Page 76 of For the Boys
Over the years, pictures of Brent in a t-shirt had hinted at the design inked onto his left pec, shoulder, and upper back. Instagram photos of him during summertime, posing with his siblings near a body of water, shirt off, revealed glimpses of feathers across his chest, but never the full picture.
The tattoo was that of an eagle in flight. The head and body of the bird rested on Brent’s deltoid while its wings spread wide across his chest and back. Its claws were outstretched, eyes narrowed, beak open as if at any moment it would emit a menacing call and swoop down, grasping some unsuspecting prey in its clutches and dragging it away. The artist had done an incredible job, the details of the bird so lifelike that Berkley half expected to feel smooth feathers instead of Brent’s skin when she ran her fingers over the lines.
She moved so she was straddling him, her dress riding up around her waist, and leaned forward to press her lips to his collarbone, where the tip of the eagle’s wing brushed against the bone. Brent inhaled sharply and reached behind her, pulling on the zipper of her dress. It fell off her shoulders, revealing her stomach and red lace bra.
Brent leaned forward and pressed open-mouthed kisses to her chest. When his nose dipped between her breasts, Berkley sat back, pushing him away.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, breathing ragged.
“I’m just…” She was unsure how to articulate what she wanted. “I have a tendency to move too fast with the physical aspect of relationships, and I don’t want that to be the case here. This is literally the second time we’ve been alone together. Can we just go slower?”
This was an accurate enough explanation but not the whole truth. The whole truth was that Berkley liked Brent, a lot. More than she cared to admit. But she couldn’t ignore the fact that his sexual exploits had been well-documented. On top of being intimidated by that, she was terrified to give that part of herself to someone again and give them the power to hurt her. It had taken her too long to be intimate with someone again after Lee had cheated on her, and obviously that relationship and its soul-crushing end was still a sore spot for Berkley.
The bottom line was she wasn’t ready for sex with Brent. Not yet. She would know when it was right, and she had to hope he would be okay with waiting.
Brent sighed and lifted Berkley off his lap so he was seated next to her, a move she knew took ridiculous self-control. When she had been straddling him moments before, his desire for her had been obvious.
“We can go as slow or as fast as you want, Berk,” he said, reaching up to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear and trailing his finger along her jaw. Shivering at the contact, she almost changed her mind. She’d be damned if she didn’t enjoy the way something as simple as a tiny touch from him drove her wild. What was it about this man that made her weak in knees everytime he so much as laid eyes on her? Why was making out with him honestly hotter than a lot of sex she’d had in the past? Denying them both what they so clearly wanted in this moment was certifiably crazy, and yet, Berkley was self-aware enough to know it was the right call.
“To be honest with you, I just want to turn on a movie and cuddle.”
“We can absolutely do that.”
“Except, I don’t have any clothes, and I’m not sleeping in this dress.”
Brent stood up and walked to his suitcase, pulling a t-shirt from it and tossing it to her. “Wear this,” he said, smiling at her.
Modesty had gone out the window with the loss of her dress, so she slipped it the rest of the way off, standing in front of him in her underwear. After slipping the t-shirt on over her head, she undid her bra and pulled it off, then crawled up the bed and slid under the comforter. She lay back and watched as he shed his dress pants; he was now only in his boxers.
“Should I put a shirt on?” he asked. “This is how I normally sleep, but if you’re uncomfortable…”
The sight of his nearly naked body in front of her almost had her reconsidering her decision not to sleep with him yet again. Years of playing hockey had turned him into the most perfect example of male athleticism Berkley had ever seen. He was broad in the shoulders, his chest tapering into a slightly more narrow waist. He had abs Berkley wanted to lick, pectorals lightly dusted with dark hair, and an ass she wanted to sink her teeth into.
“Ahh no,” she said, voice coming out hoarse. “That’s fine.”
“Berkley, I think you’re drooling,” he teased, staring down at her from the side of the bed.
Stunned, she shook her head. “You’re just really fucking hot. I knew you were, but seeing it like this”—she waved her hand at him—“is a lot.”
Brent crawled into bed next to her, gathering her up against his chest. “Well, I am a professional athlete.”
She smacked him and pulled away slightly, shifting to make herself more comfortable, ending up with her ankle hooked around his thigh, her arm around his waist, and her head on his chest, and started to drift off to sleep.
“Berk,” Brent said some time later. “I have a question.”
“What’s up?”
“I know this is totally old-fashioned and completely unnecessary, but everyone kept throwing words like boyfriend and girlfriend around tonight, and it just got me thinking that we need to have a talk about what we are and where we’re going.”
Berkley bolted upright. “What are you saying?”
“Berk, no, I’m not saying it like it’s a bad thing.” He sat up and looked her in the eye as best as he could in a room illuminated only by the television. “I guess I just want you to know that I’m in this for real. I’m not going anywhere.”
Berkley heaved a huge sigh of relief as they settled back onto the pillows. “So what was the question?”
“Huh?”
“You said you had a question for me.” Berkley tilted her head to look up at him, and he rested his forehead against hers.
