Rock Hard Neighbor

I didn’t want to wake up alone.

“Goodbye, Amanda,” he said.

Then, Brian took his leave.

I curled up on the couch as I listened to his steps retreat. No matter how badly I wanted him, I knew I had to take it slow. He did go through a marriage he regretted and a divorce that probably drove him to these mountains in the first place. He was probably still nursing a broken heart and had plenty on his plate with Lanie. No matter how quickly I wanted to have him, I knew I had to take it slow with him. For all his muscles and calluses on his hands from hard work, he was in a very delicate place.

And I needed to understand that, no matter how much him leaving hurt.

CHAPTER 10

Brian

I rolled over and woke up to the smell of Amanda still tucked away in my beard. It was an intoxicating smell. One I’d lost myself in yesterday. I laid there and closed my eyes, remembering the smooth movements her body made. She had practically begged for me. Her body had trembled underneath my fingertips. It had been years since I’d felt that powerful. The way she came against my lips not once, but twice, swelled me with a pride I hadn’t allowed myself to enjoy in almost a decade.

Ever since I’d first gotten married.

A knock at the cabin door pulled me from my thoughts. My feet hit the floor as I pulled a shirt on over my head. Lanie was still sleeping, and I was thankful for that because if Lanie’s father was at my front door again, I was going to beat the shit out of him.

But instead, I opened the door and found Amanda.

She was standing there in a sexy little number. Tight jeans, ballet flats, and a sweater that was hanging off her shoulder. Her hair was tossed up into a bun and earrings dangled from her ears, and her cheeks and nose were rosy from the cold morning mountain air.

“I brought cinnamon rolls,” she said.

I looked down at the pan of piping hot rolls and grinned. The looked delicious and I knew the sugary smell would wake Lanie up soon. I stepped to the side and allowed her to come in, my eyes studying the sway of her hips.

I didn’t even think she was trying to be seductive; she just naturally was.

“Where do you want me to put them?” she asked.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I said, motioning toward the counter.

“It’s not a problem, really. I figured after what you told me yesterday, you could use a break from making breakfast.”

Her eyes fell on mine, and I could feel the tension growing between us.

“Would you like me to get us some milk with these?” she asked.

“I can get that,” I said. “You stay put.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Because I hear Lanie stirring.”

“Cimmamom?” Lanie asked.

“Lanie?” Amanda asked.

I watched as Lanie’s face lit up as she came around the corner. My niece threw herself at Amanda, wrapping her small little arms around her neck. The smile that grew on Amanda’s cheeks warmed my gut. The way she cradled Lanie in her arms, delicately but protectively, struck a chord deep in my soul.

“Good morning, beautiful,” Amanda said. “How did you sleep?”

“Good. You want cimmamom?” Lanie asked, pronouncing it only as her three-year-old self could.

“I most certainly do. Would you like a cinnamon roll?”

“Two!” Lanie said.

“Two cinnamon rolls? I don’t know, we might want to ask Uncle Brian,” Amanda said.

“Pleeeeeeease?” Lanie asked.

“You can have one to start, and if you want another afterward you can have it,” I said.

“Yes! Sit by me, Amana.”

I watched the girls sit at the table as I poured Lanie a glass of milk. I started coffee brewing for both Amanda and me, knowing I sure as hell could use it. I put a plate in front of both Amanda and Lanie, then I watched as my niece quickly grabbed a cinnamon roll and shoved it into her mouth.

“Brian?” Amanda said.

“Yeah?” I asked.

“Could I bother you for a fork and a knife?”

Furrowing my brow, I pulled out the silverware Amanda asked for. I handed it to her across the table, watching her as the scent of coffee filled the room. She speared a cinnamon roll and put it on her plate, then proceeded to cut it up with her knife. I watched her curiously as she took bites of it with her fork, her lips wrapping around the silverware effortlessly.

I could feel all the blood rushing to my cock at the sight of it.

“Do you eat everything with a fork and a knife?” I asked.

“Yeah. Just a habit from my childhood,” she said. “My grandmother was a stickler for manners.”

“Ah. Old school.”

“You have no idea,” she said, giggling.

Her laughter was nice, and I felt a lightness spread through my chest at the sound of it.