Body of Work (13 page)

His palms skimmed her back. One snuck beneath her bra strap, the other dipped inside the back of her jeans in the only place an inch of space existed—right down the middle. He stroked the sensitive spot at the base of her spine, a teaser of what he could be doing if he had better access.

“I should’ve worn a skirt.” She fumbled with his belt, one of the annoying kind that folded back on itself between double D-rings, practically requiring a user’s manual. “So should you.”

“I’ll break out a kilt for next time.”

What—whoa. “You’re kidding, right?” Oh boy. Head shaking. “You’d wear a kilt?”

“I have, many times.”

She planted both hands on his chest, stared up at him. Talk about hitting one of her fantasies squarely on the head. “Seriously?” A splash of color tinted his cheeks. Oh wow. Six-two, solid as a brick wall and blushing. Just like that, she fell a little more.

“Yeah. I was born here, but my parents emigrated from Scotland. To this day, my dad changes from his suit pants to a kilt the minute he gets home from work.”

“That is so cool.”

“Believe me, when I was a kid, and worse, a teenager, it was not cool. Used to embarrass the shit out of me. Wasn’t bad enough I was the only red-headed giant in a small-town school, my dad wandered the neighborhood in a skirt.”

“But you’re okay with it now, obviously.” The heat between her legs switched from boil to simmer. She slid her arms back around his neck, clasping her fingers together instead of playing rough. That’d keep. This—learning about Brian’s life, his family, what made him
him
—was the other half of everything she wanted.

“I am. Even back then, I couldn’t stay mad at him. At either of them. I got lucky in the family department, they’re great people. Very honest and accepting.”

“They sound lovely.”

He eyed her arm where it wrapped around his neck in a sweet hug. “And boring, compared to you fighting your way past my belt.”

“I like talking with you. The belt can come later.” Oh crap, that sounded bad. Bad, but really good, now that the picture had entered her head. Brian snapping a leather belt across her butt, the sweet heat it’d cause… Her face burned as he stared down at her, probably seeing all of her wicked wishes in her eyes. She licked dry lips and blinked to clear the image of Brian binding her wrists with his canvas belt from her mind. Not working, especially while pressed against his body, buzzing from pheromones.

The scent of charred food replaced Brian’s soap and yummy manliness. “Oh crap—the chicken.” She scrambled free of their clinch and dashed across the concrete slab. Dark-gray smoke seeped from every crack and hole, enveloping the top half of her ancient barbecue. A quick push on the handle and the lid flopped open with gusto. The whole unit rocked. The broken wheel that’d been precariously supporting the back of the stand shot across the patio. Brian’s arm folded around her chest and yanked her backward, out of the danger zone formerly known as her grill.

“Holy shit,” he said as the thing went down, the legs essentially folding in on themselves with the chunk of metal housing the grill—and the chicken breasts she’d marinated all afternoon—crashing on top of it all.

“I guess we’re having salad for dinner.”

“Anything’s good if I’m having it with you.” He planted a kiss on her head. “Stand back here while I disconnect the tank and get it out of the way.”

“Oh god, I didn’t even think of that.” She grabbed his hand before it slipped free. “Don’t get blown up.”

“Not the kind of blown I had in mind for tonight, don’t worry.”

That grin—so naughty. He squatted, dealt with the propane tank so their evening didn’t become truly explosive. Waited for the last flicker of flame to fizzle under the grill, then flipped the lid on the barbecue and stood.

“Closed casket, good idea,” she said. God, his laugh made a lost meal and dead barbecue almost worthwhile. Seriously, what would she have done if the thing had done its implosion act when she’d been alone? Probably run into the house and buried herself in Photoshop work to avoid the issue altogether. Until the back of her house blew up, anyway. “Thanks for saving my bacon, even if I ruined your chicken.”

“I’ll take your bacon over chicken any day. And I’ll get rid of the mess tomorrow, after it’s had a chance to cool down.”

