“Motherfucker,” Brendan said in a teasing voice, although there was a hint of annoyance in his voice. He tossed his cards down, and I saw he had nothing. The smile widened over my face. “You’re definitely cheating. Two hands in a row?” Before I could respond, he stood and went for the button of his jeans. As he undid it, and pulled the zipper down, that V of muscle that disappeared down the denim became more pronounced, as did the trail of dark hair that started right below his navel.
It was then that I realized he wasn’t wearing any underwear. I felt my eyes widen as the two sides of his jeans opened all the way. Yeah, he was totally going commando under those pants.
I looked up at him, knowing my eyes probably looked like saucers, but unable to school my features. I noticed several things right away: he was breathing harder, his gaze was lowered to my chest, and his body seemed strung tight.
He also was sporting a growing erection.
“U-um,” I managed to stutter out, not sure what to say. Yeah, I knew this was strip poker when we started playing it, but good God, I guess I hadn’t really been prepared for it.
“This is the game, yeah?” Brendan finally said, but his voice seemed tight, like maybe he was either uncomfortable or … holding onto his control with a short leash. I should have nodded, or maybe said something, but I was frozen, my throat tight and my voice nonexistent.
Right when I thought he’d push the pants down and reveal the monster growing between his legs, there were three loud pounds on the front door. My heart seized a second, and I found myself looking in that direction. When neither of us moved, the pounding started again.
“Fuck,” Brendan said and buttoned his pants up. He picked up his shirt and tossed it to me. “Put that on. I don’t want whoever it is seeing you like that.”
This flutter of pleasure washed through me at the fact he was looking out for me. I slipped the shirt on despite the fact my clothes were an arm’s reach away. The material smelled like Brendan: dark, spicy, all man.
I heard Brendan open the front door and then heard a male voice. Whoever spoke sounded mad.
“Dude, she totally fucked me over,” the guy said.
“Man, I’m sorry,” Brendan replied.
I got up, walked over to the kitchen entrance, and leaned around the corner to see Brendan and whom I assumed was his friend, standing by the front door.
“I just left after I beat the shit out of the little fucker I caught her with and didn’t know where to go.” Then his friend looked my way. “Oh, shit. I didn’t know you had company.” The guy rubbed his hand over his head.
“I’ll be in my room and give you guys privacy.” I looked at Brendan. He mouthed, “I’m sorry” and “Thank you.” I smiled and nodded, knowing his friend needed him right now. As I headed to my room, I overheard his friend say, “Her room?”
Before I went into the bedroom, I turned and saw Brendan looking at me, this expression on his face that seemed intense, yet loving. God, if only that love was on a different level … like the level mine was on.
Brendan
Several days later
I hadn’t been able to get the image of Meghan in only her bra and panties out of my mind. I had these really filthy fucking thoughts about telling her to get out of that innocent looking underwear, and how she’d tell me to fuck off, showing me that fire I knew she had. I got turned on when she gave as good as she got, how she didn’t put up with any bullshit. She wasn’t in the best mood because of the issues with getting kicked out of her apartment, but it seemed like she was starting to feel better.
Hell, I was watching her enough, thinking of all the things I wanted to do to her, and imaging me actually being a real man and telling her I loved her.
I looked over my shoulder and stared at her as she cooked dinner. Hell, I wanted to go in there and help her, not only because I didn’t want her doing all this shit alone, but because I wanted to be near her. She looked good, though, sexy, with her hair piled high on her head and the shirt she wore too big and hanging off one shoulder.
“You need any help?” I called out.
“I’m good,” she replied, but I was off the couch and heading into the kitchen anyway.
I leaned against the doorframe, crossing my arms over my chest. She bent over to grab something out of the oven, and my fucking cock jerked to attention as the pants she wore molded to her ass to perfection.
Fucking. Hell.
“Shit,” she said on a gasp, and I was by her a second later.
“What happened?” I asked, seeing her cradle her hand.
“I just burned myself.”
I grabbed her wrist and gently pulled her over to the sink. Holding her hand under the running cold water, I looked at her. She was already staring at me, and I felt this zap of electricity move through my body from where I touched her and how we stared at each other.