Briggs (Carolina Reapers 7)

“You could have told him that I kissed you when you were seventeen years old,” I countered.

Her eyes flew wide. “I would never!”

“Exactly.” My lips lifted into a smile. “Right or wrong, we’re both on this ship together now, Bristol. The only thing we can do is trust each other.”

She swallowed. “I trust you.”

“Good, because you might drive me up the fucking wall, but I’ll never do anything to purposefully hurt you.” My hand slid to cup her cheek, and even though I knew it was a bad idea, I let my thumb skim over her velvet-soft skin.

She leaned into my touch and closed her eyes.

The moment stretched between us, and my chest did that tightening thing again that it always seemed to do around her. The attraction between us felt like a force of nature—it wasn’t just dangerous, it was undeniable, unstoppable, and would probably leave a path of destruction in its wake.

“I designed the shirt around your tattoo,” she admitted quietly, her eyes fluttering open as she lightly gripped my wrist, holding my hand in place but not meeting my eyes.

“I figured.” A smirk titled the corner of my mouth.

She lifted her other hand, tracing the pattern on the top of the Henley where it stretched across my shoulders. The touch sparked every nerve ending on my chest and kicked my pulse up a notch.

Slowly, she brought her gaze to meet mine, and my breath caught.

Too close. She was too close, but that didn’t stop me from winding my hand around her waist and tugging her even closer. Where was my fucking judgment when it came to this woman?

“Cormac,” she whispered, glancing at my lips.

That was all it took to get me hard.

“We shouldn’t.” Shit, that came out way more like a growl than I’d intended.

She swiped her tongue over her lower lip. “It doesn’t mean anything.” Her hand rose up the back of my neck to tangle in my hair.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” I whispered. Liar. My conscience shouted a second too late, considering my mouth was already on hers.

She parted her lips, and I sank into her, kissing her hard and deep. God, yes. This was exactly what I’d been missing since Scythe. Her. Bristol.

She whimpered when my hands lowered to the backs of her thighs, and I lifted her high against me as I backed away from her desk, careful not to trip over the coffee table. Our mouths slanted and took, stroked and gave as I sank to the couch, settling her knees on either side of me. Her dress rode up, and soon my hands were on her bare skin, working farther up her thighs.

She settled in my lap, and—fuck me—I could feel how hot she was through the fabric of her underwear. Her tongue licked into my mouth, and I groaned. The dress rose to her hips, and my hands weren’t far behind it.

“Bristol.” Her name escaped my lips. Was it a plea? A demand? Fuck if I knew.

“Doesn’t mean anything,” she said against my mouth, separating us only long enough to yank my shirt over my head.

“Doesn’t mean anything,” I agreed, throwing the fabric to the ground and burying my hands in her curls as our mouths collided again and again.

Then she rocked her hips over the hard ridge of my dick, and I moaned.

“Is that door locked?” I asked. Fuck restraint. Fuck being the better man, or even the bitter one right now. I wanted her.

“No one will come in,” she promised, skimming her lips down my jaw. “I told Angela I’d meet her out at the party, and believe me, she knows you’re here. She won’t come knocking.”

I really should lock—

She set her mouth to my throat, and every logical thought flew out the window.

I brought her mouth back to mine and kissed her breathless as I palmed her hip with a hand and rolled my hips at the exact angle to rub against her clit.

“Cormac!” she gasped.

“Fuck, I can feel how hot you are, Bristol.” Another rock, and she moaned. “Are you wet for me, too?”

She pulled back so a breath separated our lips and lifted a brow in challenge. “Why don’t you find out?”

This woman was going to haul me to the very edge of my sanity.

The kiss turned carnal, my tongue thrusting against hers in a steady rhythm, fucking her mouth while my hand slipped between her thighs and cupped her over the scrap of silk she called panties.

“Bristol,” I groaned, feeling just how soaked she was. “You’re drenched. You want me.”

She gasped, then nipped my lower lip. “Wanting you has never been the issue, Cormac. Only having you.”

I gripped her hair in my fist and tugged just enough so I could look into her eyes. They were glazed with lust and need, just like I felt. “Do you know how hard it was to watch you all day?” I asked, pressing the heel of my hand against her clit.