“Wrap your legs around my neck,” he says, while assisting me.
And dear God, never in my life would I have pictured this with Brig Knightly. Getting tongue-fucked by him, on the counter of my business, my legs wrapped around his neck, keeping his head permanently placed against my throbbing pussy.
It’s hot.
It’s unreal.
It’s almost unbearable.
Using Brig as a foothold, I’m able to lean back some more, granting him a different angle. He presses his fingers against me, inserts them, and curves up. My body nearly flies off the counter from the automatic bunching of nerves collecting between my legs.
“Oh God, yes.” I lean back again, my teeth pulling down on my lower lip. “Brig, oh God, I’m going to come.”
Fire blazes through me, collects in my center, and then blasts up my spine, turning my limbs into liquid, euphoric bliss.
His tongue is relentless, as well as his fingers.
He adds one more.
Driving up.
Flicking.
Fucking me.
He’s fucking me and it’s my undoing.
I cry out, my body thrashing uncontrollably. He presses down on my pubic bone, holding me in place, making it impossible for me to tear away as he continues to draw my orgasm out. Pulse after pulse of pleasure pushes through me like a semi-trailer, hitting me harder than before until I can’t take it anymore, until the pleasure is too much and I’m pulling on his hair.
He doesn’t move.
Instead, he rotates the other way and I cry out even more. My body is lying flat on the counter now, my arm draped over my eyes, which are tickled with tears.
“Oh . . . fuck,” I say through a sob.
His tongue slows down.
His fingers slide out of me.
And when he pulls away, I glance in his direction, watching him place his wet fingers in his mouth. “Upstairs. Now.”
Without even a second thought, he tugs on my hand, helps me off the counter, and leads me to his apartment.
I’m pretty sure he’s about to break me. And holy shit, I want that. I want him.
Chapter Fifteen
BRIG
I can’t fucking think straight.
My body’s humming, buzzing, ready to explode.
The guy I’ve been pining after, it’s . . . you.
Those words have been on replay since Ruth uttered them.
What the actual fuck?
She’s liked me . . . for years? And never once said a goddamn thing. I’m still trying to process that, along with the conversations we shared about this guy, the look in her eyes when she spoke about him, the hesitation toward speaking to him.
It was me.
All fucking me.
“Brig, what are we—”
I slam the door behind me and spin on her. Her eyes widen as I approach. When I reach her, I take her hand in mine and I say, “I’m out of my goddamn mind right now. I don’t know if I should fuck you against the wall or punish you for holding out on me.” Letting go of her, I push my hands through my hair. “Christ.”
I turn away and try to gain control of my emotions, but it’s damn near impossible with the taste of her still on my tongue and the smell of her wrapped around me like a warm blanket. I don’t think I’ve ever felt like this, so out of control.
Why didn’t I see it? For so long she was Ruth from Snow Roast, the girl who knew my coffee order before I even opened my mouth. And then out of nowhere, she jumps into my life with both feet, confusing me, twisting me into a ball of knots, and leaving me a panting, needy mess.
The rehearsal dinner was a goddamn nightmare to navigate. I found myself staring at Ruth every chance I got. Watching her every move, the way she fidgeted with her hands, how she licked her lips with a small pass of her tongue, or the way she glanced in my direction, her thick lashes fanning over her mysteriously dark eyes.
Eve caught on, and whenever someone asked why I was staring at Ruth, I told them because she’s been crushing on me for years. And then I asked if they knew. Of course . . . everyone did. Even my mother.
Not me though.
Nope, I was the fool who didn’t know.
And fuck, I don’t know how to feel about it. All I know is I got a taste of her and I need more. I need so much more.
I’m about to turn around when her arms wrap around me. Her front to my back. Her lips press a kiss to my back as she pulls my shirt from my pants and then slowly unbuttons my dress shirt.
I stand there, unmoving, my breath hitching with every pass of her fingers.
They tremble.
Her body lightly shakes against mine.
And I hear the sound of her teeth chattering behind me.
She’s nervous, but the only reason I don’t stop her is because of the way she’s lovingly kissing me down my back. And when my shirt is peeled off my skin and dropped to the floor, her lips find my heated, tense back.
Like reading braille, her fingers study every contour of my front, running over my abs, moving up to my pecs where she glides the tips of her fingers over my trimmed chest hair. Her thumbs run over my nipples, causing them to peak against the cool night air, only for her hands to drop down over my abs again, to my dress pants.
Surprisingly, she doesn’t hesitate. She releases my belt and then unbuttons my pants. My erection presses against the zipper. Her fingertips graze my hardened length, and I suck in a sharp breath when she unzips my pants, releasing some of the hold on my cock. My pants fall to the ground and she lightly pushes my back so I lean forward. I brace myself against the wall in front of me as I feel her bend down to help me from my shoes, socks, and pants. Her hands run up my bare legs to the waistband of my black boxer briefs.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, her fingers toying with the elastic, slipping in and out. “I’m sorry I didn’t have enough courage to tell you.”
Christ, when she says it like that . . .
“Ruth—”
“Shh,” she says just as her hand slips into my boxer briefs, gripping my cock.
“Holy . . . fuck,” I say, leaning forward, my head falling to my forearm.
In a smooth motion, she pushes my boxer briefs down my legs and I step out of them, leaving me completely naked and exposed for her eyes. Her fingers trail up the backs of my thighs, over the globe of my ass, and her warm breath tickles my shoulder blades, her hand still clutching the base of my cock.
God. This is what I’ve been denied. My Ruthie’s touch.
“It wasn’t love at first sight for me,” she says quietly and I still, holding my breath so I can try to hear her better over the pounding of my heart. She strokes her hand up and rubs her palm over the tip of my cock. “It was gradual. It was a hello, Ruthie here and there. It was the hug you gave me when you found out my parents passed. It was the teasing, the smiles you gave me in the mornings, the winks directed toward me every time you wanted me to play along while you joked with your brothers. It was the little things, Brig.”
Her hand travels down again, to the base. She kicks my legs apart, reaches between them and carefully cups my balls.
A hiss escapes past my lips. Never in my life have I been in this position, grabbed in all the best ways, but from behind, while she confesses her feelings for me. Is it so she doesn’t have to look me in the eyes? Is it easier for her this way?