(Braden)
“May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view.”
—EDWARD ABBEY, DESERT SOLITAIRE
Playing host to Amber’s hostess during a backyard barbeque comes with the obvious expectation that we’ll both do what we can to ensure every guest has a good time and relaxes. In my mind, that means my primary job is to keep the beer cooler well stocked and properly iced. It does not mean I should act as a human lawn chair . . . for Jaxon.
In my defense, I don’t want Teagan to sit on my lap, either. Or Colin. Or anyone else milling about Amber’s backyard at the moment. Only one person belongs in my lap, and she’s already there, acting as the shield I need.
“But he has two thighs. And there aren’t any other chairs left,” Jaxon tipsily announces, sweeping his hand to gesture at the yard.
Amber draws her legs up to drape them over my other leg as a safeguard. “Stop. You’re making the Jolly Green Giant blush. And I’m stingy when it comes to him. Go see if Teagan’s friend with the Zac Efron eyes will play along.”
Jaxon’s own eyes brighten and he turns on one of his Top-Sidered heels to amble away.
“Swifty’s for brunch tomorrow, doll.” He thrusts one finger up in the air. “And I’m drunk enough to declare now that I’m ordering the banana brûlée French toast. And bacon!”
Amber laughs, her head tossed back, exposing the slopes of her neck. When her laugh subsides, she curves closer to me and I wrap my arms around her waist to encourage her head to my chest. A sweet blush has pinked her cheeks, likely brought on by the sangria that both she and Jaxon have been sipping on all afternoon.
Amber ticks her eyes up to meet mine. “Thank you for hosting this with me.”
“You’re welcome.”
She ticks her fingers under the collar of my T-shirt and tickles there. “Have you had fun?”
I drop a quick kiss to her forehead. “Yes.”
When Amber said she wanted me to meet some of her friends, I expected an awkward outing to some dive bar where I’d be forced to drink overpriced PBR and try not say anything too sarcastic, only to find out that a shindig in her backyard is what she had in mind. And while she claims she’s no domestic goddess, the woman absolutely knows how to throw a party—with good music and great food—so it’s not a lie to say that I’ve had fun.
Colin provided a wild hog for us to roast, one he shot on his family’s ranch just yesterday. After we got it prepped and onto the smoker, we spent the rest of the morning setting up tables and stringing lights from the trees. I put together a batch of purple cabbage slaw to go with the roasted pork, and Amber made some of the ice cream she’s apparently known for, one a simple Dutch chocolate and the other a honey bourbon peach—and both are concoctions I’d happily consider drowning in, despite all the sugar. When her friends started to arrive, it was clear I was on trial for the first hour or so, but by the time we pulled the fully-roasted hog off and started to shred the meat, I’d survived the worst of their interrogations. I’m sure the vast amount of beer and sangria that’s flowing also played a part in warming everyone’s previously cool attitudes.
The jury’s still out on her brother Trey, though. He’s been relatively quiet most of the day, but I suspect that’s his norm. Even so, it’s obvious that no matter how little he says, the kid is definitely listening. He’s one of those people who can go unnoticed enough that people probably say more than they should, simply because they forgot he was in the room.
Amber, however, is not one of those people. Trey might duck or hide from her view occasionally, but he never gets too far, which means that Amber sits up straight when she spies him across the yard, tugging on his zip-up hoodie as if he’s about to take off.
She cups her hands over her mouth and calls out over the music that’s playing.
“Trey Regan! Don’t you dare leave without saying goodbye to me or I won’t do your laundry tomorrow!”
Trey halts in place and makes a show of slinking our way with his hands up, kowtowing to a woman who is half his size.
“Never joke about my delicates, laundry whisperer.” He tips his chin to me. “Is six too early for you in the morning? The drive to the lake takes almost an hour, and the bass are jumping early these days.”
“Fine with me. I’ve been waking up before dawn since I got here. My brain hasn’t caught up with the time change.”
Trey casually asked if I’d like to go fishing with him in the morning and since I like to fish and already knew that Amber had plans to brunch it up with Jaxon, my decision was easy. Plus, Trey’s invitation was code, anyway. What he really wants to do is determine if I’m an asshole or not, and I respect that, so if that means we need to go somewhere he can cross-examine me and threaten my life in some roundabout way, fine. And adrift in a small boat is an ideal location for him to dispose of my body if he decides I am an asshole.
“I’ll see you at six, then. I have the boat and the tackle; you’re in charge of the refreshments.” Trey sticks his hand out for a parting handshake, then waggles a finger at Amber. “You are in charge of ensuring my T-shirts smell like lilacs by the time we return.”
“Lilacs? Does Dayton like that? Because it’s a little girly. Maybe that’s the problem.”
