Page 60 of Big Dill

“Brody,” I murmur as he shoves a knee between my legs, separating my knees enough to make my pulse spike. Why do I love it so much when he simply takes control of my body?

“Need something, sweet little birdie?” His fingers release mine, sliding down to grip the hem of my sweater. “Arms up.”

I obey, and he drags it over my head, moaning at the sight of my nipples straining against my T-shirt.

“I was wondering…” I shudder between ragged breaths.

He cocks his head, curious. “About?”

He brushes my nipples lightly through the shirt, and I arch into him, moaning, offering myself without shame. My hands follow his lead, gripping my own breasts as if to say, please, take me.

“Do you think… I’m going to hate your mouth here too? I mean…our kisses were just…ick.”

He inhales sharply, momentarily off-guard, and that fleeting loss of control sends a needy shiver through me. I like that I can do this to him. That I can make him break.

“There’s only one way to find out,” he assures me, voice low and sure.

I nod, breath hitching. “I think we have to.”

“We do need to know,” he agrees.

I crinkle my nose, half laughing, half shivering. “I’m sure it will be awful, like our kisses, and we’ll never want to do it again.”

“Yeah. One and done. We walk away. Tension gone.”

I glance at him, heart thudding. “I don’t think we have a choice.”

With a confidence I don’t want to think about, he slides a hand around my back and, with a snap, unhooks my bra. Two seconds later, my T-shirt and sweater drop, forming a growing pile on the floor. The only thing missing from the mound? His clothes.

He steps back, eyes dark with lust—and something that looks dangerously like admiration—just to take me in. My chest tightens, heat pooling low. Holy God. The last time a man looked at me like this was…at a Halifax hotel.

“Brody,” I murmur, breath hitching, and he lifts his head slowly, gaze locking on mine.

There’s a tenderness about him that curls around me when he says, “You’re so beautiful.”

He steps into me again, big hands on my sides, this time with nothing separating his thumbs from my swollen nubs. “I need to do things to you.”

“Yes…please…” My words dissolve as he bends forward, hot breath spilling over my bare skin. I quiver under him, and he holds me tighter, drinking me in.

He lifts me again, using the streetlamp’s light as a guide. We back up, and then…bang.

“Shit.” He curses as he bumps into the side table. The lamp wobbles and crashes to the floor.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

He grunts. “Never liked that lamp.”

“Hated it. Didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

We keep moving, and another curse escapes him as his toe catches a chair leg, scraping it across the floor and banging against the window.

“Fucking chair.”

“We should turn on the lights,” I suggest, but then remember—the window faces the street. Any passerby could see us.

“No. Our eyes will adjust,” he mumbles. Eventually, he finds the couch and sets me down, the back of my knees hitting the cushions. A small nudge of his hip, and I settle fully, and he sinks to his knees in front of me.

Strong hands grip my thighs and part them, giving him access, before moving up to cup my breasts. “These…” His thumbs brush over my nipples. “…prettier than I remembered.”