Stripped, page 3
She undid the button of his jeans, lowered his zipper and pushed his pants down. Before he could regain control of the situation, she lowered herself to her hands and knees, freed his cock from his boxer briefs and licked up the length of his shaft.
“Holy shit,” he ground out, tangling his hands in her hair. She closed her lips over his head and took him deep into her mouth, one long, teasing pull. Fuck, this was hot. Thirty minutes ago, they’d been complete strangers. And now here she was, still fully dressed with his cock in her pretty mouth. After several sweeps of her lips and tongue, she pulled back, letting the head of his cock rest against her mouth. She looked up at him through her lashes, rubbing him against her lips. She quirked an eyebrow at him, and just that eyebrow was so fucking sexy that his balls tightened. “I thought you wanted rough,” she said, licking her lips and the head of his cock all at once.
Jesus Christ. Who was this woman?
He knew what she was asking, what she was inviting him to do, and he tightened his fists in her hair. He thrust his hips forward as he urged her toward him, fucking his cock into her mouth. She moaned enthusiastically and swallowed, her throat working around him. Wet heat engulfed him, sending searing pleasure licking up his spine. Goddamn, she felt good. Not just her mouth. Her fucking throat. With his hands still fisted tightly in her hair, he dragged her head back, watching as his cock slid free. Mascara was smudged below her eyes, giving her a debauched look that only turned him on more. Unable to help himself, he thrust back into her mouth, and she swallowed him again with a moan that vibrated through him. Christ, he could come like this, but that wasn’t what he wanted.
Brooke was a gift, one he intended to unwrap and enjoy fully. Coming in her mouth—her sweet, gorgeous mouth—ten minutes in wasn’t the plan. He pulled her hair, easing her away from his cock, and brought her up onto her knees. Tilting her head to the side, he nipped at her neck, biting softly at the curve of her shoulder, trailing hot, openmouthed kisses and bites up and down her neck. She moaned and writhed against his grip, a flush spreading across her skin.
“You have something else to wear home tomorrow?” he asked against her skin.
“Y-yeah. Oh, God,” she moaned loudly when he sucked the skin just below her ear. He let out a gruff moan of his own, because fuck, her responsiveness was hot.
“Good.” He released her hair, tangled waves falling around her shoulders, and gripped the front of her dress, ripping it open. She let out a gasp that grew into another moan when he tugged down her strapless bra, freeing her breasts. Circling an arm around her waist, he roughly palmed one breast, her nipple a hard peak against his hand. He dipped his head and scraped his teeth over the nipple of her other breast. Her head fell back and she made a series of incoherent sounds as he sucked her nipple into his mouth, not being gentle about it. Whimpers and moans and grunts, feeding both his ego and his erection. He managed to kick free of his boots, pants and boxer briefs, and then joined her on the bed, still tormenting first one breast and then the other. She reached behind her and undid the zipper of her dress. It fell off her, the torn fabric pooling around her knees, leaving her in only a red lace thong.
He eased her down onto the bed, shoving her torn dress to the floor. She wrapped her fingers around his cock, stroking him while he devoured her with his eyes. Blond hair fanning out around her, makeup smudged around her eyes, red patches on her neck and throat from his stubble. Lips swollen from kissing, from sucking his cock. Gorgeous little breasts, barely a handful, topped with small, light pink nipples. Her body was long and lithe, all soft skin and toned muscles.
So fucking sexy that he couldn’t have conjured anything more perfect had his life depended on it.
He hooked his fingers into her thong and slid it down her legs, then tossed it over his shoulder. With his hands on her hips, he tugged her toward him and pushed her legs apart. He grunted appreciatively. Her pussy was bare minus a sweet little triangle of blond hair in the center of her mound. He settled himself between her legs, nipping and kissing at the insides of her thighs. She propped herself up onto her elbows, watching him with an adorably naughty smile on her face. He kissed her swollen clit and then inhaled deeply, wanting to memorize her scent. His mouth watered and his cock throbbed at how good she smelled. Like woman and sex and heaven. He closed his mouth over her and swirled his tongue over her folds in one long, slow lick.
