Release Read online

  The movie instigates a conversation about other actors we like, during which Brooklyn grumbles about the “excess American commercials” and her disliking for them. Apparently in the UK they know how to do those things better. The ads aren’t quite so “annoyingly frequent” she clarifies as she turns the TV off from the remote. The only source of light now is coming from the tall, free-standing lamp in the corner of the room.

  I’m not sure if she was aware of her shifting during our talk, but now Brooklyn’s facing me with her feet up, flat on the sofa, and her folded forearms resting on her knees.

  I glance down. “You have pretty feet.”

  She quickly covers them with her hands. “Yuck! I hate feet, all feet, including my own. Thankfully, I wasn’t ballet mad. You wouldn’t believe what years of dancing en pointe can do,” she says with a quick demonstration of pointing her toes in that typical ballerina way. She hides them again.

  Altering my position, I face her with my right leg bent on the sofa so we’re full frontal. Brooklyn resists at first, but it doesn’t take long for her to give up, allowing me to move her hands. I hold her ankles and check out said body parts again. They look perfect to me; they’re clean, small, but right for her size and height, her toes are a nice shape and her nails are well kept and painted crimson. I’d probably be in heaven if I had a foot fetish.

  I can feel a thin, slightly raised scar at the back of one, from her heel up a few inches, which I can conclude for myself is from her surgery, but I won’t say anything in case it’s something she’s sensitive about. I couldn’t even see it when I checked out her legs last night.

  “I can’t see your problem,” I tell her, but I know how women work. I know that no matter what I say right now, Brooklyn will go with what she thinks, and as it stands she hates her feet.

  Smiling to myself at her paranoia, I raise my gaze to her face. Reaching to the back of her head, I pull out the band that’s securing her ponytail. “I like your hair down.”

  “Thank you,” she says with a soft smile, as she finger combs the glossy tresses, which descend down her back and drape over her shoulders.

  She tucks it behind her ears, and now I can smell her shampoo as it infuses with the atmosphere, a pleasant scent that I don’t recognize. I can imagine her long strands spread across my pillows while she sleeps.

  “I’d like to see yours down.” She switches from her seated position to kneel in front of me, still in the same place on the sofa, my leg remaining bent between us and my other foot on the floor. Brooklyn leans toward me and rests her forearms on my shoulders.

  I’m aware of a gentle tugging at the two locks wrapped around and securing the others.

  I’m even more aware of my cock reacting to the fact that my face is now level with, and within inches of, her chest.

  I don’t know what I want to do more; cup those beyond tempting tits and caress them or place my mouth over the location I guess her nipple to be at and apply light suction. Even with the tank top getting in the way of direct contact I’d still find it satisfying. Dammit, from here, I could so easily slide my hand up her inner thigh until I reach her pussy and with the right amount of pressure stroke her from outside those tight fitting pants.

  After last night, when she pulled away from me, I’m not so sure she’d welcome me doing any of those things.

  Forcing myself to look up, I catch Brooklyn’s fascinated expression as she explores my hair with her fingers and her gaze. Now I can feel her exploration and that’s doing nothing to rid me of this hard-on.

  Allowing my focus to fall to her lips isn’t going to help matters either, but I still do it. I’m remembering the way they felt – soft, slender and so damn nice. The way she tasted – fresh with a hint of red wine. She’s been drinking red grape juice throughout the movie, so I’m imagining the same fresh taste and the sweetness of red grape.

  By the time I end my thoughts, and raise my gaze, I see I’m not the only one watching lips. Brooklyn’s attention is locked on mine. Even though the most natural thing for me to do now is clasp her waist and encourage her to get closer, so I can kiss those lips of hers, I’m going to let her call the shots. I wait.

  With one easy move, Brooklyn closes the distance.

  The softness is just as I recalled and, as she opens up to let me in, the sweet taste of her tongue is everything I expected. My hands going to her waist, I urge her closer until she’s straddling my thighs. I command my arms to do nothing more than curl around her midsection, and I’ve left enough space so that she’s not pressed against my erection – I’m not sure who that part is for the most, her or me.

