Page 35 of Peaches

Never mind. There will be no watching because this place doesn’t have a damn T.V.

Brett picks up both my suitcases without saying a word, begins to walk over to the “bedroom” area of the space and then proceeds to set them down on the celibate throne. I’m too caught up in my own world to notice and care, and still taking in the rest of the space. The kitchen in the far right, the dining room table at myimmediateright, and if I look past the bed, I can see a door on the left that leads to what I believe must be the bathroom. If it’s anything like the space out here, I know it’s just as rich and inviting.

The space is perfectly decorated with the highest most posh in-style taste you can imagine. Like really in style. As in Joanna Gains herself handpicked every last little knickknack adorning each and every disgustingly (because it’s that damn perfect) shelf. And with the money the Knight family has, I wouldn’t be surprised if Chip and Joanna did do this renovation.

My eyes fall back on Brett and I watch as he starts to unzip my bags and open them, obviously attempting to help me unpack. An alarm goes off inside me. A fearful anticipation of what he might find.

There are no tampons, I can assure you. Having just past that time of the month. Thank God. But, if I’m totally forced to tell the truth, (mostly because it looks as if I have no choice once he finds out), I did let myself pack a stack of condoms and a few naughty little bits. A girl can’t ever be too prepared after all, am I right?

“I got it!” I quickly announce as my feet fly across the room and take me to his side a little too late as he produces a red, lace - mind you crotchless - teddy.

“Holy fuck, Peaches! Is this what you sleep in at night?”

I snatch the item out of his hands quickly and close the suitcase. Grabbing it out of his way, I sidestep around him, drop the bag to the floor and start to unpack it into the top dresser drawer.

“Looks like your peach isn’t the only thingwet, creamy, and stickyin the middle of the night.”

He lets out a hum of approval and I close my eyes and brace myself against the top of the dresser, a small blush suddenly flushing my face. Shit, I really didn’t want him to see that.

“God, your thighs must taste like heaven, too, seeing as there’s no place left for your peachjuiceto run.”

I push the top drawer to the dresser closed and turn around quickly, ready to square off with Romeo across the room. “Is that all you think about,Brettly?” His eyebrows raise in warning. “Sex? Because unlike you, the rest of us don’t let our head,” I say, as I look down towards his crotch, “run our life.”

“Says the girl who writes romance?”

I roll my eyes and let out a sigh. “You’re hopeless.”

“Hopeless?” He questions, as he takes a step closer and my stomach flips with the worst case of butterflies I have ever known.

I look to the front door, as if someone could possibly arrive out of nowhere and save me from - a fate I must admit I’m dying to meet. But I know if I want to survive this, our very awkward “boss-employee/fake engagement” arrangement, I better pull up my big girl panties and meet him at his own game. That is, if I don’t totally let him win first. I look back in his eyes and feel myself slightly cave. Fuck, because honestly, it’s such an enticing way to loose.

“Damn right I’m hopeless,” he continues. “Desperate actually. For you to put that thing on, sit in that chair,” he says, gesturing to the side, and I look quickly, my eyes taking in a high back, emerald green, velvet masterpiece in the corner. I look back at him as he takes a final step towards me and hold my breath. “Spread your legs,” he whispers, as he takes a strand of my hair and brushes it behind my ear.Oh, sweet Jesus.“And show me, just how you like to pleasure your soaking wet peach, Grace.”

Holy fuck!

The visual has me closing my eyes and attempting to shut my legs tighter than ever before, if that’s possible while standing.

“Show me what you like, and how you like it,” his raspy voice breathes as it feathers against my lips. I open my eyes to find his staring straight back into mine less than two damn inches away. As in, if I lean forward, our noses will touch. Hell, our lips would crash together making me just as hopeless, or as Brett would saydesperate,like Juliet in that stupid Shakespeare play!

He leans forward slightly, caging me in as his strong hands brace himself against the dresser behind me.

“That surprises me,” I suddenly say, finding figurative female balls I didn’t know I had. “I thought dominants were supposed toknowhow I’d like it.But you want me to teach you?” I brashly sass which earns me a grin from the Dom in question.

He licks his lips as his eyes lower and he watches me bite my own. His torso grinds forward, pushing me further against the wooden dresser behind me, pinning me tight against his body, and making me crash into him as I feel his - holy fuck, large, so fucking large - cock straining between us before he grinds once more into my lower stomach.

“A true dominant knows his job is to please you, Grace. I have no doubt in my mind. I could. And. I. Will. But watching you,” he whispers, as his hand snakes around my back and he pulls me from the dresser.

“Memorizing your every moan with each and every touch of your hand,” his head lowers, and I swear he’s about to kiss me. Let’s be honest, I’d totally let him right now, but his face falls to the crook in my neck as he slowly blows against my collarbone, and his left-hand snakes between us and rubs against the top of my trembling thigh.

I let out a gasp, a moan, (oh fuck, he succeeded), and then feel his smile against my goose-pimpled skin as he does just that, memorizes with a groan falling from his own lips as I try to fight off another advance once his hand begins to raise higher. But all that does is just make him grab ahold of me tighter. Deliciously tighter.

“Makes me attentive. Observant. A generous lover, Peaches.”

His hand on my thigh teasingly inches forward as I feel his hot breath on my skin once again. I surrender and find myself putty in his hands. Or what is it we romance authors say?A pool of desire at his feet.More like a rushing river of raging hormones. But as his mouth grazes my neck, the tip of his tongue licks up my sensitive flesh to my ear, I push him back harshly and try and steady my breathing.

“What? You don’t like your men attentive?” he teases as I fall out of his arms and gain the much-needed distance I desire. The distance that separates me from the love-struck Juliets of the world.

I stare him in the eyes and force myself to gather what little working brain cells I have left in order to put up a guard that will serve to protect me and my rabid hormonal tendencies.

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