“I can do it.”

“I know you can—you’re a capable, independent woman.” He swiped his palms on his shorts once more, then slid one around her waist and hauled her close. “But you can be that and still let me take care of you.”

Not a question of whether she’d
let
him take care of her, of course not. And boy, did that work for her—on multiple levels “Okay.”

“Great. Thank you.”

“Sure. Feel free to come back and lug my garbage can to the curb too. Thursdays, before 8:00 a.m. Don’t be late.”

“Noted.” His hand slid lower to cup her ass possessively. “Anything else I can take care of?”

“The light bulbs are all good and none of my taps are leaky. Hmm.” She tapped a finger on his chest and tried not to giggle. Or give too much credence to his offer, tempting as it was to picture him as the man of her house. “Do you do yard work?”

“I do.” A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. The wink that followed set fire to her panties. “But I know for a fact you don’t have a bush that needs trimming.”

Right now, she kind of wished she did, because the thought of Brian grooming her private parts to his liking gave her more than a little thrill. “And do you prefer your women,” how to word it, “closer to nature?”

“First off, I don’t have women. I have woman—and to be clear, that’s you, cutie—until you boot my sorry ass off your property and out of your life.”

Oh wow. Before she could come up with a response that wouldn’t make him instantly regret his words, he dipped down and sealed her lips with a soft kiss. The tender touch quickly turned into a tangle of tongues. Dinner, what dinner? Thirty seconds of kissing Brian and she was back to struggling with his belt.

“Is this some kind of male chastity device?”

“Hell no. Just a mistake.” He pushed her hand aside and got the buckles free. “Have at it,” he said as he walked her backward, deeper into the yard.

“I think you’re lost. My bedroom’s the other way.”

“Later. After I do some work in your yard.” Her back connected with the old sugar maple near the far corner. “And we cover that closer-to-nature thing.”

The sun hovered above the treetops. Twilight was still an hour away, at least. A six-foot-high board fence bordered three sides of her property, but it wasn’t without its cracks and peepholes, nor was it soundproof. Evidence of that carried from the nearby yards—the rhythmic snipping of garden shears, hip-hop music from the Baileys’ pool house around the corner, the sound of splashing as bodies repeatedly jumped into the water. Surely all that white noise would mask any kissing—or other—sounds.

Brian circled her wrists with his thumbs and index fingers. Lifted them, turned them this way and that, inspecting her as though it was the first time. “You’re so tiny, so delicate.” He guided her arms to her sides, flattening the palms against the massive tree trunk. “If I ever forget that, even for a second, knee me square in the balls or poke me in the eye or something.”

“That’d be a mood killer.”

The intended joke died when he pulled back, straight-faced. “I’m a foot taller and probably have a hundred pounds on you.”

“You won’t break me.”

“Fucking right I won’t. And I won’t hurt you either.”

He’d taken another step back. Fine, she’d put the space to good use. On her knees. “Here’s the thing about that. You know that saying, ‘hurts so good’?”

“Cassie…”

“I happen to agree.” Down went the zipper on his shorts. “And so do you.” She freed his cock from black boxer briefs. Curled her fingers around his rigid shaft and slid her fist up and down. She brought it to her lips, scooped the bead of pre-cum away with her tongue, then took the engorged tip between her teeth.

His nostrils flared as she increased the pressure. His hand moved to the back of her head, urging her to take more. Exactly what she wanted to do. But not too easily. She resisted his control by scraping her teeth along his length as he sought entry into her mouth. Strong fingers fisted in her hair. Immobilized her while he thrust, fast and mercilessly, burying his cock deep in her throat.

Oh god, yes, like that. She pinched her eyes closed, focused on breathing through her nose. A couple more seconds and she’d be past the initial gag response, ready for him to own her mouth as long as he wanted.

“Shit,
shit
.” He staggered backward, taking his cock and her balance with him. Wildness ruled his features. His jaw clenched, his lips thinned to a straight line. The worst, though—his eyes, hard and full of storms.