  When I feel the palms resting on my shoulders suddenly close into fists, grasping my T-shirt, I can only question if Brooklyn’s finding this as hard as I am. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking on my part, but I don’t particularly like not knowing.

  Moving, I kiss across her cheek to her ear, trying not to mess with the flow. “Are we both holding back here?”

  “Yes,” she says, in a breathless whisper.

  And hell if that gentle, aroused sound doesn’t taunt me into throwing her onto her back, yanking down her clothes and thrusting into her so damn hard that breathless tease becomes a scream of extreme pleasure.

  “Do what you want to do,” I encourage.

  “I don’t know if I should … my attraction to you scares me, Dane. Maybe I’m putting myself at a disadvantage by telling you this, but I think I want you too much. You might give me the night of my life, but when it’s all over, I’d still be disappointed in myself for giving in.”

  I figure Brooklyn and I pretty even now because, for the first time, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I feel like I’m being pulled along in this thing with her, and I have no clue where the fuck I’m headed and I have no way of stopping it.

  “Brooklyn, you should’ve figured out by now that if anything happens between us it won’t only be about sex. If you spend the night with me it’ll be the first of many and they won’t only be about sex, either. You don’t need to be scared and nothing has to happen tonight if you’re not ready yet. That’s not even why I asked you here.”

  She says nothing, but nods. I start to kiss her neck and feel her relax, the lightest sigh sounding and the grip on my shirt eases. Adjusting my position, I move to sit properly at the edge of the sofa with Brooklyn still straddling me.

  She pushes my knees farther apart and flexes her upper body back from the hips until her shoulder blades and head lay on the coffee table. She lengthens her arms up over her head, resting them on the rustic oak, and closes her eyes. The black clothing hides most of her skin, but the tight fit reveals every curve and line. She looks supple and strong.

  Stretched out in front of me is my idea of perfection. And not just in the physical sense.

  Brooklyn opens her eyes and looks directly into mine.

  All I see is certainty, confidence and desire.

  She grasps the thin straps of her tank top and slides them down over her shoulders. I don’t focus on anything but the beautiful mossy greens of her irises with enlarged pupils. My vision still picks up her movement. Slowly, she lowers the top and continues until the material gathers around her hips, presenting her entire upper body. Extending her arms up over her head again, she closes her eyes.

  She’s giving me permission to touch.

  There isn’t a single part of her that I don’t want to feel. It’s not the most popular place to start, definitely not for me, but the first thing I make contact with is her bellybutton with the tip of my forefinger. She’s pierced there with a bar, which has a sparkly pink heart at the bottom, fitting nicely into the dip of her navel.

  I trace my finger tips over the flesh of her midsection, soft flesh suddenly stabbed by goose bumps. She’s still relaxed, eyes closed, a small curve to her lips, hair fanned out, and the rise and fall of her chest steady. Nothing but silence surrounds us, and I want to keep it that way for now.

  Slowly, I skim up the si
des, across her ribs and up to her breasts, slightly flattened from the way she’s stretched out. Her nipples tighten under the stroke of my thumbs, her chest rising higher with a deeper inhale. What I really want is to take one in my mouth, but I don’t want to move her from this position. Not yet. Cupping her soft flesh, I caress. Brooklyn arches into my touch, a sensual curling of her body. Her tongue peeps out and glides between her lips.

  This is almost unbelievable; here she is, laid out, ready and willing to be taken by me.

  Changing direction, I slide my hands up her firm thighs. When I reach the top, I place my palm between her legs. She feels warm, full, yielding and– fuck! If anything is going to challenge my patience this will. I want to know how wet she is underneath her panties.

  I don’t think my dick has ever been this hard before.

  “Are you going to let me make you come this time?” I ask, fighting the urge to rip off these clothes and taste her right now. I’m salivating at the thought alone.

  I look up in time to catch her smile before it disappears, making way for, “Try me and see.”

