little encouragement. She flipped over onto her hands and knees, asking over her shoulder with a tiny bit of taunt in her voice, “You do have another rubber, don’t you?”
Female satisfaction coursed through her when his mouth dropped open and his gaze zeroed in on her ass. She wiggled side to side, and then spread her legs, ready to tease him some more, but he was busy digging through his wallet for another condom. He sheathed himself faster than she would’ve thought possible.
He set his palms on her ass cheeks as he went down on his knees. “Oh honey,” he murmured, caressing the round curves of her backside, squeezing her already sensitive flesh.
Anxious to feel him inside her again, she spread her knees wider and lowered her back, exposing more of her sex.
“I know, sweetheart,” he said, rubbing his dick along the inside of her quivering thigh. “But there’s no reason to rush.”
She wasn’t content to wait. “Now, Liam. Now,” she replied, scooting back and forcing their bodies to touch.
Still holding her ass, he impaled her with one strong thrust. He filled her so completely, so fully, for the briefest second she wondered why she’d never felt so completely satisfied.
But he quickened his pace, riding her with hard, constant swings and all her conscious thoughts scattered. She gave herself over to carnal desire and let herself be guided by instinct and want.
The waves of pleasure came hard and fast, tearing through her with unexpected, ferocious intensity. As his own climax came on the heels of hers, he groaned and pounded against her with focused determination.
After he finally relaxed, and his breathing started to slow, he placed a light kiss of the small of her back. The delicate gesture nearly brought tears to her eyes. But she silently chided herself for being so sappy and sentimental, blaming her reaction on the intense and fantastic sex.
So what if she’d never see him again. It wasn’t like they had some real connection. Great sex, that’s all it was.
She pushed herself to her feet, grabbing her clothes and pulling them on. He was doing the same, returning the world to normal by covering their tired bodies as though that mind-blowing, intimate exchange never occurred.
“I’ll walk you back to your car,” he said over his shoulder as he zipped up his jeans.
Even though he was still right there beside her, Brooke felt herself drifting away from him. Maybe she just didn’t want to prolong the inevitable goodbye. “No, that’s okay. I took the T.”
Shaking out his flowered shirt, he said. “Okay, I’ll walk you to the station.”
“You don’t have to do that,” she replied, stepping into her sandals. With the rush of desire sated, the real world pressed in, and she noticed the rush of nearby traffic for the first time.
“I know, I don’t have to.” He dropped his hat on top of her head, smiling. “But I want to. And since this seems to be my night for getting what I want...”
Stubbornness lingered in his blue eyes, so she figured there was no point in arguing. Now that her suddenly crazy sex drive had calmed down a bit, she was feeling out of sorts and probably couldn’t pull off an argument anyway. “Okay, thanks.”
Once they were both dressed, he took her hand and led her from the riverside storage shed. As they walked away, she was tempted to take one last glance at the building, but she didn’t. No need, really. She’d never forget it.
Once they’d crossed the street, he took her hand and said, “Tell me something about yourself.”
Trying to cover up the confusion pulling on her heart, she shrugged. “Nothing to tell, really.”
“Okay, how about what do you do for a living?”
No harm in telling him, she’d never see him again. “I’m an artist.”
Her shoulder bumped into him when he came to a stop on the sidewalk. “An artist? Really?”
“It’s not a big deal.” She started walking, pulling him around the corner at the cemetery. “I do print work and some painting.”
“What are you working on right now?”
“I just finished a series of sunflower prints. I used a lot of wood blocks, for texture. Holding out the hand that wasn’t tucked into his, she added. “That’s why my hands look so terrible.”
“I think they look great.” To add emphasis to the comment, he lifted her hand up and kissed her fingers. She smiled, until he asked a question she couldn’t answer. “Where can I go to see your stuff?”
Eventually she replied, “Nowhere, I’m not ready for that. I--I don’t think it’s what people are interested in.”