From her position on all fours, he looked more massive than ever. A broody giant holding his cock protectively. She’d be lucky if he ever let her near it again. “Are you okay?”

“Not even fucking close.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.” She shook her head. “I mean, obviously I wanted you to feel it, but—” This was not going well at all. “I didn’t think I bit hard enough to…damage it. You. I’m sorry.”

“Christ, stop apologizing to me.”

What was she supposed to say to that? Not I’m sorry—again. She lowered her eyes. If she kept them there long enough, maybe he’d leave her alone with her humiliation. Or not, since his shoes were headed toward her, not away.

A pair of lightly tanned knees entered her field of vision. “You keep getting it wrong.” A hooked finger caught her chin and lifted until she met his eyes. “You didn’t hurt me, and you have nothing else to apologize for, either. I’m the one making the mistakes in this relationship.”

“Relationship?”

“It might be if I stop fucking things up. Come here.” Hands linked, he helped her to her feet. “I’m going to be straight with you. All at once, like ripping off a Band-Aid. When I’m done, you say go and I’ll go. Back to the way things were before I showed up on your doorstep in the middle of a rainstorm, with my promise never to touch you again. You say stay and I’ll agree to whatever terms work for you.”

“Sounds ominous…with a side of promising.”

He leaned in for a soulful kiss. “Just in case the promising part doesn’t work out.”

“Points for sweetness awarded.” At least he smiled at this joke, even if briefly.

“I had every intention of being nothing but sweet tonight. Courting you with conversation and making love to you by candlelight. Then I went and forced my cock down your throat, practically bringing tears to your eyes.”

“No, it wasn’t—”

Brian brought their joined hands to her lips and shook his head. “You’ve seen, more than once, that I can be a selfish prick. Stupid hot head has gotten the better of me plenty of times. I’m not a bully but I am a brute at the core.” He squeezed her fingers, stared down at her with an earnestness that made her want to hug him. “I can and will control the brute, keep him away from you. Be that sweet guy who kisses instead of biting. But…”

“But?” Nope, he didn’t budge, physically or verbally. Time for a nudge. She turned their hands until she had access to his fingertips. Kissed them all lightly, then sucked one into her mouth. She swirled her tongue around his finger. Bit it the way she’d done to his cock—the way that made him take control. Fiery passion danced in his eyes as she let the digit slide free. “Tell me the rest, tell me the
but
.”

“But give me a taste of rough and raw and I have to fight not to get lost in it. To give in to my possessiveness. And it’s so fucking strong with you. If I had my way, I’d tattoo my name on your pretty little body as a warning to anybody who dared look too closely, and a reminder to you exactly where you belong. Then I’d keep you so incredibly well-fucked you wouldn’t have the time or energy to look at another man.”

At some point during his speech, her bones must’ve dissolved, because she’d utterly melted against his big, hard body. “Stay.”

“There’s more.”

“I don’t care. Tell me after I’m so well-fucked the only thing I can do is lie there and listen.” God, his laugh. How could one simple sound make her heart jump and her body ache with need? She slid her hands up his arms, over his wide, round shoulders. “Stay.”

“Staying.”

“About those terms…”

“Name them,” he said, his face pressed to the side of her neck.

“I want it all. You, just like your beard—soft and rough, sometimes one, sometimes the other, sometimes both at once.” Maybe that was asking too much. Maybe it didn’t make sense.

A line of kisses and the soft tickle of ginger made her shiver. “Soft enough?” he whispered in her ear.

“Yes.”

He dragged the underside of his beard down the column of her neck, creating delicious friction, nipping as he went. “Rough enough?”

“Not even fucking close,” she said, attempting—and failing in a massive way—to mimic him. But he laughed again, and that sound gave her as many sparks as the scrape of his bristles.

“How about this?” He clamped his teeth over the tender spot near her collarbone. Shook his head a little for extra sting.