  Nineteen: Brooklyn

  With his hands tucked behind my waist, Dane raises my upper body from the table. The moment I’m upright, and wrapping my arms around his shoulders, he captures my nipple in his mouth. I gasp at the unexpected urgency of his claim. The teasing of his tongue around my nipple creates an internal tingling trail that leads directly to my pussy, making me pulse with intensified desire. When he sucks, my nails press into the material preventing the flesh-to-flesh contact of our bodies. Reaching down, I grab the hem of his T-shirt and lift it up. Dane leans back enough to enable me to take it off. Dropping his clothing on the sofa, I pause, unable to tear my gaze away from his torso.

  Tight, defined muscles and the softest looking skin covered in amazing artwork.

  He’s absolutely flawless.

  “Wow! to you,” I say, not caring if the awe I feel shows.

  He shakes his head, a display of firm disagreement. “No. Wow! to you.” He places a single kiss between my breasts.

  I press my lips to his forehead. “I want to look at you.”

  “You can have anything you want, sweetheart.”

  I shivered when he called me sweetheart. The fondness wrapped in that simple word and the sexy tone of his voice held it apart from the hundreds of times anyone else has called me that. “There’s a lot more I want to do than look at you, but for starters that’s what I really want.”

  I feel the pressure of his breath against my chest as he laughs lightly, with surprise.

  I’m far from reluctant now. I want this man and there’s no denying that.

  I climb off Dane’s lap and we move to the side of the sofa and coffee table, giving us space. During the movie I asked him about his tattoos. He has sixteen and they all carry meaning, significance.

  I stand taking them in, my finger tips tracing some of the designs. I can’t look anywhere other than at the pictures and writing covering his entire upper body; chest, midsection, arms – the detail and the effect of the shading are extraordinary – but I’m conscious of the fact that, even though I’m bare from the hips up, Dane is watching my face intently.

  Over the center of his beautifully defined abs is an empty crucifix with ‘Love Is Christ’ inscribed across it. A poem is written down the right side of his torso, meaningful words about life and love that cause my breathing to halt as I read them. The initials S.S.W – Saffron Sinclair-Williams – tell me whose wonderful mind created it. I can’t help but chuckle at Spider-Man climbing up to his left shoulder. It’s so effective it looks as though the actions are actually happening. “Favorite childhood superhero?”

  An incline of his head is the answer I get, accompanied by a half-smile.

  “These must have hurt.”

  “Only physically. There are other types of pain that go deeper and last longer, right?”

  He said that as though it meant nothing, but my pulse quickens from the intensity of his eyes. His gaze holds mine prisoner for a moment that feels like an eternity.

  To break the connection, I move behind him. Dane pulls his loose hanging locks forward over his left shoulder. He’s covered in ink here as well. Every single tattoo belongs, nothing looks out of place. The only image that has additional colors, other than black, is a panther, tearing its way out of the left side of his lower back. It really does look like it’s used its claws and teeth to slash its way free from the inside out. The menacing eyes are yellow and the exposed flesh beneath the torn skin is crimson.

  It’s strange for me, looking at this particular tattoo, because this time last year I was desperate to claw my way out of the life I was living.

  I trace the outline of the menacing cat. “How long ago did you get this one?”

  A silent moment passes. “About ten years.”

  “I like it. What were you trying to get away from?” I take the risk of asking, given that this isn’t here without purpose, and that’s what I’ve concluded.

  During one of our phone chats I asked him what animal he’d be if he were to be one. He said a panther, so I know the relevance of that part, but not the actions. I said a bird, because I’d love the freedom to fly.

  “Myself, I guess. Don’t we all at some point?”

  “I suppose we do.”

  From the center of his upper back and spread across his right shoulder blade is a portrait of two women and two men. “Your parents, Elizabeth and her husband,” I state.

  I notice his dad had dreadlocks, too. Dane said he’s had his for as long as he can remember. He and Saffron look a lot like their mother, though I can see the similarities with their father as well.

  “That’s them,” he replies.