“Fuck, Sawyer,” she moaned, falling back onto the bed. The sound of his name on her lips in that strangled voice sent a bolt of heat streaking through him, like lightning, and the need to make her come seared through him. With long, slow, teasing kisses, he explored her, tasting her, drinking in the sounds of her sighs, her moans. Her hips shifted under his grip, and she writhed against him, wanting more. He nipped at her, licking and sucking and teasing. She tensed, her moans getting louder, and he sucked her clit into his mouth, swirling his tongue over and around it, but only for a second. Bringing her to the brink, but not letting her come. Letting it build.
Wanting it to be something she’d remember, and he knew he shouldn’t be thinking that way. It didn’t matter if she remembered him. Tonight was all that mattered. It hit him that it was for the best that he had her only for tonight, because fuck, he could get lost in her. Lost in a way he couldn’t afford. Lost in a way that would end in heartbreak.
He backed off, going back to teasing kisses and licks, moving his lips and tongue over her wet, swollen flesh. Her hands slid into his hair, her nails raking across his scalp.
“More,” she panted out, and he smiled against her as her hips shifted restlessly. He deepened his kiss, tasting and exploring again, sliding his tongue over her clit in slow, swirling strokes. Her hands tightened in his hair. “Oh, fuck, don’t stop. You are so good at this. Oh, shit. Shit!” She tensed and then bucked against him, coming hard with long, loud moan.
But he wasn’t done. He’d just made her come, but somehow it wasn’t enough. He felt greedy for her—for her taste and smell, for the sounds she made for him, for how fucking good she made him feel. He slid his hands up her thighs and pushed her legs back until her knees were practically at her shoulders. Working his mouth over her clit, he slipped a finger inside her, slowly stretching her as she contracted around him. He added a second finger, curling them up as he ate her.
She clamped down around his fingers and screamed, her clit pulsing as she came against his mouth for a second time. He kissed the backs of her thighs as she came down, riding out the waves of pleasure, but he left his fingers inside her, still fucking her, stretching her out.
“I need more,” she said, her voice husky. “I need you inside me. Fuck me, Sawyer.” She looked up and met his eyes. “Hard and rough like we both want.”
He slipped his fingers free of her body and sucked them into his mouth, savoring her taste. He quickly retrieved his jeans and pulled a condom from his wallet, tearing it open and rolling it on as he climbed back onto the bed. He kneeled in front of Brooke, guiding her trembling legs so that her ankles rested on his shoulders. He notched the head of his cock at her soaking wet entrance.
“Tell me again,” he said, his voice hoarse.
“Fuck me, Sawyer. I need your cock inside me.”
He groaned and pushed into her, swearing as he went. She was so wet, so hot and tight around him. So perfect. He swiveled his hips, working himself in deeper, and her back arched up off the bed. Their eyes met, and he stilled, buried deep inside her. Something unspoken passed between them. A connection tinged with sadness, because they both knew this was only for tonight. But he pushed it away, just wanting to feel good.
He pulled his hips back and thrust his cock into her at full force this time, and she cried out, her hands fisted in the duvet. With his hands tight on her hips, he started to fuck her in earnest, hard and deep, Brooke’s throaty moans urging him on. His balls slapped against her as he buried himself over and over again, giving in to what he needed and losing himself in her body. In how good she felt.
How good it felt not to hurt, even for just a little while.
Brooke cried out, and liquid warmth flooded his cock. She was so gorgeous, so responsive and uninhibited that as his balls tightened and heat pooled low in his gut, his chest cracked open, and something that felt a hell of a lot like regret wormed its way in. Brooke pulsed around him, coming hard, her limbs shaking, his name falling from her lips, and he followed her over the edge, his cock throbbing as he came buried deep inside her.
Chapter Two
“What the hell happened to you?” Dani Harris pulled off her sunglasses and shoved them up onto her head, pulling her black curls away from her face as she scrutinized Brooke. Feeling as though she were floating, Brooke dropped into a chair across from her friend on the terrace of Dixie Kitchen, an upscale breakfast joint on Peachtree that was a must for Brooke anytime she was in Buckhead.
