Bidding on Brooks: The Winslow Brothers #1 (21 page)

“I want you, Brooks,” she whispered into his ear, her teeth catching his soft lobe and biting, her sex slick and wet, her muscles tightening with anticipation. “Now.”

“Me too,” he groaned, as her legs unlocked and she slid her feet down his legs. He leaned up, kneeling between her thighs, and then slipping off the bed. “Let me just get a…” He stood in the middle of the room with his back to her then turned around slowly, desperation widening his eyes. “Fuuuuuck.”

She sat up, trying to figure out what had just happened. “What?”

“I don’t have protection,” he practically sobbed. “I… fuck, I promised I wouldn’t touch you, so I purposely didn’t pack any.”

She didn’t mean to smile. She didn’t. But his erection was so incredibly long and hard and he looked so frustrated and furious he couldn’t use it…and she knew something he didn’t.

Leaning up on her knees, she grinned at him. “It’s a good thing one of us decided to come prepared.”

His eyes flared and he stared at her, disbelievingly. “Did you…?”

“A good sailor is always prepared for any and every circumstance,” she said.

“Skip…” he started, advancing on her with lust doubling in his eyes.

“Will you grab my little black nylon bag from the head?” she asked, pointing to the bathroom.

Had a man ever moved as fast as gloriously naked Brooks Winslow darting through the bedroom doorway and back? He offered the little pouch to her with two hands, like a golden chalice. She unzipped it, pushed everything to the side, and there on the bottom, lay the flat red and white foil packet that had so tormented her a week ago.

“Voila!” she exclaimed, pinching it between two fingers and holding it out to him.

His eyes, which were somehow tender and demanding, patient but determined, loving and passionate and hungrier for her than any man she’d ever known, seized hers and held on.

“You do it, skip,” he said. “I want you to touch me. I want to feel your fingers on me.”

“Someday soon,” she said, scooting to the edge of the bed on her knees and ripping open the packet with her teeth, “we won’t use one of these. And then I’ll feel you,
all of you
, as you slide inside of me.”

As she fit the condom over his head and rolled it slowly up the length of his sex, his breath hitched. She actually
heard
him stop breathing.

“Promise?” he gasped.

“Yes.” She sighed, edging back on her knees to make room for him on the bed.

He climbed back onto the bed, kneeling in front of her, mirroring her. And without a word, she placed her hands on his shoulders to brace herself and straddled his thighs. His chest pumped back and forth into hers as his breathing turned raspy and shallow, and his hands landed on her hips to steady her as she reached for his penis with both hands. She raised her hips, positioning herself over him, looking deeply into his eyes, and then lowered herself slowly, inch by thick inch, gasping from the fullness, feeling her muscles stretch and adjust to take him, finally sighing to the point of a whimper when he was buried to the hilt inside of her.

His breath was jerky and hot on her lips as she flattened her feet on either side of him for leverage and lifted a little, moaning when his hands on her hips pushing her back down onto his hardness.

“Skye…” he groaned.

She arched her back, pushing her pelvis down, her nipples taut against his chest as she took him even deeper. She clenched her muscles to squeeze him tightly as she lifted her body up and slid back down. His breath caught and held, his eyes fluttering closed instinctively, then opening—dark and heavy—to look at her as he slowly exhaled.

Wrapping one strong arm around her, his other hand dipped between their bodies, skimming over the skin of her belly to find the hidden nub of flesh that throbbed between them. As she rose up again, his thumb pressed down on its target, and she let her head fall back as the divine pressure gathered in her belly.

“Skye,” he said. “Tell me again. Tell me that you love me.”

Back bowed, she lifted her body as high as she could, until the tip of his sex almost slipped from her body. He was panting, fast and rough as he stared up into her eyes, pressing the pad of his thumb into her clit, sustaining the pressure as the tremors began deep in her core.

“I love you,” she gasped, as her muscles went slack, letting gravity take over.

Her convulsing muscles sucked him forward as Brooks drove deep inside her body, impaling her on his sex then rocking into her again and again. A gritty, strangled sound escaped from his throat and his arm tightened like iron right before he groaned with pleasure, his sex pulsing in fast, hot waves inside her body.

Small tremors still rocked their entwined bodies and Brooks held her close, dropping his lips to her shoulder. His voice, thick with the sort of emotion that told her Brooks Winslow would love her for the rest of her life, rumbled gently across her skin like distant thunder and said, “I love you, too.”

The morning light filtered through the portholes, gray and dreamy, reminding Brooks that this was his last day of sailing with Skye…for now. Based on the way things were progressing between them, however, he hoped that there were many, many more cruises ahead in their future. In fact, he couldn’t imagine anything better than a life spent on the water with Skye Sorenson.

He held her more tightly against him, marveling at the soft swell of her hips, the way her breasts rested heavily over his arm, the coconut-scented skin of her neck, the softness of her hair. How many times had he passed her on the docks of Sorenson Marina without any clue that under her greasy overalls and banged up ball cap was the sweetest, most sexy woman in the world? And how blessed was he to finally know?