Trey lifts a wry eyebrow and shoots Amber a hard look, then rounds the yard and calls out to his dog, Saint, who is Charley’s new best friend. Trey and Saint then disappear out the side gate, leaving Charley to look longingly at the gate. She barks once then saunters our way and flops down underneath my chair.
“Who’s Dayton?” I ask, once I’m sure Trey is gone.
Amber snorts. “His unrequited love. Well, more like the love he won’t requite . . . or something. She’s his employee, they want each other, but neither of them has the cojones to do anything about it.” Her eyes brighten mischievously. She pokes me in the chest. “You should ask him about her tomorrow. It will irk the shit out of him.”
I shake my head. “No. Guys who just met don’t go asking each other about their unrequited anything. And why would I want to irk him? He’s your brother. I want to be on his good side.”
Amber’s mischief eyes fade, and she tilts her head thoughtfully. “You do, don’t you? Be on his good side.”
I nod. Her eyes remain on mine, asking for more without saying a word. Asking why I care what her brother thinks of me, wanting to know if that says something about us.
Maybe later I’ll answer her. Maybe in some quiet moment that feels right, I’ll tell her all the reasons why.
Two hours later, we have the house to ourselves again and we’re finishing up the last of the cleanup that we can’t put off until tomorrow. Amber is putting lids on plastic containers filled with leftovers while I finish hand-washing the things that wouldn’t fit in the dishwasher. After giving a large stoneware bowl one more rinse, I grab a dish towel and start to dry the bowl off, my eyes landing on Amber as I work, taking in everything about her.
She’s wearing a little outfit that’s essentially a one-piece combo of shorts with a top in a silky yellow fabric, and paired with heeled sandals that show off her lean, tan legs. The top is strapless, held up by her full tits and a laughable strip of elastic. I’ve spent most of the day trying not to leer at her in front of her friends and doing my best to keep from going hard when she planted herself in my lap. Both became more difficult as the evening wore on and once I was a few beers in, the image of her on her knees in front of me with the top part of her outfit rolled down popped into my mind one too many times.
Amber catches my stare when she puts the containers in the fridge, her mouth lilting up on one side. “What’s up there, Braden?”
“Just thinking.”
She shuts fridge door with a bump of her hip, then turns to face me. “Yeah? Thinking about what? Is it dirty?”
I set the dish on the counter and toss the dish towel next to it, waving my hand toward her outfit. “I like what you’re wearing. The shorts-and-top-sewn-together thing.”
She laughs, tosses her head back a little when she does. “You are such a man. It’s called a romper. But I’m glad you like it.”
Romper. I don’t think that’s supposed to sound dirty, but it does. And now I kind of want to tell her to romper her ass over here so I can feel her up and then let those tits spill out into my hands.
I won’t, but I want to. I do try to keep my filthiest thoughts to myself, just to be sure I don’t accidentally say something that might make me sound like one of her creepier fans. In general, my rule is, if something I’m thinking might earn a “like” from some prick that trolls her Instagram, I won’t share it with her or ask it of her. I’m thinking that “Come over here in that romper, get on your knees, and suck me dry” definitely qualifies.
Amber’s eyes turn wicked as if she can read my every thought anyway. “What do you like about it?”
I latch my hands to the countertop on either side of my body. “That you’re in it.”
She takes a step toward me. “Yeah?”
I nod as she continues to prowl forward. Her kitchen is tiny, so it only takes a few steps for her to land right in front of me, looking up at me with her blue eyes full of heat. I grip the countertop harder. Amber leans up and draws her soft lips across mine, not in a kiss, but a tease.
“Tell me,” she murmurs.
“Tell you what?”
“Whatever naughty thing is going on in that head of yours. Tell me.”
Her hands drift onto my waist, flicking and fingering near the button on my jeans. I shake my head as my entire body tenses. “I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because,” I grit out.
Amber must feel the rush of tension in my body and hear the same in my voice, because she tips her head back to scan my face.
“Hey. What’s with being made of stone all of a sudden? Why is your heart beating like a jackhammer? And why won’t you tell me what you’re thinking about?”
I’m screwed now, because she’s called me out and that means I can either fess up to my thoughts and risk looking like a perverted jerk, or I can refuse to say more and look like a withdrawn jerk who won’t communicate. I debate my two shitty options with a long exhale, answering when I decide there’s only one grown-up way to deal with this.
“Because what I’m thinking right now involves saying things that might make me sound like one of those assholes who write screwed-up sex comments on posts where you happen to be on your knees or your top is tugged down or your lips look all plumped up and swollen.” I suck in a quick breath. “And I never, ever want you to think I’m like them. Or think that I think of you the way they do. I don’t. You’re more than a fucking picture to me, OK?”
Amber’s jaw drops open, likely because I’ve raised my voice more than necessary and I’m having a hard time looking her in the eye for more than a second at a time. She slowly draws her jaw closed then flops it open again, clearly reconsidering whatever it was she planned to say. Finally, she lets out a breathy chuckle.
