Everything is dark, the soft silk of a scarf Brooks purchased shielding my eyes and keeping his scent close to my nose. He pulls me from the car, my shoes skidding on pebbled pavement. The salt is heavy in the air, and I determine we’re very close to the ocean. I love surprises, but my excitement is marred by the experience of today—the beginning of my descent into shitty personhood. The realization that, just like Eliza, I might not deserve his goodness. Maybe I should sacrifice my own happiness so he can have someone who deserves him.
“Okay,” he says, shutting the car door and guiding me about twenty steps. “Open your eyes.”
I pull the fabric up onto my forehead, and open them, my pupils taking a few seconds to adjust to the bright lights of the Ferris wheel.
“Surprise!” he murmurs, the word blowing into my ear, waking my pussy, even in my sadness.
He spins me around to him, his forehead creased, lower lip bitten in uncertainty. “We can do something else or go back to the house if you want, but I thought you’d enjoy it.”
“No, I’m excited! I love Ferris wheels!” And I do. As a kid, I rode one once when my parents took me to the zoo. It was a small one, but I had such fun with them.
We wait in line forever, it seems. He stands behind me, his hands rubbing my arms to keep me warm in the ocean breeze. When we finally get seated in a car, he sits next to me instead of across from me. His arm stays around me, thumb rubbing circles over my skin. Even though I’m a depressed bitch right now, I almost feel like we’ve taken an important turn on this road—one to love. The ride begins, the Ferris wheel rotating us toward the sky, the lights of the nearby carnival spectacular and bright. We watch people getting on rides, holding their cotton candy, their hot dogs, their popcorn. I sigh, not believing this is real. Wanting to pinch myself until Brooks looks at me, our eyes connect in a jolt of passion.
His smile is life—it’s happiness, it’s everything right. In the happiness of the moment, I don’t worry about the book. I hook my arm around the hardness of his bicep, to which he responds by rubbing my knee. Though I don’t deserve it, I can’t help but soak up this moment, cuddled against him as if he could save me if our car detached and crashed toward the ground. He makes me feel safe. He makes me feel loved, even through his rejection, even through his lack of telling me those coveted three words.
“Look!” he points.
I trace his finger to a clown on giant stilts, groups of kids crowding around him. It reminds me of when we were young. I lean my head against him. Suck his smell into my lungs, that earthiness of a god filling me. His fingers slide under my thighs, my pussy throbbing in response.
“It’s beautiful up here.”
“You’re beautiful … you know that, right?” He locks eyes with me. Brushes a finger through my hair. Presses his lips quickly to mine, as soft and smooth as the untarnished skin of youth.
My heart splinters into infinite pieces, floating into his lap, ready for him to reassemble and claim as his property.
When our ride is over and we’re stepping from the cart, he rubs my back—such a simple, loving thing to do. Gosh, I love him. I love him so fucking much that I’ve become someone else, someone I’m not sure I’m proud of.
And I hate myself, because I’d do it all again.
We’re winded once we get back to the house, but apparently neither of us are tired.
“You wanna have a drink and talk or something? If you’re tired or if you’d rather not, I totally understand.”
“Talking sounds good. I’d like that.”
“Cool.” His hand is poised on the vodka on the counter, and I nod. “O.J.?”
I shake my head. “I’ll take it straight.”
He raises his brows. Pours less than he would have if he were going to add juice. I take it, throw it back—the sting in my throat making me feel alive. Human. It settles in my stomach, and I ask for another. Hesitantly, he refills it. Passes it to me. I gorge on it, getting off on the fire sliding down my throat, like I’m scorching the devil inside, burning away her bad deeds.
I slap it on the counter. Slide it toward him.
“More?”
I nod. I see worry in his eyes, because maybe he knows where this is going. Drunk girl equals horny girl in almost all situations. Of course, I’m horny all the fucking time for him, but that’s irrelevant. Drinking gives you the courage to do something about it.
If he’ll give it to me, I’ll take it.
Fuck the book.
Fuck.
The.
Book.
It may have sped things up, may have been a catalyst for the present battle inside his heart, but perhaps it isn’t a good thing. Perhaps this was too fast for him. Maybe if I’d taken this slower, he’d be more certain I’m the right woman for him. The only woman for him. Then, maybe I wouldn’t be fucking with the vulnerable mind of a granny. Maybe I’d still have some good in me.
My hand points to the glass. “More.”