Leaning forward, he nuzzled her neck, kissing her softly, not really wanting to wake her but sort of wanting to talk to her, to see her smile, to make love to her before they had to leave for Charleston. He was supposed to spend a few days in Charleston having the
Zephyr
outfitted for new brass fixtures, but he reconsidered now. Maybe he’d ask his contact at Classic Boats to take care of it and send him pictures via email if he required Brooks’ input. He was anxious to return to Maryland with Skye and solidify whatever was happening between them. He didn’t want to risk that a few days apart in the real world would make her reconsider their fledgling relationship.

As for
his
feelings…he closed his eyes and rested his forehead against her neck. Before Skye, he hadn’t woken up beside another human being in almost five years, and he’d never—not in his entire life—woken up beside a woman with whom he was in love. His strong heart fairly throbbed with love for her. With gratitude. With devotion. And it should have scared him, but it didn’t. It was like Skye was made for him so long ago, such a fated part of his lonely life, his soul recognized and welcomed her without flinching.

“What’re you thinking about?” she asked softly.

“You,” he whispered against her skin, pressing kisses to her neck. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

“You didn’t,” she said, sighing. Her breasts swelled against his arm as she took a deep breath, and he felt a fierce and sudden pang of gratitude for something as elementary as her skin pressing gently into his, that he was the man allowed to experience such blessed intimacy with this woman.

“What were
you
thinking about?” he asked, pressing his hips against her backside.

She turned in his arms and he opened his eyes. For some reason, he’d been expecting her to make some sweet or sassy little rejoinder inviting him to make love to her again. But her face read differently. Not quite upset, she was definitely ruminating about something. He leaned back a little, pulling her closer so their chests touched, not to make a move on her, but to remind her that he was a safe haven for whatever was on her mind.

“What’s going on?” he asked, a sudden pinch of worry making his heart race a little. Did she regret last night? Was she going to—

“I need to tell you something,” she said, biting her bottom lip and looking uncertain.

“Anything. Go ahead.”

“A few days ago you asked about my mom.”

Now he was really lost. They were lying naked in each other’s arms—whatever he’d expected next, talking about her mother wasn’t it. It occurred to him that whatever she wanted to say must be very important to her…or very troubling. The last time they’d briefly talked about her mother, in fact, she’d shut down pretty dramatically. Brooks braced himself, gently rubbing her back, but making eye contact with her to let her know he was listening carefully.

“Yeah. I was curious about why I’d never met her.”

“I told you she was in L.A.”

He nodded. “Yeah. And that she left when you were little, and it’s best that—”

“That she’s not a part of my life.”

“I remember.”

She dropped his eyes, looking down at where their chests collided, and she eased back just a little before looking up again. “She’s, um…my mother’s an escort. A call girl.”

Honestly, he had no idea what to say, but his own history with escorts made him instantly concerned that she was going to tell him that she knew about his extra-curricular activities. And then he chased away that thought by telling himself it would be okay because she’d told him she loved him last night…which would mean she loved him in spite of his sordid sexual history.

But she surprised him again. Or didn’t. Or shouldn’t have. Because by now he should have known that Skye Sorenson was one of the most selfless, thoughtful, amazing women God ever created.

“You’re…” She swallowed, licking her lips like she did when she was nervous. “You’re a public figure…and I would understand that dating me could be a liability. If the press ever found out about her, and…and splashed her name, and profession, all over the place…and you, and me, and—”

“Skye,” he said gently, pulling her back against his body. “Skye, stop.”

He understood now. She was telling him about her mother to give him an “out,” and his heart clenched from the goodness of her, and he silently promised himself never, ever to take her for granted.

“Do you want to be with me?” he asked.

Her head jerked up and down as her eyes searched his face uncertainly.

“I don’t care what your mother does for…work. I’m sorry that she’s hurt you, Skye. I’m so sorry for that. But her choices have nothing to do with us.”

He didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until she exhaled heavily, leaning forward to rest her forehead on his chest, and burrow against him. “Thank God. I was worried.”

“Why?” he asked, rubbing her back tenderly.

“It’s so disgusting,” she murmured, without looking up. “Humiliating and shameful. My mother has sex for money. And the men—the men she must meet, who…do that. Creepy perverts cheating on their wives or doing degrading things they can’t get any self-respecting woman to consider doing. It makes my skin crawl. It makes me sick to my stomach to think of a man like that.”

His blood ran cold and his own stomach threatened to bottom-out as he listened to her words.
The men…creepy perverts…cheating…degrading things.
He held onto her tightly, tightening his jaw, his heart clenching with worry.

He hadn’t thought of himself as creepy or perverted while using Elite Escorts, nor had he ever pressured an escort to have sex with him or asked degrading things of her. Sometimes, they’d just end up talking all evening if the chemistry wasn’t there. Other times, they’d end up fucking, but it was always consensual and respectful, and Brooks was always concerned with the comfort of his partner. Not that he could tell Skye any of this—not that it would matter. She had a firm idea of her mother’s profession. He doubted anything could persuade her that he was still a good guy if she ever found out he’d been known to frequent escorts himself.