“Have you been worrying about this? Do you actually think I’d confuse whatever dirty thoughts you share with me, with what happens behind a computer screen? Seriously?”
My eyes dart up and I start to study the ceiling. When she says it like that, it doesn’t sound the same as it does in my head. In my head it’s a big deal and not to be taken lightly, but when she says it, it sounds melodramatic and stupid.
Mumbling, I drop my gaze and give her a scowl. “I guess.”
Her face relaxes into a patient grin.
“Well, don’t. You get all of me, Braden. Parts of me that those people will never see, or touch, or understand.”
She takes my hands and sets them low on her hips. Her hands return to my fly, grazing a lazy pattern there.
“I want you to tell me whatever you’re thinking. You just have to trust that I’ll tell you if it’s too much or it makes me uncomfortable. Have I given you any reason to think I would hold back my thoughts?”
I shake my head. God knows she doesn’t hold back—ever.
Amber slips from my hold and slowly steps backward until she’s back where she was when this conversation started.
“Then let’s give this another try, OK?” She lifts her arms up to mime as a director might, clapping her hands together. “Take. Two.”
We lock eyes for what feels like minutes, until Amber’s expression becomes that of a goddam temptress. “Tell me.”
Every hesitation melts away when I recognize how alone we are. It’s just the two of us here. All those nameless and faceless people, they aren’t here. They never will be. What happens in this room, in this moment, is for Amber and me alone.
“Come here.” I crook a finger lazily. Amber approaches the same way, in a slow amble that drives every thought I’ve had today right up to the surface. “Hurry the fuck up.”
She smiles—and doesn’t do a thing to quicken her pace. When she finally arrives in front of me, I dig my fingers to her hips and give them a rough jerk.
“You want to know what I’m thinking? What I want from you?”
Amber lets out a breathy moan when I yank on her hips again. She nods, closes her eyes. “Yes.”
I slide one hand down to palm her ass with a light touch, then rear back and swat her so hard that we both moan. Her eyes flip open in surprise, then hood and go hazy.
“All fucking day I’ve watched you. Watched you laugh and smile and be amazing, dressed in this whatever-you-call-it, with your tanned legs teasing me and just this little piece here”—I draw a finger over the upper edge of her top—“to keep my hands off your beautiful tits. And it’s been killing me.”
Amber arches her back, pushing herself into the grip of my hands.
“I want you on your knees, that top tugged down so I can touch you while my cock is in your pretty mouth, fucking it while you suck me.” I give the silky fabric a teasing tug at her breasts and grab another handful of fabric with the hand I still have on her ass. “That’s what I want. Now tell me what you want.”
She licks her lips and nods. “I want all of that. Just promise me you won’t make me stop. Not until you’re there, all the way. I want to taste it.”
My answer is a curse, one I keep repeating as she starts to lower her body, trailing her hands over my chest, my abs, my thighs, until she’s exactly where I want her.
Amber’s blue eyes peek up to mine and I can’t mistake the desire there. I grit my teeth to pace myself, but Amber clearly wants none of that because she parts her lips just enough to peek her tongue out. My words come in a rush—spoken before I can figure a way to tame them, either with some endearment or a simple “please.”
“You’re making my cock hurt. Fix it. Take me out and give me the rest of what I want.”
Amber doesn’t hesitate, setting me free in a few smooth moves and straight into her warm, wet mouth. The first full stroke of her lips across my shaft is enough to force my hands into her hair, keeping her still because the last thing I want is to come too quickly. She fights my hold by whimpering but the sound only prompts me to knot her hair through my fingers, just to hear her do it again.
Once I’m in control, I ease my grip and Amber starts to slip her mouth over my cock, slow at first. When she adds in a hand with the perfect rhythm, I sink into the feeling, loving every second until her mouth suddenly disappears. My eyes flip open. I peer down to find her giving me an impish smile.
“Oops. I almost forgot.”
She uses her free hand to pull down her top, and her breasts tumble out with a little bounce that drives a groan from my throat. I reach down immediately and grasp her flesh in my hand. Hard. Her nipple feels like a diamond in my palm, and Amber moans before setting her mouth on me again. After that, I can’t keep from saying every single thing that leaps to mind—begging her to not stop, telling her how good it is, how much I love her hot little mouth. When Amber draws back and lets her tongue work circles across the sensitive underside, I can’t take anything else, coming harsh and hard and for what feels like forever.
Amber continues until I let out a hiss of discomfort. My cock is still in her tender hold, but she sits back on her heels and turns her face up to mine. Her eyes are shining and soft all at once—and suddenly the only thing I want is her not on her knees. I wrestle my weak hands under her arms and haul her up, pressing our bodies together until it feels like nothing exists beyond the two of us, right here and right now.