“You like my hands, don’t you, baby?”
“Love your hands… Mmmm… God… So good…” She whimpered and shivered.
Fuck, she was a goddamned drug. And Keaton was going to be addicted if he didn’t back off the candy. Fast.
Brooke opened her eyes, tipped her head back, and looked up at him, lips parted, big bright blue gaze dripping with lust. “Make me come… Need it…”
That hit went straight to his fucking vein. Keaton pushed his fingers deeper, rubbed and stroked and pinched, purposely avoiding her clit to prolong this little treasure as long as possible.
“Ah God…” She rubbed all up on him, wrapped an arm around his waist, took his tee between her teeth. “Keaton… Pleeeeeeeease…”
She was fucking delirium personified.
Maybe he’d quit tomorrow.
He was torturing her on purpose.
She probably deserved it.
God, this was an impossible situation. A situation she couldn’t even think about because of what he was doing to her. And she didn’t know how he did it. She’d touched herself; this sure as shit never happened.
He growled and pulled his hand from between her legs. Brooke’s sex clenched at his absence, and a slice of irrational panic cut through her. “No, no, no…” she whispered, breathless, pulling at him. “Come back. Come back.”
His gaze was so hot. So edgy. It probably shouldn’t thrill her, but it did. This was a whole different side of the man. And, God, she should walk away. He was right. She should have just let him go this morning.
He had the right to be angry. Worse, he was hurt. She wanted to make it better, but she couldn’t, not right now. The day had taken a physical and emotional toll on Brooke. One only Keaton could make her forget. He wanted it too. Wanted to know she wanted him. Wanted the distance and uncertainty that had built up between them over the day gone. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be here. And he wouldn’t be mad. And he wouldn’t be pulling out his wallet.
The crinkle of foil made her need surge. Made her head go light, and she greedily jerked at the button of his jeans. She’d never wanted anyone like this. Never known she could. Knowing how badly it would hurt when things went south or they both went back to opposite sides of the country, or both, made her press her face to his chest and choke out a groan of distress.
By the time his hand moved under her skirt again, she had his jeans open, her hand around the cotton-covered heat of his erection. He pushed under her panties and between her legs with swift efficiency. A flash of cold shocked her. Made her gasp and brought her head up.
He had an unopened condom packet clenched between his teeth, making her realize he’d opened one of the little packets of lube he carried along with the condoms. Then his fingers glided over her sex, the lube instantly warmed by her body and his hand. Her eyes locked on his, and rough sound came from her throat.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” Her muscles clenched and quivered. Her eyes rolled back in her head.
His other hand gripped her jaw and gave her a shake. She gasped, opened her eyes, and curled the fingers of one hand around his wrist. But he pulled away, took the condom from his mouth, and tossed it on the table before closing his fingers on her cheeks again.
“You know why I love touching you?” His eyes were so close, she almost couldn’t focus. His lashes were long, his brown eyes black in the dim light, all the angles of his face sharper with intensity. “Because of this. Because I can watch everything on your face. Watch all the pleasure you get from my touch slide through your eyes. Because I know I’m giving you that, and I can watch every…single…second of it.”
The fact that he derived such a thrill out of delivering pleasure was a wicked turn-on. How many men cared that much about a woman’s pleasure? She didn’t know any. At least not intimately.
“And because your pussy is so…fucking…perfect.”
Slow, deep slides. Shallow, stretching circles. A tug, a pinch. But nothing direct. Nothing repetitive. And nothing that would make her come. She was shaking and panting, leaning her butt against the table because her legs wouldn’t hold her up.
She whined and rocked her hips into his hand.
He laughed. He fucking laughed. Low and rough. And reduced his touch to one finger. “Tell me what you like about it.”
“You’re…so good…at it.”
A hot smile flashed over his face, and he rewarded her with a few direct, maddeningly gentle circles directly over her clit before sliding backward again and pushing inside her. God, it wasn’t near enough. “What else?”
“Naughty.”
“You like naughty?”
“With you.”