“You can touch me. Anywhere you’d like.”
When her gaze jumped to his, he winked.
The ball bounced in her court. They hadn’t so much as kissed, yet Brooke knew if she put her hands on him, something would happen between them tonight. Her body craved him while her mind warned against getting involved with an alpha biker. How could she every hold the attention of a man like him, even for one night, when she couldn’t hold her husband’s? A man more potent, powerful, and dangerous than her husband could have ever hoped to be. A man who’d committed crimes, served time, and had a mountain of baggage. Despite the field of red flags, Curly drew her with a compelling force she’d never experienced and didn’t fully understand.
She had no intention of ever tying herself to a man again. Would never give a man power over her money, her friendships, her life, her heart. Just the thought of it made her sick to her stomach. But she was also forty-one years old and had never had a hot and heavy affair. She’d never felt explosive chemistry with a man like she did with Curly. Never felt the kind of sexual satisfaction novelists wrote about.
The intense desire bordered on need. As though she’d crumble if he didn’t touch her. So against all her mind’s sensible arguments, she traced the angel wings with her finger.
The moment her hand brushed his skin, he sucked in a harsh breath. Though inked in only black, they were done with thin lines giving them the most delicate of appearances. Every detail was perfect as though whoever tattooed this knew if was vitally important to him. His skin was smooth and warm beneath her finger. She wanted to press the other nine to him as well and soak up all that strong heat.
“Is this for Joy?” she asked in a low voice as she rubbed the halo between the wings.
He covered her hand with his, pressing her palm to his chest. The strong, rapid beat of his heart fluttered beneath her fingers. She lifted her gaze and met the darkened swirl of Curly’s eyes.
“Yes. Along with the name, the halo has the date she died.”
So many words danced on the tip of her tongue. How sorry she was for what he’d endured. How tragic the loss of a child’s life was and also the loss of so many years of his life. But there’d be time for sorrow and comfort that later. Right then, beneath the stars and twinkling lights, she couldn’t disrupt the magic brewing between them.
Curly lifted her hand off his chest and with his gaze locked on hers, pressed a long kiss to her palm. His tongue snuck out, tickling the skin, making her gasp. Then he took a step closer and kissed her wrist.
His broad frame stretched her legs even wider.
Next, his lips landed on her forearm, then the crook of her elbow, the sensitive skin of her upper arm, her shoulder…
Everywhere he made contact a spark of electricity buzzed along her nerve endings.
Brooke lifted her chin a fraction, inviting him to continue to her neck.
He hummed his approval then slid his tongue along her collar bone, drawing a shocked squeak from her. She curled her trembling fingers around the edge of the pool, holding on for dear life.
He kept going, kissing his way up her neck to her chin. Goosebumps erupted all over her body and she held her breath, afraid she’d miss something spectacular if she breathed.
After one final peck to the tip of her nose, he lined up their mouths and paused only a fraction of an inch away. He gripped the outside of her thighs and his eyes sparkled with roguish delight.
“Yes?” he asked in a whisper.
Finally, Brooke released the breath she’d been holding as she nodded. “Yes.”
She’d barely gotten the word out when he swallowed it with his mouth. His lips crashed against hers, hungry and hot. She opened for him, wanting everything he was willing to give. They groaned together as their tongues teased and played. The taste of the dark stout he’d drunk at the bar lingered, making her crave more of his flavor.
As he attacked her mouth like he was starving, his hands flexed against her thighs. She wanted them to reach behind her. She wanted to feel them gripping her ass and grinding her into him. But she’d never ask for it. She walked through life confident and sure thanks to years of therapy, but one area where she hadn’t conquered her insecurities was the bedroom.
Years of being told she was boring, unskilled, and unattractive had her afraid to truly let go. She’d worried about how she looked, if Evan was enjoying himself, if she was doing things right, if he was sleeping with someone else. Having an orgasm, or even enjoying the sex became impossible because her head never shut up and let her focus on the moment.