“What do you mean?” asked Brooke, shrugging innocently and pulling the coffee Dani had already ordered for her toward herself. She took a sip and set down her cup, breathing in the fresh, warm air. A few clouds dotted the clear, blue sky, the Atlanta skyline rising up and gleaming in the sun. Old-school soul music played through the restaurant’s speakers, mingling with the sounds of traffic and conversation.
Dani arched an eyebrow and pointed at her with a spoon. “You look tired, but glowy. Beard burn on your neck.” Her eyes skimmed over Brooke, and it was as though she could still feel Sawyer’s hands and mouth on her. She ached between her legs, but she clenched her thighs together against the throb thinking of Sawyer elicited. “You almost covered up that hickey with makeup. Another layer would’ve done it. Bet you’ve got fingertip bruises on your hips and thighs. And I know none of that is courtesy of Peter, whose wife practically dragged him out of that reception last night.” Dani snorted. “Fucking pathetic. Him. Not you.” She dropped her spoon onto her saucer with a clatter, and the breeze stirred the air around them, the elegant tan-colored umbrella over their table flapping softly. “So. You got fucked, and well, from the Cheshire cat grin you’re sporting. Spill.”
The waitress came by just then, sauntering away after they’d ordered their fried green tomatoes, pimento cheese, fried chicken and buttermilk waffles.
“I went to the hotel bar to cool off last night after shit went down. And I ended up bringing this guy—this stranger—back up to my room. You should’ve seen him, Dani. Gorgeous. Body of a god. Like Thor.”
“Where did he rate on the Dickter scale?”
Brooke laughed. “Let’s just say he’d give Thor’s hammer a run for its money.” She shivered despite the warm air around her.
“Did Thor have a name?”
“Sawyer.” Brooke chuckled. “I don’t even know his last name. Shit, I don’t even know where he’s from.” A wave of . . . not sadness, that wasn’t the right word, but something tugged at her, vaguely and delicately melancholy.
“So what happened?”
She settled back in her chair and told Dani the entire story of how Sawyer had picked her up in the bar. How in control and masculine he’d been. How they’d had freaking fantastic sex—twice—and then he’d kissed her, said thank you, and left. She’d fallen into such a deep, relaxed sleep that when she’d woken up, for a second, she thought she’d dreamed it. But she was deliciously sore, her muscles tired, and her body completely satisfied.
By the time she was finished with her story, not sparing any of the dirty details, their food had arrived. Dani shoveled some chicken into her mouth and then sawed off a bite of waffle. “So you didn’t get any of Thunder Dick’s details? I mean, I can’t really put out a BOLO with just a first name and a description of his equipment.”
Brooke laughed, and there was that tug in her chest again. “No. And you know I hate this expression, but it was what it was. We both got it.” And they had. The rules, the expectations had been implicit. She couldn’t change them after the fact, no matter how much she might want to. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so instantly drawn to someone. The chemistry between them had been immediate and intense. She’d never experienced anything quite like it.
Dani snickered. “Yeah, you both got it.”
“You know what I mean. We understood that it was just for last night. We both needed that, I think.” Her mind flashed back to the sadness she’d seen in Sawyer’s eyes, and she wished she’d talked to him more. Hoped he was okay. That whatever had put the pain there would get better. Hoped that spending the night with her had helped him, really had been what he’d needed.
Dani nodded, not judging. They’d met on the job a few years ago, and while they didn’t work together anymore—Dani had been promoted to Homicide about a year ago—they were still close. “Speaking of last night, you wanna press charges against what’s-her-face? Peter’s wife? Ugh.” Dani stuck out her tongue, making a disgusted face that basically summed up Brooke’s feelings.
Brooke shook her head. “Nah. Not worth the mess. I’m still waiting to hear about that detective opening in HEAT. Last thing I need right now is drama. I’ve already been turned down once before. It would be satisfying as hell to slap cuffs on her, but I don’t want to do anything to hurt my chances.”