“How do you know if it isn’t up somewhere for people to see?”
His tone wasn’t condescending, like Douglas’s had been. Just...curious. “I’m patient. I can wait until the time is right. Know what I mean?”
“Do I know about patience?” He laughed. “Not at all.”
They walked the rest of the way to the T in silence. Once they reached the entrance to the station, he kissed her lightly, whispered goodbye, then disappeared into the Cambridge crowd.
It wasn’t until she reached the lower platform that Brooke realized she was still wearing his hat.
Chapter Four
“I still think you should go look for her. If it was a hot as you say...”
Liam cut Nikolai off with a dark look.
“Okay,” the foreman crossed his stout arms across his square chest. “She was as hot as you say. So, I’m back to saying, you need to go find her. Else you’re going to drive us all crazy with your sour moods.”
“I told you, she thought I was some out-of-town cowboy.” He scowled. “What kind of asshole dresses up like a cowboy, then lies to the woman he meets?”
“You could explain.” Nikolai hopped down from the half wall he’d been sitting on and headed for the stairs. “You’d work it out.”
“What am I going to do, walk the streets of Cambridge until I spot her?” Liam called to his back.
Nikolai’s laughter echoed off the stone marble steps. “It’d be better for us all if you did,” he called from the bottom just before he ducked outside for his break.
Liam cursed. He never should have told Nikolai about Brooke. But something about her was so different, he’d rambled on about how she made him feel, acting like a smitten idiot.
All over someone he’d only just met and would never see again.
She was someone, but not just anyone.
Damn she was hot.
He could live another thirty years and never be with a woman like her. But it was more than just her, he knew. It was them. The two of them together. It was right. Not right for the minute right, but plain right. As in, could be right like that again.
Hell.
He was getting another boner just thinking about her hot pussy--and the way she’d tempted him by wiggling her ass in his face. Going to the can to jack off again was out of the question. His crew was bound to notice. If they hadn’t already.
Shit.
Liam turned away from the stairs and crossed the wide room to look out one of the huge plate glass windows. Maybe Nikolai was right. Maybe he should go look for her.
Then they could--
His cock started to stiffen again. He groaned and focused his attention on the view below.
Stare at the cars.
Stare at the sidewalk. Listen to roar of the power tools.
Think about anything except Brooke.
****
Brooke paused, lingering on the sidewalk to admire the front of the gorgeous, new building. The real thing looked even better than the renderings. The structure was an artful mixture of old and new--modern US efficiency with colonial charm. Plenty of huge glass windows and gleaming copper accents that would eventually turn green with a patina that would help the building blend in with the rest of downtown Boston.
Crusher, the guy who owned the demolition company that had torn down the lovely, but unfixable, building that had been there before and had promised she’d love it. He’d been so convincing that she signed the lease sight unseen.
And if the outside looked this fantastic, she dug the shiny new keys out of her pocket and grinned, the inside was going to be amazing.
If it was finished.
The last she’d heard, there’d been a problem with the drywall delivery because of rebuilding in the south due to storms, and everything was on hold until the shipment came through. All things considered, that was not what she wanted to hear. Or even consider. But the reputation of the builder was excellent, and everyone had been assuring her that her gallery would be ready on time.
The invitations to her opening had gone out two weeks ago, the catering had been arranged, and her garage was crowded with paintings, prints and sculptures artists from all over the Boston area. If her new gallery wasn’t ready on time...
Think positive. Don’t expect the worst.
In spite of her worries, Brooke grinned. Cutting Douglas out of her life had been the first step in the right direction toward positive thinking. Look how the rest of that evening had ended.
Yum.
That was the type of hot sex fantasies were made of. If it weren’t for the black cowboy hat hanging on her bedpost, she might think she’d conjured up the whole thing.
She slipped the key into the lock, and started to pull open the door, but it swung open, nearly knocking her off balance. Still teetering on her platform sandals, she righted herself by grabbing the railing. The railing kept her from falling flat on her face, but her shoulder bag slipped off and hit the pavement with a smack.