The granite between us separates the inevitable. He rests his hands on the counter, leaning over it a bit. He smiles. Licks his lips before crossing his arms. “I think that’s enough for now.” Then, he downs two shots himself. I watch his throat as it rises and drops dramatically in one sharp jerk—and wonder … would it look like that while he sucked me?
When he sets down the glass, he turns. Searches through a plastic bag that’s on the counter, and pulls two chocolate bars from it.
“I bought these when I got the flashlight … that we didn’t really use.” An apologetic smile appears, and disappears just as quickly. His head nods toward the living room area, and once he brushes past me, I immediately follow like a pesky child, unable to take my eyes off the broadness of his shoulders, the harsh lines of him.
He sits on the couch. Spreads his arms across the back of it. I sit on the other end, my left leg curled beneath me, other foot on the floor. His eyes stare at the ceiling, fingers drum on the fabric. I prop up my elbow, and rest my cheek in my hand. I’m starting to feel it now, that prickling dizziness that emboldens even the most reserved of people.
I have no idea where this road to Brooks’s heart will take me now, but I’ve decided to be at peace. It’s too late to turn back. This is the bed I’ve made for myself. And fuck yes, I’m going to sleep in it tonight.
He turns his head, our eyes staring, mouths pulled back in the slightest of smiles.
They’re smiles of guilt, both of us knowing where this is going, but neither of us doing what would ordinarily be the right thing—going to bed. Instead, he inches his body closer to mine, and urges me closer, too. Now, we are sitting against each other, his arm around me—the touch natural and effortless. I always see this in movies—two people fucking each other’s brains out amid their buzz.
I don’t know what to do or what he wants me to do, so I hold his gaze until I can’t take it anymore. If I keep looking into those brilliant blues, I’ll move too quickly—straddle him in a bold panic of need.
And I don’t want that.
I want him to lead us. Want him to pull me to his lap, unzip his pants, put his cock inside me, without me having to beg, because I can’t take another of his remorseful moments. I need him to crave me so desperately he can’t help but cut through his fucking moral obligation to his best friend.
I think we are about to kiss, but he interrupts our gaze with, “You never talk about your parents.”
In an instant, bile crawls up my throat. “What’s to say?”
“Do they ever visit you? Tell me about them.”
Quickly, I state their middle names. “Evelyn and Lewis.” I shift on the couch. “They’re just busy like anyone else. We don’t see each other much. Half the time they’re across the world.” The words roll off my tongue in convincing honesty, but I can’t help but feel like there’s a giant “L” for liar on my forehead. Evelyn and Lewis will have to die sometime, if Brooks and I do have a future together. They’d be expected at the wedding, the birth of the first grandchild—unless I hire someone to portray them, but it would be a long-term job until I could kill them off.
Actually, maybe that’s a great fucking idea. I already have a fake grandma, what’s a couple of fake parents? I’m already three-quarters of the way to hell, anyway.
“It must be tough being an only child.”
If he only knew. Being an only child sucks. I had to handle everything myself—the funeral arrangements, the grief. The only relatives I have are an aunt and uncle on my dad’s side, and a cousin named Joe, who’s in jail on murder charges. And fuck them, because they didn’t even care that Dad died, or Mom. They sent a card and were done with it.
“It’s hard sometimes. I always wanted a sister I could share secrets with.”
“But … the plus side is their company will be all yours—no will to fight over.”
Before he can ask me any slippery questions, I turn the questions to him. “That’s definitely a positive. Any money battles in your future? Are you and your brother close?”
He lifts a shoulder. “Sometimes. We have our disagreements. We weren’t close when I was younger. I resented him for a long time because he got to stay in the States when I was hauled to another country. But as I got a little older, I realized it wasn’t his fault.”
“So, you didn’t like being away, is that what it was? You were jealous?”
His eyes fall to his lap now, his thumb beginning to draw circles on my knee. I want to skip to the good stuff, which is the fucking, but this experience is one to be savored. It mustn’t be rushed or sped through.
“I guess you could say that. And I missed my best friend, Ivy.” He turns his body toward mine. Reaches up to run his thumb over my cheekbone. “You know what? I just realized you have the same eyes.”
My pulse speeds up in an instant, heartbeat drumming loudly in my ears. Jesus, not now. “As who?”
“Ivy. They’re almost exactly the same. I don’t know why I didn’t notice before.”
I try to consume the frog that rests in my throat, but it’s no use. I’m worried any second he’s going to put two and two together—that suddenly everything will click to him. He said he would never forget my eyes. Well, what if he decides they are the same?