Dani nodded, chewing thoughtfully. “I hear you. Man, I can’t believe you’re up for HEAT. So badass.”
“Hey, Homicide’s pretty badass.” But Brooke smiled because Dani was right. It was no secret that Atlanta had one of the highest crime rates in the country. A few years ago, HEAT—the High-Risk Evaluation and Action Team—had been created to address some of the most dangerous crimes plaguing the city: drugs, weapons, human trafficking, and gang activity. It was an elite unit of detectives, without a doubt. Brooke had already passed the physical test, the written test and the first interview. She had a second interview tomorrow, along with a glowing recommendation from her current captain. She’d applied for Homicide a year ago, but the rejection hadn’t deterred her. No, it had only motivated her to work harder and do what she needed to do to earn that detective shield.
“It is, but it’s not the same as HEAT. The undercover shit is so cool. I’m gonna be jealous if you get in.”
Brooke laughed. “Let’s wait and see what happens. But I have a good feeling about this.”
“You’re in a disgustingly good mood this morning.”
Brooke laughed again and popped a piece of tomato in her mouth. Damn. Even her jaw was sore. “Let me tell you something, my friend. Spending the night getting your brains fucked out and coming over and over does wonders for a woman’s outlook on the world.”
“Mmm. I’ll bet it does.”
And it was true. She’d woken up feeling happier, more optimistic, more satisfied and alive than she had in a long time.
It really was a shame she’d never see him again.
Sawyer yanked open the door to The Speakeasy, cool air washing over him and raising goose bumps on his skin as he stepped inside and out of the muggy evening air. A storm had blown in and out over the afternoon, leaving behind a gray sky and a fuzzy rainbow. He’d never been one to look for signs and symbols, and he wasn’t a religious guy, but from his desk in the HEAT bullpen, he’d stared at that rainbow until it had faded. Wondering. Hurting. He’d spent hours sifting through the case files on his desk, feeling both restless and unfocused, trying to keep his gaze away from Ryan’s empty desk, which sat directly facing his own.
He sighed as he moved further into the bar, wrapping his grief and his guilt tighter around himself like a blanket, until it was part of him. Maybe, with time, it wouldn’t feel so heavy. Maybe.
DeMarcus waved him over, the others already seated at their regular table. As he approached, Sawyer tried not to stare at the empty chair where Ryan had always sat. He fought the urge to rub a hand over his chest, where a dull ache was throbbing. Ryan was supposed to be here. But in the span of a few minutes, everything had gone sideways.
Everything. And now everything felt like nothing. Empty and cold and unreal.
He dropped into his usual seat, between Jack and Ryan’s empty chair. Without a word, he reached for a glass and the pitcher of beer on the table. Once he’d poured himself a pint, he sat back and sipped, surveying his colleagues. There was no bragging about recent arrests, no ball busting, no raunchy jokes, no shop talk. A silence hung over the table like a rain cloud, gray and heavy.
“How you doing?” he asked Amelia, who was staring into the bottom of her half-empty pint glass as though it held the answers to all of life’s burning questions.
She hitched one shoulder, not looking up, and Sawyer’s heart hurt for her. She’d joined their team two years ago, and she and Ryan had been dating for nearly a year. Had dated. Past tense, now.
She reached into her purse and chucked a small box onto the table. Sawyer’s stomach lurched, because he knew exactly what was in that box.
“His parents found this. In his sock drawer, when they were . . .” She cleared her throat. “You know.”
Jack reached for the box and popped it open. The small diamond ring caught the light, sparkling softly. His light blue eyes narrowed and he shoved a hand through his dark blond hair. “Shit.” He glanced up, the lines around his eyes softening. “I’m sorry, Ames.”
Sawyer rubbed a hand over the back of his prickling neck and then took a healthy swallow of beer. It hadn’t occurred to him to warn Amelia or Ryan’s parents about the ring. In the midst of his own pain, he’d forgotten about it. Now he felt like an asshole.
