I fixed the lighting in the room before I got back into bed with her because I couldn’t bear not being able to at least see a little bit. I opened the blinds on the wall of windows so the city lights would illuminate my bedroom. I never did that because it was too much light for me to sleep comfortably, but sleep wasn’t really on my agenda at the moment. I needed some light so I could see Brooke as I made her come for me . . . all—night—long.
SHE really did have the most beautiful tits in the world. The most stunning pair I’d ever met, hands down. Their shape was like a peach, perfectly round with just the slightest upward tilt at the nipples. I’m talking Victoria’s Secret lingerie–model perfection, but all-natural just the way God had made her.
The show she was giving me right now was probably doing permanent damage to my corneas, but I didn’t care. If the last sight my eyes ever saw on this earth was her gorgeous tits bouncing in my face while she rode my cock, then I’d be the happiest goddamn blind man on the planet with that beautiful image to comfort me.
I held one soft breast in each hand and pinched the tips at the same time just to hear the sexy gasp of pleasure I knew she would make. She squeezed her inner muscles around my cock in response, and I knew I was going to fucking go over the edge again. But not until I took her along with me.
I got my fingers between us and worked her slippery nub until I felt another squeeze gripping tight around my cock. “Say my name when you come, baby, I want to hear it.”
Her eyes looked like liquid golden drops in the darkened room—so beautiful—wanton, wildly free as she reached the start of her climax.
“Caaaaa-leb.” It was a shouted whisper, if there can be such a thing. Not loud—because it was softly formed—but something I would have heard her say clearly from across a noisy room. Because she was saying it to me . . . in a moment of total intimacy and complete trust, as we reached the peak together. I pumped everything I had left in me into her, our eyes locked on to one another as we rode it out. There weren’t words to describe it.
She collapsed down on top of me, and I could feel her heart pounding against my chest. Mine was pounding, too. Our hearts just pounded into each other until things settled down and I could think. Thinking was hard, and my brain was exhausted. I wanted not to think, actually. But like the old saying goes, “don’t think of a pink elephant”—and then that’s exactly what your brain delivers up to you on a steaming plate. For me the pink elephant was the question of what she meant to me, and what I wanted from her. I don’t think I consciously knew, as only my subconscious was in the know there.
I rolled us to the side and worked on dealing with the condom. The fuckin’ things were a pain, and I suddenly had an intense distaste for using them with Brooke. Another first for me. I wondered if I should be keeping a tally of my new philosophy on life where she was concerned. We could talk about it later I decided. Right now I wanted her breathing against me as I held her.
She’d already fallen asleep, her head on my pillow, my heart in her hands. I kissed her forehead and stilled as I thought about how right this actually felt. Hadn’t known I was missing anything. Hadn’t known it was possible for someone to steal your heart without even knowing they’d done it. Hadn’t known I needed her. I whispered the words I’d never said before to a woman who wasn’t related to me.
“I love you.”
THE daylight streaming through the windows woke me when I reached for her, but she’d gone. I hoped she was still in the house, though, or I was going to go full-on panic attack mode. I inhaled deeply. Something smelled very good. Bacon? Was that frying bacon coming from the kitchen? Impossible—but maybe not? I made a quick stop to take a piss and brush my teeth. And drank a glass of water because I was insanely thirsty. I pulled on the sweats from last night and didn’t waste another second fucking around before searching out my Brooke and the delicious smells.
She was cooking breakfast.
In my kitchen.
For us to share.
I just watched her silently, hoping she wouldn’
t see me for a moment or two, so I could enjoy the vision of the woman I loved cooking for me the morning after giving me the most amazing night I’d ever experienced in my life.
The flannel pajamas and the socks were back. She’d braided her hair again, too. Brooke was a busy girl as she divided her attention between scrambling eggs, turning bacon, and toasting bread. I could have watched her for an hour and been content.
The curves of her perfect ass were shaped by the fabric of her pajamas as she moved side to side, working between the food prep. I remembered how it felt to have that sweet ass cradled in my hands as we fucked in the bathroom last night. I really hadn’t intended to start us there, so that’s why I moved us to the bed as soon as I physically could. I’d lost control is all. Just desperately, fucking crazy-out-of-my-mind to have her, to know what I was doing.
She hadn’t complained or seemed to mind. She had been one hundred percent on board with everything.
She’d also shared a lot of information about her past last night, from which my head was still reeling.
I would have James find out the details on her husband. She’d mentioned his criminal family and I needed to know the story there. Marcus—the insane sociopath who’d hurt her—was hopefully roasting nicely in hell right about now. It was good he was dead—that way I didn’t have to kill him and spend the rest of my life in prison.
I switched out that thought to something much better—and that was the number four.
Four times last night. My personal record for an eight-hour span of time. I was goddamn proud of myself, too. I was probably on the verge of severe dehydration, though. I should drink some more water.
“Good morning, Caleb.” Oh, that fucking gorgeous voice. It was as if it sang to me every time she spoke.
“Good morning, beautiful.” I came up behind her and carefully wrapped an arm around her shoulders and the other around her waist. “How did you know I was here?”
“I could feel your presence. It’s quite powerful, you know.”
“Hmm . . . is that a good thing?” I asked with my lips at the shell of her ear.
“Yes indeed, with you it is,” she said as she reached a hand up to my face. “I hope it’s okay I’m cooking in your kitchen. I figured it was a good idea to familiarize myself since I have to design a new one.”
I frowned at the thought, realizing I didn’t like her reference to the job. I didn’t want her in here just because I’d hired her to do a job; I wanted her cooking because she sought it out—after a smoking hot night with her man. I had changed roles on her without ever asking, though. I now wanted to be her man, not her boss. For the first time, it dawned on me I might have made a mistake in hiring her.