A balding man in brown shorts and a baggy, white t-shirt picked up her bag and held it out for her. “Oh, hey. Sorry. You okay?”
After she assured him she was, and thanking him for picking up her bag, she asked him who she could talk to about the status of the building. “How’s the progress with the drywall going?” she added to clarify.
“Drywall’s up,” the man replied with a sigh. “The guy’s have been up all night sanding.”
“Great!”
“Yeah,” the man glanced over his shoulder, then added, “The guys weren’t too happy about stayin’ up half the night. But the art gallery owner sent the boys invitations to some fancy opening, and the wives and girlfriends heard about it, and well...the guys have been doing what they have to do—even though they weren’t too happy about it.”
Brooke laughed.
“Oh.” The man’s eyebrows shot up, suddenly realizing he might have said the wrong thing to the wrong person. “You’re one of the gallery people?”
She stretched out her arm, offering her hand. “Brooke Miller.”
“Brooke?” The man’s eyes widened as he accepted her gesture and shook her hand. “You’re Miller Gal-- I mean, the owner of Miller Gallery? Your name’s really Brooke?”
Obviously, judging from the sudden glee on his weathered face, she was missing something. “Yep. That’s me.”
“Li--I mean the boss--he’s inside. Right inside.” He stepped back held the door wide open for her. “Why don’t you go on in? The last time I saw him he was on the second floor, right at the top of the stairs. I bet he’s still there.”
Brooke started inside, but the man stopped her by setting his hand on her arm.
“What I said about the guys...they weren’t that upset, I--”
“It’s okay. I understand, and I’m glad they’re excited about the opening. I’ll be looking forward to seeing them.”
He ran a hand over his bald head, smiling wider. “I’ll be there, too. We’re all looking forward to it.”
Brooke smiled her thanks and crossed the threshold.
The man seemed a little...excitable. Maybe spending all days with hammers pounding all around did that to people.
Her musings fell away as she paused in the entrance area, taking in the expensive white walls and gorgeous natural lighting. The combination was perfect. High above, rows and rows of halogen lights crept across the ceiling. Even at night the lighting would be exactly what she needed to showcase the art of the local artisans. The wide floor space looked to be more than ample for huge, heavy sculptures and some of the more unusual 3-D pieces.
The ornate staircase that ran up the center of the building featured a middle landing that was big enough for a bar and a couple tables. It was the perfect place for Boston’s well-to-do to see and be seen.
Brooke beamed. It was everything she’d hoped it would be and then some. And from the looks of everything, the space would be ready on time. Hoping to find the builder so she could thank him herself, she started up the stairs.
At the top, she spotted a lone man, his wide shoulders silhouetted against the late afternoon skyline visible through the plate glass windows. Dressed in jeans and a red t-shirt, he could have been any guy on the street, yet something about him tugged on the fringes of Brooke’s memory.
The click of her sandals snapping on the steps grew louder as she reached the top, and he turned. Their gazes connected, the air whooshed from Brooke’s lungs.
He came forward, looking a little different without the cowboy shirt and hat, but moving with the same urgent, impatience she remembered from that night.
Her body responded instantly as he came closer, even her stomach quivered with expectation.
“I--I--” After the way she’d acted with him, she had no idea what to say.
He wasn’t smiling, his gaze was steady and searching. As though he thought she’d come for him. Each step he took forward, she moved to the side, unwilling to get to close, afraid she might come unglued all over again.
To hold back the rush of emotions--and embarrassment, she said, “I’m looking for the builder.”
He halted, realizing that she hadn’t somehow tracked him down and come back for seconds. “The builder?”
“Right.” She folded her arms across her chest. “I’ve rented this space for my gallery and...”
A grin tugged on his mouth, making her remember how his lips felt on her skin. But there in the daylight, awkwardness and uneasiness swarmed around her, reminding her that she’d gotten what she wanted form their adventure—there was no reason for
more.