“They’re nothing extraordinary. Just typical blue eyes.”
“No. Everything about you is extraordinary, Emily. You’re one of a kind.”
Oh my God. Swoon. I love when he expresses his feelings. I want to reach inside his mouth and pull out all his words and slather them on my skin. Stuff them into my ears like they’re gold-spun Q-tips.
I smile, but not too big, and he adds, “Don’t ever forget that.”
His addition stirs something in my stomach. My eyes begin to burn. “Sounds like parting words.” I play it off as well as I can, a quick laugh leaving my mouth.
“Don’t read into it. Neither of us knows what will happen tomorrow or a year from now. I just think it’s important you know how amazing you are.”
“Thank you.”
At that very moment, his fingers trail up my thigh and briefly interlock with mine before they move to my chin. He gazes at me, and I bite my lip as his tongue slides over his own. His head moves close to me, and he presses his forehead against mine. His eyes close as he leans against me. His breath quickly becomes ragged and labored, like he’s about to step onto a crowded stage and is suddenly panicking about it.
“Fuck,” he whispers.
“What?”
He shakes his head. “I shouldn’t say it.”
I place a hand on his chest. “Say it,” I whisper.
“I want to be inside you. I know it’s complicated, but I need to.”
My hand rises to his hair, his mouth quickly pressing to mine before he pulls back.
He tip-toes in a puddle of doubt, so uncertain about what his subconscious knows that he needs. He is leading us, but he still needs my help. I let my tongue dart out. Trace his lower lip. He takes it. Sucks on it, before our lips crash together, tongues sliding together in a frenzy of lust and passion and love. Suddenly, he stands and yanks off his shirt. He picks me up, my body fitting into his arms so perfectly, so fucking beautifully.
This is it. This day will forever mark the day Brooks and I get to relish each other’s bodies, get to be honest with our souls.
I point to the counter. I don’t know why, but I’ve always found counter sex so fucking hot in porn. Without speaking a word, he walks to the kitchen. Sets me down on the island—the cold granite adding to the arousal I’m feeling. His hands come to my hips, and my legs wrap around him, imprisoning him in my love.
He kisses me again, and my hands run through his hair, tugging it with my fists so furiously, as if I can pull his love from it. He moves his hands to my shirt, and works it over my head. Bites my shoulder as he reaches around to unfasten my bra. At the same time, my fingers move to his jeans, guiding the button through the hole as he’ll guide his cock into the pussy with his name on it.
My white, lacy bra falls to my arms, my breasts bare to his eyes.
“Goddamn, you are stunning,” he says, his voice a deep and feral whisper. He pecks me on the lips. Trails wet kisses down my neck until he meets my tits. His tongue slips over my nipples, and I moan. Pull his hair even harder. He pulls his mouth away, and then steps out of his pants, only a pair of briefs and my shorts separating us from the union God intended.
With one hand, he pushes my body back onto the island. Unbuttons my shorts and tugs them off. I can’t believe we’re really doing this. If only he could have been my first. With a certainty stamped in his eyes like I’ve never seen, he brings my feet to the counter and spreads my knees.
“Holy fuck,” he breathes again.
When his head moves between my legs, I physically jerk with anticipation. I’m on the edge of coming, and we aren’t even fucking yet. No, we aren’t making love yet. Because that’s what it’ll be—the physical culmination of the love that has always been there. It just had to be unearthed again.
His palm moves across my panties, over all my sensitive places in one sweep. I don’t know how I’ll survive this. I feel like I’m about to explode already as … as he starts kissing me over the fabric of my thong, the dry heat making me buck my hips upward.
“Oh my God,” I gasp.
He walks his fingers up my stomach. Grabs my breast, and pinches my nipple. “What do you want?”
I don’t tell him. I’m scared of the consequences of finally doing this.
“What do you want, Emily?” he repeats, his words gruffer this time.
“I want you,” I answer clearly. Then, a whisper. “Take me.”
With that, he pulls my thong to the side, exposing me to him. I keep my eyes closed, and my hands rise timidly to my face so that I can’t look. I can’t handle the anxiety of him seeing all of me after so many years. Oh my God, he’s staring at my pussy. He’s looking at it, and … I’m in his mouth in one slow, wet suck. His tongue trails teasingly along my lips before moving to my clit. He strokes, providing the perfect amount of pressure against me—gentle and patient. He takes his time and enjoys. His fingers pinch my nipple harder, his tongue bringing me closer. I sit up, my fear cast aside, intent on watching him do this—watching him work. His eyes move up to mine as I grip his hair, my legs snaking over his shoulders. He stares at me. Alternates feather-light licks and sucks before flicking across my clit again.
