Page 52 of Fighting for You
I grasp the headboard just behind Brooks’ head, my knuckles quickly turning white. Is this what it’s supposed to feel like? Thispull, this connection. We’re as close as two people can get and still my heart beats out formore, more, more.
“Goddamn,I feel like I was made for this pussy, Freckles. What the fuck are you doing to me?” he says as he thrusts up into me, fingers digging into my hips, lips on one of my nipples. He hits a spot inside me sending a deep, pleasurable ache all the way down to my toes. I can’t find words, just a groan, propelled from somewhere in my chest.
“Oh my God, Brooks. Yes, yes. Brooks.” I’m so close, so so close.
I turn my head, and my eyes catch on a long mirror in the corner of the room. I hadn’t noticed it before, but now I can’t tear my eyes away. The angle is perfect, even with the low light of the single lamp, I can see everything we’re doing. Brooks’ corded arms holding me in place. His legs, sprinkled with just the right amount of hair and a couple of thigh tattoos—the sight of which makes my core clench around his cock—tensing with each thrust. My own body moving in a way I’ve never witnessed before, curls wild and skin flushed from my décolletage all the way up to my cheeks.
“Fuck yes, Freckles. Look at yourself. You’re fucking stunning riding my cock.” I catch Brooks’ eyes in the mirror and hold. It’s another two swirls of my hips, and I’m coming again. My pussy pulsing around his cock, my breath stuttering in the onslaught.
Brooks follows close behind, and I’m treated to the full volume of his release, unlike earlier. I let go of the headboard and lay myself over him as he wraps his arms around me, planting small kisses on any parts of me he can reach. We lie like that until our breathing calms, his cum dripping out of me as his cock softens inside of me.
Hayes would be so disappointed I didn’t use a condom after all the bananas he desecrated to teach me safe sex.
The thought brings me back online, and I extricate myself and hurry to the bathroom down the hall without a word. I pee and wipe up, surprised to not see any blood. I guess I lost my hymen a few dildos ago.
After washing my hands, I look in the mirror. I look the same. Well, I look thoroughly debauched and sated, but the same. Not sure what I was expecting really.
I don’t feel the same though. I feel like I might be falling for the amazing man I left in the other room. I also feel like I will never get enough of him, what he can do to me, what I can do to him. There are so many things I want to try, and the images of all we can get up to have me clenching my thighs together.
What’s the average refractory period for a guy?I’m not sure I ever learned that in nursing school.
I make my way back to Brooks’ bedroom and find him sitting at the edge of the bed, still naked but cleaned up. He looks up at me, slight worry written all over his face.
“You okay?” he asks quietly, a slight rasp in his voice. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” I hesitate for just a moment, wondering if he knows I was a virgin, wondering if he’s upset. “I know I’m bigger than… most, and I’d hate myself if I ever hurt you.”
His sweet tone melts my heart. He’s so different from what I’ve heard about him, and I can’t imagine how people ever describe him as an asshole. I rush over to him, molding my mouth to his.
“No, you didn’t hurt me, Killer,” I say when I come up for air, skimming my hands over his short hair. “But I do have a question,” I start, finding his gaze before continuing, “when will you be ready for round two?”
His chuckle is wicked as he grasps my hips, and we both tumble to the rumpled sheets once again.
Chapter Twenty-One
Brooks
Three times. Margot Mason—the woman I thought I’d only get to be with in my dreams—let me fuck her three times. The last eighteen hours feel like I’m living someone else’s life. There’s no way someone as perfect as her wants to be with me, but as I open my eyes, I see she’s right beside me in bed. Inmybed.
Our legs are still tangled up from last night, and she’s tracing her fingers along the intricate lines of ink covering my skin.
“Morning, baby,” I say, and her eyes jolt to my face, her smile so bright it could light up the room on its own.
“Morning.” Her voice is soft, still sleepy sounding, but she looks content simply lying in bed with me. I push the thought away, trying not to get too attached to the ideas plaguing my mind.
“How’re you feeling?”Stupid fucking question. Why would I ask that?
Her brows furrow for just a moment before she says, “I’ve never felt better. You?”
I pull my eyes away from her, and my brain latches onto her words, playing them over and over. Surely, they aren’t true. There’s no way being with me is the best she’s ever felt. I don’t argue though, attempting to not ruin the moment for once in my life.
Before I can consider an answer to her question, she hooks a finger under my jaw, tilting my face to hers. “You okay?”
I nod my head, biting the inside of my cheek as I do. “Yeah, Freckles, I’m good.” The flash of hurt in her eyes at my lie twists my stomach with guilt. I’m just in my head. She doesn’t need to know all the shit going on in there. She doesn’t push the subject and instead looks down at my arms again, her fingers going back to tracing the tattoos.
“Did they hurt?” she asks as goosebumps litter my flesh at her light touch.
I gaze down to the ink she’s questioning. “Some of them but not as much as you’d think.”
“No?”
