“Okay,” she whispered. “What about the sandwiches?”
“Later.” One word, and he had her tingling from head to toe.
He let her deliver one of the sandwiches to Spencer, who was still on a call in the dining room, before pulling her up the stairs behind him. Spence flashed her a thumbs-up, and she blushed to the roots of her hair.
Brick’s bedroom was the largest of the six. It was at the back of the house on the second floor, with windows that overlooked the backyard and the house next door.
The bed was a massive four-poster with a headboard with sexy leather inserts and not nearly enough pillows in Remi’s opinion. The windows were framed by thick curtains in a dark navy, probably chosen for function—blocking out early morning sun after a long bar shift—rather than fashion, but they still worked.
She stood in the doorway and imagined him there on the bed, naked, sprawled on his back with one hand tucked under his head. His cock thick and swollen, balls heavy while he thought about her.
“What?” he asked gruffly.
Color burned her cheeks. “I was just thinking you need more pillows.”
He flashed her a look that said he wasn’t buying it, then distracted her when he unbuttoned his shirt. She wet her lips and watched as more and more skin and muscle were revealed. He looked as though he’d been carved from granite. Big, powerful, virile.
Brick didn’t just look at her, he smoldered. As if he was reliving what they’d shared the night before and anticipating what was yet to come.
“So, just to be clear. You haven’t changed your mind?”
There it was. That subtle quirk of his lips. He opened the closet door and deposited his shirt in the laundry basket on the floor.
“What do you think?” he asked.
She would have told him had she not lost the power of speech and thought when his hands went to his belt buckle. The whisper of his belt slipping free of the loops sent a delicious shiver down her spine. He coiled the belt with deft fingers and placed it in the top drawer of the tall dresser next to the bathroom door.
Swallowing hard, she watched as he undid the fly of his jeans and shoved them down his muscular thighs. He was hard. The thick shaft that bobbed between those bitable thighs acted as a hypnotist’s watch. The jeans went into the laundry basket, too. He closed the closet door, giving her an impeccable view of the eighth wonder of the world, Brick Callan’s ass.
Butt bongos. The phrase floated to her from the deep recess of her mind. “Oh my God,” she groaned, bringing her hands to her cheeks.
He raised an eyebrow in amusement. “Problem?”
“I just remembered butt bongos.”
Every inch of her skin heated under his leisurely regard. The man was going to melt her clothes right off without even touching her.
“Make yourself at home,” he said, gesturing toward the bed.
Oh, boy.
He disappeared into the bathroom, and she heard the shower turn on.
“Get it together, Ford,” she murmured.
She’d had sex before. Lots of it. This wasn’t her first time in a devastatingly handsome man’s bedroom. He was going to come out of that shower and use that big, hard body of his to make her scream. Despite the fact that she’d not only survived it but reveled in it the night before, she was suddenly as awkward and anxious as a virgin.
Brick made everything feel like it was an unforgettable first.
She hopped up onto the bed, testing the mattress. The white bedding was simple but soft. No potentially embarrassing squeaks that would broadcast their activities to Spencer downstairs.
She didn’t have a view of him in the shower and considered it a little too pervy to stand in the doorway and watch him wash all of that aroused acreage. Too keyed up to relax, she opened his nightstand drawer to snoop. There was an unopened box of condoms, a notepad and pen, a flashlight, and a neatly folded scrap of cotton. White with gold pineapples.
Snatching it out of the drawer, she stormed into the bathroom just as he stepped out of the shower.
“Brick Callan! What’s this?” she demanded, waving the thong at him.
He took his time cinching a white towel around his waist. Droplets of water on his chest caught the light, temporarily dazzling her.
“It looks like a pair of underwear,” he drawled.
She wasn’t fooled. “These are mine! I thought I lost them!”
His hand darted out, almost fast enough to snatch them from her, but she was faster and clutched the prize to her chest. She spun around to run back into the bedroom, but he caught her and deftly wrestled the thong out of her grip.
“I took them the night you were hiding from me in the shower,” he said, walking her forward to the bed with both arms banded around her. He used his weight to bend her toward the mattress.
Her blood was electrified by his damp skin against hers. “You just got busted and you’re not giving them back?”
“They’re mine now.” He tugged her sweater off and bit her shoulder gently. She hissed out a breath. “I thought they were the only piece of you I’d ever get to keep.”
Her knees trembled from the weight of his words as he slid her pants down her legs. “Last night you got more than a pair of underwear.”
He nuzzled against her neck. “I want as many pieces of you as I can get.”
Her stupid heart was about to burst. But she couldn’t let it. It was dangerous enough that she’d opened her legs to the man. Handing him the keys to the heart he’d already broken was a terrible idea.
There was only one thing to do. One weapon she could deploy to protect herself.
“Stand up.”
He stilled against her. “Are you okay?”
She pushed him back and turned to face him. He looked concerned, but that spectacular cock was already reacting to the chemical changes happening inside her. His nostrils flared, a primitive part of him sensing both danger and pleasure.
She sank all the way down to the floor in front of him. The foot of the bed was at her back, a hard, desperate man at her front. “Baby.” There was so much tied up in that one word. Hope, brittle need, intoxicating desire.
“Lose the towel,” she whispered.
His eyes glittered, but he complied, reaching one big hand down to release his erection. She was lightheaded with want. With need. With the desire to give him another piece, another memory of her.
She watched in fascination as he fisted his shaft and gave it a long, rough stroke inches from her mouth.
He reached down and, with one swift yank, bared her breasts above the neckline of her tank top.
She cupped his balls in her hand and squeezed. He hissed in a breath through clenched teeth.
“Now, take my panties out,” she instructed.
He hesitated until she gave another harder squeeze. “I’m keeping them,” he reminded her. His tone left no room for argument.
“They’re yours,” she promised. “So is this.” She leaned forward and took the smooth, swollen crown into her mouth.
He swore violently, and a tremor ran through his entire body. Curling over her, he slapped one hand into the mattress behind her head. The other, still holding her thong, wrapped around the base of his shaft and squeezed.
She took him a little deeper, running her tongue over the underside all the way to the sensitive tip.