“Oh God, Brooks.” My head falls back as the pressure builds. I don’t want to come, but I’m going to, and I can’t say no to the pleasure he’s giving me. I can’t turn down the love he’s committing. Can’t break free from the chains of him.
“Come,” he commands.
I moan, my hips rocking in the heat, my heart happy I’ve saved my first oral orgasm from a man for him, the one I love. Only he is deserving of this monumental moment.
“Come, baby. I want to taste it.” Oh my God, he just called me baby! An important milestone in the love story of Brooks and Emily!
I moan louder this time, my hand pulling him harder against me. His lips enclose me, provide suction as his heavenly tongue licks. The pressure is too much to take. I could have come from the first stroke, but I’m desperate, desperate not to let this moment slip by too soon. I’m holding on as tightly as I’m able, but I’m cracking under the heat of his mouth and the years of experience he’s unfortunately gained from licking Eliza.
He releases the suction, his tongue dipping inside me before licking me from the bottom to the top and sucking my clit again in small pulses. Instantly, I let go—a tidal wave of satisfaction washing over me like never before, my loud moan causing him to suck harder but slower, followed by one final lick as my hips stop thrusting.
Fuck, this is … I don’t even know. That was better than anything I’ve ever done for myself. If I loved him before, now I love him more than I could ever dream. My Brooks—Pussy Licker Extraordinaire. I need this every day for the rest of my life. I need him.
But when can I call him mine?
I let my hand move to his briefs. Feel the erection jutting out, begging me to do something. I grab it, cupping his balls as he cups my breasts, nuzzling his face into my neck.
Suddenly, he leaves me. Grabs his wallet from the counter, and pulls out a condom. Shit. With anyone else, yes. But not with Brooks. Never with Brooks. I want to feel him, every millimeter of what I’m sure is his magical penis.
“Don’t,” I blurt.
His eyes cut to mine, confused, as his fingers are poised on the wrapper, ready to take it out and slip it on. “Don’t?”
I lie back on the counter again. Reach out a finger and trace it over the edge of his abs. “I want to feel it. All of it.”
What begins as a hesitant look melts into submission as I spread my legs in invitation.
“Are you on birth control?”
I nod, but I’m lying. However, it isn’t my goal to trap him. I want to earn him. And I damn near have.
He drops the condom, and tugs me up again as he pulls his cock from his boxers. I got a glimpse of it in Colorado, but wow. It isn’t some ten-inch anaconda dick, but it’s perfect. I’m guessing eight inches and thick, so I’ll be sure to feel every bit with my gently used pussy. He grabs it. Brushes it across my opening that is now soaking wet. My eyes roll back, and my breathing picks up again. The orgasm that nearly just broke me has fully subsided now, so I’m very much ready for this.
“Do you want me to fuck you?” His eyes are squinted, nose flared ever so slightly. The face of his arousal is enough to make me come. His Sex Face is hot.
“Yes. Please.” I lock my legs around him again. Grip a hand on his arm, ready to steady myself for the moment we unite.
He leans over, licking my neck until he makes his way to my ear, his tongue delving in and out, mouth sucking on my lobe, one of his hands stroking his cock. When he presses inside me, it’s a surprise, and instantly I know. I know that I can’t stop. I’ll never stop. I don’t care how bad I have to be. I don’t care what I have to do, who I have to get rid of, or who fucking cares.
Brooks is mine.
Forever.
I’m pushed back by his hand again, the height of the island giving him a perfect advantage to explore me. I grab his face with my hands to pull him down. His thrusts are too shallow, too light. He hasn’t fully entered me yet, and I want it. I fucking need it. I’ll die if I don’t get it. I want him to fuck me like he motherfucking owns me.
He follows my lead, leaning down to kiss my breasts as his thrusts teasingly get deeper, husky moans flowing from him.
And then it’s there. All of him. Deep inside, pushing against the end of me, my G-spot begging for release as he retreats and re-enters. I fucking love it, taking all of him, and the slap of his balls against me when he’s as far as he can go—when he’s fully enjoying the fruits of my work.
This is it. I’ve finally claimed him.
And I’ll never let go.