“I can help you with that,” he said.
Brooke glanced over her shoulder to be sure they were still alone. “About the other night, I--I didn’t think--”
“I know. You thought I was from out of town. I should’ve said something.”
“You live here?” Brooke pulled on her purse strap. “But--but that hat and the...”
“Asinine shirt. I know.” He spread his arms wide, making Brooke look at his strong forearms. “See, I lost a bet with my brother and--”
“Hey, boss?”
A workman stood at the top of the stairs, and Liam gave the man his attention. “What’s up, Nate?”
“The tilers are here, they say they need to ask you about the grout color or something like that before they can get started.”
“Are they downstairs?”
The man nodded, hooking his thumb over his shoulder to point below. “By the back door.”
“Okay. Thanks. Tell them I’ll be right down.”
Brooke watched the workman until he disappeared down the upstairs hall then squared her shoulders.
“Fine, so you’re not from out of town. I get that. Okay. You’re the builder. Fine. Okay.”
Liam’s brows pulled down. “It wasn’t like that.”
“Like what?” she asked, letting her shock turn into anger.
“Like what you’re thinking that it--we--that what we did was--”
“What I did, Liam. I’m not like that. Not at all. I don’t want to talk about it...or... anything.” She stepped back, trying unsuccessfully to not look at the way his hips moved as he came forward. “Let’s forget it.”
He set his hand on her waist, slid his fingers under her light blue top. “Don’t look at me like that, like what we did was...wrong.”
“It wasn’t wrong, it just wasn’t me.”
“It should be you.”
“No.” She’d told him too much, about her art. She felt exposed and vulnerable. “It shouldn’t.”
“Hey, boss?”
Liam let go of her and crossed to the top of the stairs, leaning down to call, “I said I’ll be down in a minute.”
The reply was hesitant and just loud enough to be heard over the constant hum of power tools. “Sorry, man.”
Liam strode to Brooke, reaching out and pulling her to him until the heat of their bodies fused. “I’m not about to forget what happened, and I don’t think you are either.”
She looked away, pretending to be unaffected by his touch. “I already did.”
He bent down to brush his cheek against her hair. Even though he didn’t touch her physically, his heat was everywhere.
“Fine. We’ll talk after the opening.”
“You don’t need to come to that.”
He grinned. “Are you taking back my invitation?”
Brooke sighed, trying to hang onto her tough guy routine, but failing. “No. You can come. But don’t expect to talk to me. It’s a business thing. Um...one of the things I came to talk about…the landlord made arrangements for you, I meant your company, to pick up and deliver the art for the show.”
“Right. I remember.”
Brooke took out the map to her house and the diagram she’d made of the show. “The art is in my garage, and this shows which pieces go where.”
“Yours are going next to the front door, right?”
“No, I’m not hanging mine.”
“Why not?”
She held in a frustrated sigh and said the first excuse that came to mind, “My work doesn’t suit the rest of the show. Everything I’m hanging is the best of the best.”
“If you paint the way you make love...”
“It’s not like that, the emotions are so...different,” she lied. “Besides,” she added softly, “I told you, I’m not like I was the other night.”
Shaking his head as he walked away, he murmured, “You’re wrong.”
Chapter Five
After two hours at the salon, Brooke was as ready as she’d ever be for the opening. All afternoon, she’d kept telling herself that her excitement had everything to do with the official opening of her new business and nothing to do with seeing Liam again. It had been two weeks, surely whatever attraction she’d had to him had to have faded.
And besides, that night with Liam was just that--one night. Not something she’d repeat.
Even though she wasn’t going to get involved with him—or anyone else who made her act like that--she had changed. She could almost see herself showing one of her smaller pieces in the future. If she could find an out of the way location where it wouldn’t draw too much attention. But that would be later, after things at the gallery settled down.
