Page 57 of Brat Baby
The whole thing is filling up a well inside of me that I’m not even aware is empty.
My throat swells with the ache of tears, the feeling traveling down into my chest, the weight of the emotion so heavy that I’m sure my chest has caved in. Even now, Darcy’s hand is still working the pencil across image Emery, adding more detail and shade to the back of the couch.
The urge to be wrapped up in his arms is so strong, I don’t even pause to consider not taking what I want. Still wrapped up in my fabric dress, I step forward, pausing right next to his drawing arm, and turn to face him.
Darcy doesn’t pause.
I don’t think he has even noticed me.
His pupils are blown wide, like he has entered some sort of trance state, completely lost to his art.
Staring at him only makes my chest ache even more. Those dark, thick, straight eyebrows are pulled together in concentration, and the lack of direct light casts shadows all over his angular face. For the first time, I notice that his beard is longer, a little unkempt, and there are deeper hollows beneath his cheekbones that weren’t there the last time I saw him.
My fallen Angel.
Is he hurting as badly as I am?
I shift again, until the forearm that is raised up to the canvas brushes against my stomach. His movement stills, and like a marionette, his head turns toward me. Darcy looks right at me, but I’m not sure if he sees me. His gaze is still lost from thepresent, seeing things that I can only ever hope to see in my own art.
With intention, I raise my hand to cup his cheek, keeping the motion smooth and even, so as not to startle him. His eyes slide shut, and he tips his head into my palm before turning and pressing a lingering kiss there.
I smooth my hand along his jaw, his beard tickling over the warmth of his kiss, until my fingers thread through his hair. He turns to stare back up at me, mouth parted the smallest amount.
“Princess…”
Hearing his nickname for me snaps the last of any restraint I have, and I throw the plan away altogether. I let go of the fabric, the chill of the air rolling down my body with the flutter of the fabric, and step closer to him. Diving my hands into his hair, I drag the elastic out as I lower my head to press our lips together.
Darcy doesn’t hesitate to join me. There is a clatter of graphite hitting the floor, and then the arm that is pinned between us slips free and wraps around me. His forearm presses into my lower back, fingers digging into my waist as his other hand slides up my ribs and cups the underside of my breast.
I moan into the kiss, opening my mouth and allowing his tongue to own mine. Heat streaks from my nipple to my clit as his thumb swipes back and forth over my nipple, the intensity building until I can’t fight the need to grind against something.
As I whimper into his mouth, Darcy seems to understand my problem. Without breaking our kiss, he trails his hands across my skin until he is able to grab both hips, tightening his grip until it hurts, then he lifts me up and over his lap.
Instinctively, I clutch at his shoulders and raise my legs to help. As I settle into place, straddling his denim-covered lap, I immediately start to grind against him, needing to soothe the heat that is consuming my every thought.
My toes only barely reach the floor, and frustration causes my eyes to burn behind my closed lids. But, again, I don’t have to worry. Darcy uses the hold he has on my hips to help me grind up and down his hard length, the material-covered ridge of his zipper adding to both our pleasure.
Fuck, I wish his dick was out. Just the thought of sinking down onto it makes my pussy tighten, and I moan, losing the rhythm of our rocking bodies.
He withdraws from my mouth to press kisses along my cheekbone and jaw, then continues down my neck until he pauses right over my pulse. I draw in a sharp breath as the kiss turns to a suck, then teeth biting down hard enough to leave a mark.
Darcy moves his hands so that one is pressing into my lower back, encouraging the thrusting of my hips, his own hips coming up to meet our tempo. My blood heats and my core feels heavy with need. His other hand grips the back of my neck, holding me in place as he spreads out the mark, moving farther down toward my collarbone.
Fuck. Yes.
Mark me.
Make me yours.
The room echoes with my pants and groans, my whispered pleas for more, for Darcy to make me feel good, begging to come.
Suddenly the fingers at my neck shove up into my hair and clutch it so tightly my scalp lights up with pain, and fuck, that does it for me.
The heat that has been building, sitting right at the precipice, explodes over the edge. My insides shatter like a blue and purple firework, high in the night sky. Teeth clamp down on a nipple and my eyes slam open, unseeing as another wave of pleasure sweeps through me. My throat feels like I’m screaming, but I can’t hear the sound.
The thrusting of our hips together becomes too sensitive, and my clit twitches. Darcy lowers my head to his chest, and I flop into him, my face, lips, fingers, and toes all tingling like they’ve had reduced blood flow. I’m too sated to give a fuck, though.
Beneath me, Darcy bends to the side and moves several times before his hands go to my ass, something scratchy held in one palm. “Wrap your legs around me.”
