She laughed but gave him the we’re-adults-we-have-to-be-serious-sometimes look and repeated, “Right?”
He sighed, and his smile lost some sparkle. “I guess.”
She stretched up and kissed him. “Now go clean up so I can officially undress you.”
Keaton was damn glad he didn’t have to work today, because he’d be fuckin’ useless.
He turned his head away from the sight of the sun rising over the Colorado River through the French doors of Brooke’s suite and focused on the strands of her hair he was twirling round and round his finger. Rich, chocolate brown, with an occasional streak of deep red. As soft as silk.
He was propped against the headboard, and Brooke had fallen asleep halfway on top of him, which gave him an incredible view. He could never get enough of the sight of her body from shoulders to ass. Of the white sheets tangled around her, framing her creamy skin. Of her chocolate hair spilling over her shoulder and down her back. Of her head resting on his belly, one rosy cheek, plump, pink lips, and long dark lashes accentuated in the morning light.
She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen in his entire fucking life.
He’d already taken so many pictures of her, his phone had run out of storage. He wanted some way to capture the night.
“Dammit,” he whispered, dropping his head back against the headboard and squeezing his eyes shut.
He didn’t want to go home.
No, that wasn’t right. He did want to go home. He didn’t want to leave Brooke. And who in the fuck expected that to happen?
He sighed and rubbed his eyes, shifting his hips to alleviate the nagging morning hard-on that obviously hadn’t gotten the memo that he’d had more sex last night than he’d had in the last three months.
And every moment of last night had all been a-freaking-mazing. He couldn’t say that about any of the sex over the last three months.
A phone rang, jerking Keaton from his thoughts. He sat forward, searching for the source, to silence it so Brooke wouldn’t wake. But her head popped up before the second ring.
“What time is it?” she asked, her words slurred, voice groggy.
“Five thirty.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” She half crawled, half slid across Keaton to reach for the phone. “Crazy. Fucking. Bitch.” Then answered, “Yes?”
She listened for a m
oment. “You can call— I understand that, but you’re just telling me instead of—”
She hung her head, exhaled, rubbed her eyes. “Of course.”
Keaton stroked her back, following the curve of her spine that he’d been admiring while she slept. So warm. So soft. So beautiful.
With other women, it was one-and-done. But Brooke kept refilling his tank, making him need her again and again.
“Mmm-hmm,” she said into the phone.
She sighed and rolled her head, putting his erect cock directly in her line of sight. And even just having her eyes on him made his ache intensify. Brooke’s hand swept that direction, her small, warm palm stroking his thick length like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Before he knew it, Keaton found himself focusing on her nicely shaped, nicely toned ass, then dipping his hand between her legs and brushing his fingers across the sensitive skin at the tops of her thighs, teasing her until she lifted and wiggled.
“Yes,” she said, a little breathless now.
He rewarded her with a fingering treat that made her cover her mouth with her free hand.
His cock, standing at full attention now, drew her gaze, and she angled that direction so she could slide her free hand over his length. Sparks shot through his cock.
When he flinched, her bright eyes sparked, and she shifted position, sliding her belly down between his thighs. The little smile that turned her lips told him she knew he was hungry for her mouth. He’d become addicted to the way she gave head within two minutes of the moment she took his cock between her lips. Brooke was generous and erotic, and she loved it. And he craved her mouth the way she craved his fingers.
With her gaze on Keaton’s, she took hold of his cock like a joystick and pulled gently, drawing his sac up until she could take one side into her mouth.