Anxious to be sure everything about the evening went perfectly, she flipped open her cell and dialed Nancy’s number.
Her assistant answered on the second ring, greeting her with raw music blaring in the background as usual. “Don’t worry,” she said, spinning the volume down, “I’m going to change it to something appropriate before anyone shows up.”
Brooke shook some dry food into her cat’s bowl. “So nobody has come by yet?”
“It’s only five, the invites said six.”
Millie strolled across the linoleum, eyeing Brooke skeptically before taking a bite. “The caterers have already been by, right?”
“Yes, of course. Everything is fine. I told you I’d call if there was a problem. I haven’t called, so that means no problem.”
“Thanks Nancy,” Brooke replied, sliding the cat food box onto the shelf.
“Hey, you sure those construction guys know they’re invited?”
“Yes,” she picked up the water bowl and carried it to the sink. “I dropped off the invitations myself. Remember, I told you I talked to the foreman.”
Brooke could hear the smile in Nancy’s voice. “Right. They can’t all have girlfriends.”
“You’re crazy, you know that?” she said over the running water.
“You should try it sometime. Does wonders for your outlook on life.”
Brooke scowled. “Someone else told me that recently.”
“Good advice. You should take it.”
Um, let me think. No.
Time to change topics. “How does everything look?”
“Great, I like the changes you made.”
She set the bowl in the sink, then leaned against the counter. “Changes?”
“Yeah, downstairs by the door. Who’s the new artist?”
A bad feeling settled in the pit of Brooke’s stomach. “What exactly are you talking about?”
“Those prints in the retro frames? The set by the doors--they’re amazing.”
Brooke flipped off the water, asking, “Are the frames white?” But she didn’t really listen to Nancy’s reply. She already knew.
Bolting from the sink, she rushed through goodbye and snapped her cell shut, grabbed her purse, and flew to her car. Not even the notorious Boston traffic slowed her down. Three red lights later, she was squeezing herself into an illegal parking spot, then jogging down the sidewalk. By the time she reached her door, her expensive blow dry was starting to curl.
But she didn’t get there soon enough. The downstairs was already filling up with artists, clients, and potential clients. Clusters of people stood in a circle, staring at her five most recent pieces, the sunflowers, which were hanging front and center, shining brightly under their own row of spot lights. Brooke felt sick, she couldn’t bear watching the people as they pointed and exchanged comments.
As coolly as possible, she started greeting guests, all the while keeping a look out for the person to blame for exposing her.
After forty minutes of chatting, she spotted him at the top of the stairs.
“Excuse me,” she said to the trio of lawyers she’d convinced to buy a set of watercolors for their lobby, and marched up the marble steps. He’d already disappeared by the time she’d reached the middle landing, so she quickened her steps.
****
Liam waited behind the corner and grabbed Brooke as soon as she rounded it.
“Damn it, let go of me,” she hissed, trying to wiggle out of his grasp. She fought pretty well, but she was absolutely no match for him. He backed her into the unmarked storage closet easily enough.
HARD HATS, HARD BODIES
He leaned in, brushing his check across her temple as he whispered into her ear. “I had a feeling you weren’t going to be happy with me.”
“You--”
Her mouth was warm and soft, but only slightly responsive. Nothing at all like she’d been that night, but he wasn’t going to give up easily. Liam kept his hold on her waist light, letting her know she was free to come out of his arms if she really wanted to. Yet she stayed put, letting him nudge her jaw up so he could run a trail of kisses down the soft, smooth column of her neck.
He pressed a final kiss on her collarbone. “We’re good together.”
“You shouldn’t have put up my sunflowers.” Her voice was small, but urgent.
He’d known she was going to be annoyed, but once he’d seen her art, hidden in the back of her garage, he’d made his mind up in an instant. She had to see things his way. “Everyone loves them,” he said, sliding his hand around to the small of her back, caressing her there with his thumb. “They’re gorgeous and sexy, like you.”