When he was silent, she sniffled softly against his chest, leaning back to look at him with stricken eyes. “Brooks, I…I understand if—I mean, you didn’t sign up for this. We could go back to—”

“No!”

He had been zoning out, concentrating on her words and his past actions, worried about the two ever colliding, but now he focused on her face with fierce intensity, tightening his arm around her waist and pulling her back against his chest.

“No, we’re not going back! This doesn’t change anything, Skye. Nothing. My heart is yours.” He pressed his lips to her head, a litany of
Please don’t ever let her find out. Please don’t ever let her find out
, circling in his own. “It’s
yours
. I swear to you, your mother’s life choices don’t change that for me. Not at all. Not even the tiniest bit.”

“You’re amazing,” she sobbed softly, looking up at him with wide eyes as a small, tentative smile tilted her lips up hopefully. “You’re sure you don’t mind?”

“I mind for you, but not for me.”

“And you still want me? In your life?”

“Of course I want you in my life,” he said, losing himself in her bright blue eyes. “Skye, you’re
all
I really want in my life.”

“What if it comes out someday—”

He shrugged, because there was no way to reassure her that it wouldn’t. But he could reassure her of his support. “We’ll deal with it then, but it still wouldn’t change anything between us. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she murmured, a tender, relieved smile covering her face as she rolled him to his back, slid up his hard chest and pressed her lips to his.

***

There’d been a possessive, almost combustible, quality to their lovemaking this morning. So intense, in fact, that neither of them had remembered protection until the last moment, and Brooks had barely pulled out of her body in time. He’d been so hungry for her, yet incredibly tender afterwards, cleaning the evidence of his climax off her stomach with a warm towel before pulling her into his strong arms and holding her tightly.

Skye was so  relieved that there were no more secrets between them, her heart felt a new lightness, watching him with a mix of pride and wonder as he worked, her insides tingling with latent pleasure as his muscular back flexed while he tightened the jib rigging. Her mind skated effortlessly the touch of those same fingers on her breasts, smoothing downward, gently parting her so that his tongue could explore the most intimate, secret parts of her. With trembling hands, she tightened her grip on the ship’s wheel, surprised to look up and find him staring at her, a knowing grin on his handsome face.

“I’d love to know what
you
were just thinking about,” he said, rounding the mast to stand in front of her with his hands on his hips. “Looked like something I’d like to be thinking about too.”

She felt her cheeks flush with heat, but held his eyes, grinning up at him. “This morning.”

“Mmm,” he said, moving to stand behind her, his arms encircling her waist. “You were amazing, skip.”

She leaned back into him, forcing herself not to close her eyes and loosen her grip on the wheel. “I wasn’t the only one there.”

“Are you saying
I
was amazing, too?”

“Maybe.”

He dropped his lips to the side of her neck, his hair tickling her jaw. “What happens next?”

She straightened a little. This particular conversation had never gone very well with Pat. She’d always wanted a solid commitment and he’d always been elusive:
We’ll see what happens. Don’t rush things, Skye! Let’s just enjoy the moment.
She was determined not to make the same mistakes by pressuring Brooks.

She shrugged. “We’ll see what happens.”

“Hmm,” he mumbled, his lips abandoning her throat. After a moment he spoke again. “Nope. I want more than seeing what happens. I want to chart a more solid course than that.”

He wasn’t looking at her, so she let herself grin as wide as she wanted to, but forced herself to hold back the joyful chuckle that bubbled up inside. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” He laced his hands together over her belly, resting his chin on her shoulder. “I mean, if you do too.”

“Why don’t you tell me what you have in mind,” she suggested.

“Simple. I want us to be together. I don’t suppose you want to move to Haverford?”

Move? To Haverford? Her heart soared from the feeling of belonging, of being wanted, of how right it felt to be with Brooks, but she forced herself to look logically at his suggestion. Leave her father and Sorenson Marina? Leave Havre de Grace? Her lips twitched. She wasn’t ready to give up her whole life. Not quite yet.

“My dad…and my job…and—”

“Okay…Wednesdays,” he said.

“What? Wednesdays? What does that mean?”

“Every Wednesday you come and stay overnight with me in Haverford…aaaand, I’ll come stay with you on the weekends until I can find my own place.”

“Oh. Your own place?” she asked, the idea making her so instantly sad, she was happy the wind was blowing into her eyes.

“Yeah, I mean…I don’t want to assume anything,” he murmured.

“Like what?”

“Like calling it
our
place,” he said softly, close to her ear. “Even though that’s what it’ll be.”

She closed her burning eyes for just a second, and then blinked a few more times when she opened them. His words were so sweet—so unbelievably, incredibly sweet and perfect to her ears—she almost wanted to weep.

“So we’ll just call it my place until you’re ready to move in.”

She didn’t say anything. She was too overwhelmed with emotion. He wasn’t leaving. He wasn’t shoving her to the side and leaving her like her mother or Pat. He was staying. He was going to change his whole life so he could stay with her.

“Okay with you, skip?” he asked, his voice low and tender.

“Okay with me,” she whispered, afraid to speak louder, afraid to break the spell they were under as the sun started to set and the miles between here and Charleston whooshed away by the moment.