  Nathaniel, Martha, Elizabeth and Ray, all important people in his life, the people who’ve contributed to making Dane the man he is today.

  “Your friends are incredibly talented.”

  I return to the front and push his hair back over. Standing so close that my breasts press against his chest and my temple touches the side of his jaw, I place my hands on the front of his shoulders and slowly slide down his arms, over his biceps and the prominent veins in his forearms. Pushing the tip of my finger into the waistband of his tracksuit bottoms, which are untied, I pull on the elastic and slip my other hand in. He’s going commando.

  “Wow!” I whisper playfully, in response to the very ready and very impressive cock I’ve just taken hold of.

  Dane laughs at me. “Brooklyn Scott,” he whispers, the softly spoken words entwining with a sigh.

  It feels fantastic, and it’s a personal pleasure of mine to discover he’s hair free there. I hadn’t thought there was room for me to want him more, but holding on to what he has to offer has proved me wrong. The ache within me, for him to fill me, just became excruciating.

  I push his clothes down and he steps out of them. This shit hot, fuck-me-all-night hot, every kind of hot there is, man is now completely naked, and I can’t resist pressing up against him, my breasts, my stomach, my thighs, which are still clothed, all connecting. Warm, smooth and hard is how he feels. And that provocative erection makes me want to ravish him.

  I’m going to.

  Before I get to contemplate my next move, Dane’s fingers thread through my hair at the nape, tightening into a fist. As I wrap my arms around him, with his other hand he tugs down my top, leggings, and underwear as one. Once they reach my ankles, I kick them off to the side.

  We’re both fully bare.

  Dane speaks directly into my ear. “Once we do this there’s no turning back. I want you to be sure. I want you to trust me.” His clasp on my hair gets more demanding, and he’s holding me so tight, so close, I can’t move.

  I know by his hold that his control is being pushed to the limit.

  Yet he’s giving me the choice.

  The blatant evidence of his restraint speaks volumes to me and confirms my decision – which was already confirmed, anyway – seal
ing the deal.

  “I am and I do. I want you, Dane.”

  He claims my mouth with desire so untamed it could almost be considered savage. Fuck if that isn’t sexy.

  When he frees me, I’m breathless. I can’t remember what I wanted to do to him. I think I wanted to impress him with the best head I’ve ever given, completely worship his magnificent cock with my mouth. Yes, that was it. As I try to reestablish equilibrium, he guides me back a few steps and sits me down on the end of the coffee table.

  “I like the way my coffee table looks with you on it,” he says, as he sinks to his knees and carefully lays me along the cool, hard surface.

  I gaze down at him as he raises my feet up onto the edge of the table with my thighs parted. With a press of his hands to the insides of my knees, he opens my legs wider. His attention homes in on my pussy. “Brooklyn, baby, you have no idea,” he mutters, his expression serious.

  I try to comprehend his words, but he cuts my thoughts short with the lowering of his head. I watch his thumbs part my lips and the slow slide of his tongue across my flesh. He lingers over my clit with delicate swirls. The contact is both evident and subtle, too much and too little. The sweeping wet caresses quickly incite pulsating sparks forcing me to arch my spine and moan. I want to push him away, to run from the building pleasure, but instead I pull him closer with my hands to the back of his head; chasing it, riding the waves. Sooo fucking close, too close, but not close enough as he eases the pressure and speed. Breathing in deeply through my nose, I take in as much air as I can. As I exhale, I cry a moan, more desperate than the last, needing to go over now, but he’s keeping me somewhere between too much and not enough. If he wanted it, I’d have come almost as soon as his oral assault started.

  Dane moves my legs to drape them over each of his shoulders and, with his hands beneath my bottom, raises my hips up from the table as he uprights himself. His tongue presses into me, sliding back and forth. With my shoulder blades on the smooth surface, the placement of my thighs up either side of his neck and the hold he has on my hips, I’m securely positioned as he thoroughly fucks me with his tongue and occasionally teases my clit with strokes he knows will push me close to climax without taking me all the way.