My fingers trail down my sides, slipping beneath me to feel the roaring heat there and how wet I am as I think of Bryce Connors. That hard body, the bottled fury that somehow makes him a devil in bed and yet makes me feel more protected than I've ever felt in his arms after. Those rock-hard arms, themselves covered in his own ink and his own scars from his own demons and his own battles.
I blush deeper as my fingers slip into the honeyed wetness of my pussy, thinking of the ways those arms moved me, and the ways the hands and fingers attached to those arms teased and played me in ways I'd never felt. And God, that tongue. There's no way any man outside of a fantasy should have a tongue as wicked and as perfect as that.
I groan into the sheets and then roll onto my back as I let my thumb drift across my aching clit, rubbing myself in slow, deliberate circles as my breath and my pulse begin to quicken in staccato hitches. I gasp as I slip a second finger inside, imagining the toe-curling, star-seeing way it felt every single damn time he entered me; every time he filled me with that perfect cock of his.
I'm moaning loudly, louder than I should be. But I stop caring as my forbidden fantasy of the wickedly tempting man I need to forget swells around me, carrying me closer to that sweet release. I'm crying out, my fingers moving quicker and faster over my clit and deep within my pussy as I start to drift over the edge of my climax.
The door to the room splinters inward off it's hinges, and I shriek as a man crashes through with a gun in his hands and the blazing fire in his eyes.
And then he starts laughing.
Oh you have got to be motherfucking kidding me, I growl to myself as I gasp and yank the sheets over my body while he laughs and laughs and laughs.
Ten-thousand miles away from him, ten milliseconds away from coming while thinking of him, and the man from my forbidden fantasy literally comes crashing through my door.
What the fuck is Bryce doing here?
8
Bryce
She's in trouble.
I freeze outside the door to her hotel room once more, hand on the gun I picked up from an old contact of Lawson's on the way through the market on the way here.
She wasn't hard to find; not when you've got my and Major Lawson’s resources. And she should know that too, which makes it even more bewildering and annoying to me that she'd just up and take off the way she did to come here. As if I wouldn't follow her; or find her.
The sound goes silent inside her room, and I pause once more, poised to strike. But yeah, there it is again.
Fuck, she's in trouble.
I react on instinct, moving back and then crashing through the door, ready to murder whoever is trying to hurt her with my bare fucking hands.
There's a scream as I come smashing into the room, and I rise up with every hair-trigger response of my finely tuned instincts on edge as I level the gun at...
At Peyton?
She's alone. And naked; very, very naked. And flushed, and-
And then the puzzle piece falls into place, and I just start to laugh.
I mean, I'm also rock hard seeing her lithe, nude body scramble up the bed snatching at sheets to cover herself. But it's too late, and I can't help myself as the peels of laughter come roaring out of my mouth.
Part of it is relief, seeing as that's what I interrupted instead of some intruder hurting her, and there's a pang of familiarity in seeing those curves, and that line of her hip, and those perfect pink nipples; none of which I've ever managed to get out of my head.
Not that I could even if wanted to; as if I've been trying all that hard.
“What the fuck, Bryce!?”
I have to chuckle, seeing her look so furious at me; “Well, excuse me. I was coming in to help you,” I start to laugh again; “But I don't think you need any help coming by the looks of things.”
Peyton yanks the sheets up higher to her chin and glares at me with brightly flushed cheeks; “I don't know what you think-”
“Peyton.” I lean against wall behind me and smirk; “Like I don't know what you sound and look like when you're-”
“Enough, Jesus,” She says, wincing and shaking her head; “What are you doing here, Bryce?”
“Says the girl who broke into our offices, stole a bunch of money, and hijacked my plane to fly halfway around the world to, what, shoot her way into wherever Benson's got Logan and save him yourself?”
She's quiet for a second, which is a fucking rarity; “It was Logan's plane.”
“Technically, it was my plane, but we're splitting hairs.”
“I wasn't going to sit there while everyone hemmed and hawed about plans while Logan is- God, while my brother is who the hell knows-”
“Jesus, Peyton,” I narrow my eyes at her; “You think you're the only one that calls him brother? What the fuck were you even thinking?”