It Happened One Summer (It Happened One Summer 1)

Come back to earth, Piper.

“Wait, I was . . .” She pointed at his erection. “You were—”

“Don’t worry about me,” he rasped, dragging her to the edge of the table. “Open your thighs and let me see it, Piper.”

Her inner walls clenched, delighting in his bluntness. “But—”

“You think I’m going to get sucked off and leave town for two weeks? Not going to happen. You’re getting off, baby, or nobody is getting off.”

As if on autopilot, her thighs squeaked wide on the table. Oh, this wasn’t good. She didn’t even know which part of her was in command. Her head, her heart, her lady business. Or maybe they all were, three bitches hitting the switches of her control panel. She only knew Brendan needed to stop revealing positive sides of himself.

Now they were adding generous to the mix?

The hem of her delicate dress in his boat captain’s hands made her whimper. He lifted it, and God only knew what he was seeing. Her thong was sheer to begin with, but she’d never been this wet in her ever-loving life. Not to mention, his impatient hands on her butt had tugged it askew.

He stared hard at her juncture, the grip on her knees flexing, a curse issuing unsteadily from his mouth. “Yeah, I have to be an idiot leaving you without my attention for two weeks.”

She panted. “Are you calling me high maintenance?”

“Are you denying it?” He tugged aside the strip of material shielding her core, which thankfully she’d waxed clean as a whistle right before leaving LA. “Fuck me. You can be as high maintenance as you want, honey. But I’m the only one who does the maintenance.” He ran his thumb down the seam of her sex. “Understood?”

Piper nodded, as if in a trance.

What was the use of saying no? At least this one verbal agreement was about sex. Nothing emotional. And she wasn’t going to pretend like someone in this town might come along and interest her even a fraction of the amount that Brendan did. She might have to travel pretty far to find that, come to think of it.

His lips ghosted up her inner thigh, blunt fingers hooking in the sides of her panties. “Lift up,” he rumbled, nipping at her sensitive skin with his teeth. “Want them off.”

Oh great. His voice could get even deeper? It resonated all the way up to her clit, and she fell back on her elbows, inching her hips up enough for Brendan to peel the thong down her legs. She watched this man, who grew more exciting by the moment, expecting him to drop the underwear on the floor. He wrapped the thin black material around his shaft instead, pressing his mouth and nose up against her wetness, groaning as he choked himself up and down in a tight fist.

“Holy . . .” Piper breathed, momentarily blacking out.

“See this, baby?” He rubbed his mouth side to side, parting the damp folds of her femininity, that hand jerking roughly between his thighs. “You’re still getting me off, too.”

When had her back hit the table?

One second she was looking down at Brendan’s head, the next she was staring wide-eyed up at the ceiling. Brendan’s tongue snaked down slowly through the valley of her sex, and her fingers clawed their way into his hair, the move involuntary, but if he stopped, if he stopped, she was going to die.

“Good, Piper. Pull me in tight. Show me how bad you want my tongue.”

No no no. His voice was like sandpaper now. Could she come from that baritone alone?

“Brendan.” She lifted her legs, hooked them over his shoulders, earning a growl, another rough jerk of her hips to the edge of the table. “Please, please. Please.”

She’d never begged for anything sexual in her life. Especially not oral. Men always made it seem like they were doing a woman a favor. Or maybe she’d just been detached and projecting an explanation that would keep her that way. She couldn’t remain detached now, and this . . . oh, it was definitely not a hardship for Brendan—and he let her know it. His forearm came down on her hips, pinning them to the table, and he growled into that second lick, dragging the tip over her clit, teasing it, the rippling flex of his shoulder telling Piper that his hand was moving feverishly just out of sight. With the use of her panties.

He was the most consistent man she’d ever met, and she thanked God for that now because he sealed his upper lip to the very top of her slit, his tongue never quitting or changing pace. It was perfect, perfect, lavishing her swelling clit with friction and pressure, and she was actually going to get there because of it. Oh my God, she was going to have an orgasm. Like a real, authentic orgasm. She wasn’t going to fake it to stroke his ego. This was happening.