Page 135 of The Goat Next Door

“Anything,” he promises. “Name it.”

“Then come here,” I say, walking backward toward the living room rug, daring him to follow. “Crawl to me, Brooks. I want to see you cross that distance on your knees.”

I say it as a total tease, a snarky jab, fully expecting him to call my bluff. But he doesn’t blink. He just shifts, those massive shoulders bunching as he moves toward me with a slow, deliberate focus that makes the air in the room feel heavy.

Watching him actually do it—watching that heavy, capable, intimidating man submit to my whim—sends a jolt of pure, electric shock straight to my veins. The laughter dies in my throat, replaced by a heat that radiates outward.

I blink, hyper-aware of the space between us. Wait. This isn’t just a bit anymore. There is something deeply, undeniably hot about the way he ignores his own pride just to get closer to me.

He stops at my feet, looking up at me, completely undone by the simple command I’d given him. “What next, Emmy?” he rasps. “Tell me what you want.”

“Take off your shirt,” I whisper, my voice breathless as the reality of my own power hits me.

He doesn’t hesitate, pulling the fabric over his head and casting it aside to reveal his broad, muscled chest in the dim light. He sits there, exposed and waiting, his hands resting on his thighs.

“You know, you’re absolutely pathetic.” I reach out, my fingers tracing the hard line of his collarbone, reveling in the way he shudders under my touch. “You really like being down there, don’t you? At my mercy?”

“I love it,” he says. “I want to be whatever you need me to be. I want you to look down at me and know I’m yours to do whatever the hell you want with.”

“Then show me how much you want it,” I command. I reach down and grab his hair, forcing his head back so he’s staring directly up at me. The rush of it is overwhelming—I’m in control, and I love the way his eyes go hazy and wild when I assert it. “Say it. Tell me exactly what you’re going to do to me.”

“I want to taste you,” he says. “I want to be between your legs, licking every drop of you until you’re shaking and begging for mercy. I want to make you scream my name until you can’t remember anyone else’s touch but mine. I’ll do anything. I’ll worship you. I’ll ruin you. Just let me.”

“Now,” I say, my voice dropping to a breathless thread. “Carry me.”

I let out a sharp, muffled gasp, my arms looping around his neck out of pure survival instinct as he lifts me completely off the floor. He hoists me until my hips are level with his chest, my legs wrapping tightly around him.

He walks straight into the dark bedroom, where the only light is the pale, gray wash of the rain against the windowpane. He holds me securely, his chest heaving against mine, his eyes wild and dark as he waits.

“Put me down on the edge of the bed,” I tell him.

“Bossy,” he murmurs. “I love it when you get all high and mighty while you’re shaking apart for me. It’s a hell of a turn-on.”

He obeys anyway, lowering my hips to the edge of the mattress. I sit back, my curls tumbling around my shoulders. Brooks drops back down to his knees right between my open legs, his hands reaching out to wrap around my ankles, anchoring himself to me.

“What now, Emmy? I’m waiting on your next order. Tell me what you want from me and I’ll give it to you—I’ll give it to you twice, if you ask.”

I reach down, twisting my fingers into his hair and pulling him closer until he’s right there, right where he belongs. “Show me,” I command. “I want to see exactly how much you want me.”

“Fuck, you’re so sexy, Emmy.”

He hooks his thumbs into my shorts and thong, his gaze silently asking for permission as he glances up. I lift my hips just enough, a silent invitation, and he drags them down my legs in one smooth, sweeping motion, tossing them onto the floor without breaking his focus on me.

Now completely bare from the waist down beneath my oversized shirt, I feel the cool air of the bedroom hit my skin, followed by the heat of his gaze.

He looks back up at me.

“Tell me how you want it, Emmy,” he breathes, his nose brushing the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. “My fingers? Or my mouth?”

“Your mouth,” I pant, my voice barely holding together. “Use your mouth, Brooks.”

“You want to sit on my face?” he asks, smirking. “Let me take all of you. Spread your legs for me, Emmy. I want to see exactly what I’m working with.”

I shift forward, sliding to the very edge of the mattress, my legs trembling as I fall open for him. Brooks lets out a low groan, his massive hands gripping my ass, kneading the flesh with a possessive strength that leaves no doubt who’s in charge. He lifts me just enough to position me exactly where he wants me.

When his tongue makes its first, long stroke from the base of my pussy all the way to my clit, a raw, broken sob tears out of my throat. My hips jerk instinctively into his face, desperate for the friction. He laps at me, steady and relentless, his thumbs hooking inside me to stretch me wide.

“Goddamn, you’re so pretty down here,” he mumbles against my pussy. “So swollen and ready for me.”