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"It'sfine. I was just worried. I'm not mad—just hated bothering Jillian about it." Hated bothering Jillian was a mild way of putting it. Brant and I'd set dinner plans: 6 PM at Alexander's. I'd waited at our table for a half hour before leaving, my calls to Brant going unanswered. I had hesitated to text Jillian, my fingers finally moving across the screen purely out of concern—in case something had happened; in case he was missing. I half-expected a snarky response, something that referenced how unimportant I must be to him. But she had responded quickly and professionally.
He’s here at the office. Will probably work late. No doubt lost track of time. I’m sorry.
The fact that she had been civil in her response only irritated me more, tipping the scales a bit in her favor, setting precedence for an act of similar civility on my part. I broke off a piece of muffin.
"Let me make it up to you."
I watched him while chewing, blueberries mixing with sugar and flour to make a delicious combination in my mouth. "Go ahead," I mumbled.
"Today, I'll blow off work. Be all yours."
I swallowed the bite. "But you're under deadline. You've been working for three weeks to make—"
"I don't care." He reached over the table and gripped my hand. "You are more important, and I’ve set aside a full day of groveling to make up for last night."
I raised an eyebrow. "A full day? That's a hefty commitment, Mr. Sharp."
He met my eyes. "One I'm ready to make."
I leaned over and lowered my voice. "And what do you have planned in this full day of groveling?"
He tugged my hand up to his lips. "I thought I'd start by us dropping by my condo. I have some ideas of ways to make it up to you."
“They’ll need to be very persuasive ways.”
He pulled on the back of my neck until his mouth was against my ear. “They’ll be ways that will make your legs tremble around my neck. Ways that already have me so hard and ready that I may not make it all the way there. Ways that will have you screaming my name and—"
"Let's go." I jerked to standing and the legs of my chair squeaked as they slid across the floor. Pulling on his hand, I beelined for the door.
Chapter 9
Brant's downtown condo was his sex den, the place where high-class hookers had satisfied every carnal desire he'd had over the last two decades. I stood in a living room where other women had moaned his name, serviced his cock, and I couldn’t care less. Because the man standing before me, his eyes dark as he stripped my clothes off? I could see into his soul, and he didn't have eyes for anyone else in the world. He wasn't thinking, picturing, wanting, anything but me. He lifted me up and set me on the dining table, his hands sliding my shorts down my legs and removing my sandals, caressing my skin as his hands journeyed back. He knelt on the floor, looked up into my eyes, and pushed on the inside of my knees, spreading my legs until I was open, his gaze dropping.
"Brant," I moaned, the exposure too much, the open stance causing air to hit places that were typically hidden.
"Be quiet." He slid his hands up my inner thighs, and I dug my fingers into his thick head of hair and bit my bottom lip as his right hand brushed over me. I opened my legs further, and he groaned out my name as he ran a finger over my sensitive lips, outlining the folds with a whisper-soft touch, his teasing brush causing my body to react, to cry for him in the only way it knew, moisture collecting, his breath hissing as he pushed a finger partially in. He met my gaze as he pulled his finger out and tasted my juices, his eyes closing briefly in reverence. "God, I can’t wait to bury my face in you." His touch returned, teasing the outside of me, soft strokes breaking me apart as he caressed every part of me, the pad of his fingers exploring, testing, circling, and pushing, my back arching, mouth dropping as I stared at him, helpless to look away from the scene.
When I couldn't take it anymore, I pulled his mouth to me, my body shuddering when his hot mouth enveloped me, his tongue dipping inside before covering my clit and starting a wet suction and play of stimulation that had me gasping into the air, my nails frantic in his hair, my gaze catching on the faint reflection of us in the window, the picture it showed one of desperate need. I clutched the edge of the table and pushed at his head, unable to—I bucked underneath his mouth, a babble of incoherent words coming out—then I screamed, my hips grinding a frantic pace against his mouth, his hands gripping my hips, pinning me down, keeping his mouth on me as I broke apart.
He relaxed his tongue as I came down, keeping the movement but softening it, the orgasm stretching out beneath his tongue, my breath coming hard, my arms giving out. I collapsed on the table and my legs went limp.
* * *
He carried me to the bedroom, my limbs struggling to reawaken, his deposit on the bed gentle, his hands moving my arms and legs into place. He undid his belt and the drop of his pants revealed how ready he was. "Wow." My arms worked enough to prop me up, my eyes flicking from his arousal to his face, catching on the half smile that tugged at his lips.
"You are so beautiful right now," he said, ripping open a condom and sliding it over his shaft, the bob of his sheathed cock tempting, the level of his erection mouth-watering. I bent my knees and spread my legs, giving him the carnal view I knew he wanted, a low swear emitting from his mouth as he kneeled on the bed and ran his hands along my legs before positioning himself for entrance. "Tell me if it hurts," he murmured, moving forward, the head of him pushing inside, the girth causing a pleased moan to slip from my lips, my gaze drinking in the gorgeous sight of my pussy's lips wrapped around his cock.
He was thick. Cut. Groomed. Beautiful. He pushed slightly in, then out, several more inches still unused, the condom slick with my arousal, my sparse hair wet and matted, framing his cock as he took his time, letting me adjust, the slow drag of him so ... everything. I lost intelligent thought, broke from my view of us and looked up to him, his eyes on mine, the look on his face so vulnerable, so raw. He stared down at me as if I was his world, as if our month-long courtship was so much more, as if I already had his heart and he had mine. He worshipped my face with his stare, and the only movement was the rise and fall of his hips as he thrust and pulled at my self-composure. The moment when he fully pushed inside, when he broke past the sweet and moved to the painful, the moment when my body fully adjusted to his length and girth, the need as great as the satisfaction ... I saw it. We said it through our eyes, the words unnecessary, our bond completed as he lowered his mouth to mine and stole a piece of my soul.
I love him.
Chapter 10
I rolled into his chest, my touch finding its way over his stomach, the lines of his body, his abs jumping beneath my fingers as he exhaled. My hand moved lower, sliding under the sheet, a growl coming from his throat as I closed my hand around him, the thick muscle awakening underneath my touch. "Don't start unless you want more."
"Of that?" I teased. "I'll always want more." I gave him a final squeeze and then released, dragging my hand back up to his chest, wanting a few more minutes of this moment. Brant was relaxed, his intensity subdued, his eyes closed, the only movement the rise and fall of his chest underneath my hand.
We lay there in silence for a bit. I closed my eyes and replayed the sex. I didn't enter this relationship a virgin. I'd had seven or eight lovers. I'd had orgasms. A few freaky nights where I'd walked on the wilder side of the sheets. But I'd never experienced this kind of sex. A full session with Brant was one where the entire focus was on only one thing: my pleasure. His orgasm came, it always occurred as the final act, but it was a side effect, not the goal. Brant's goal, each and every time, was to leave me sated, every possible orgasm pulled, tugged, and yanked from my body with his talented hands, mouth, and cock.