“You--you shouldn’t have hung them.” Despite her protest, her body was beginning to relax.
He smiled in the darkness. “You already said that.”
“Aren’t you going to apologize?” she asked, placing her palms flat across his chest.
Was she going to push him away? Even so, he pressed on, anxious to get through to her. “No apology.”
She sighed. The breath a mixture of release and frustration. “I told you I was waiting.”
Encouraged that she hadn’t pushed him away, Liam dipped his fingertips into the waistband of her skirt. “Waiting for what?”
“Until--until...”
“See?” He pulled her closer. “Even you don’t know what you were waiting for.”
Suddenly she stiffened. “It’s not that simple.”
“Yes, it is.”
But he could tell she was done listening.
****
Brooke pushed him away and backed toward the door, leaving Liam alone in the closet. Fueled by a fearful mix of emotions, she rushed toward the stairs, anxious to get away. But she stopped short at the top step when she saw Nancy removing the price tag of her largest sunflower print and replacing it with a sold marker. A few yards away from the piece, a couple stood arm in arm, matching smiles lighting their faces.
Brooke swallowed hard, working to accept the wonderful truth.
She’d sold her first piece.
Pride flashed through her, followed by the complete thrill of knowing— someone—two people actually—understand her vision.
Brooke couldn’t pull her gaze away from that tiny sold sign. To her, it was a huge stamp of approval. A vote of confidence.
The first wave of stunned awe was giving way to giddy excitement. A burst of laughter welled up inside her, as she backed away from the steps. The last thing she needed was to burst out laughing, looking like a giddy idiot in front of everyone.
But standing there alone was horrible, with no one to share her excitement with— Liam! He’d understood her vision too.
It took all the control Brooke possessed to not run back to the closet. She managed to walk, very quickly, instead.
When she pulled the door open, he was still standing there, in the near dark, with a sexy smirk on his tantalizing mouth. She wanted to shout with joy, but as soon as their gazes connected, and she saw the confidence in his gaze, doubts crept in. “You didn’t have anything to do with someone buying my art, did you?”
His blue eyes flashed. “Someone bought something? Already?”
“You didn’t--”
“No!” He shook his head, sincerity clearing his eyes. “All I did was hang it. Honest.”
Liam grabbed her, pulled her in, and reached around to shut the door. “I told you we’re good together,” he said, taking her into his arms and pressing his already erect cock against her. This time, instead of holding back, she wiggled closer, rekindling that hot, sexy, confident woman she’d been the other night.
She didn’t even try to hold back her smile as she teased him with a mock protest. “We don’t even know each other.”
“So,” he replied, sliding his hands under her skirt. “Later, you can ask me all the questions you want.”
Leaning back, she added, “I have to get back downstairs. People are going to wonder where I’ve been.”
He held tight to her waist, kissed her solidly on the lips, then said, “Five more minutes. Then you can go.”
“I want more than five minutes from you, cowboy.”
Ignoring her, he unzipped his pants, took her hand and curved her fingers around his shaft. “Five minutes now, all the time you want later. Deal?”
Just holding him made her pussy hot. She wanted to run her hands across his chest, his back, his ass... everywhere. She wanted to feel his solid weight on top of her... She wanted everything.
“Okay. You’ve got yourself a deal.” She pulled his briefs down while he lifted her skirt up, then thinking of all the places she wanted to touch him added, “On one condition.”
He was already sliding on a condom. “Anything.”
She wrapped one leg behind him and took hold of his shoulders, anxious for his strong, steady strokes, but also not ready to give up on her condition. “Next time, we’re doing this naked and lying down—in a bed.”
Murmuring his agreement in her ear, he slid into her and filled her completely with one thrust. Matching Liam’s rhythm, Brooke angled her hips to increase the pressure on her clit. Within seconds, her climax started, and she gave in to the sudden release, happily knowing that there would be many more next times, plenty of chances to do it slow, lying down, or any other way she wanted.