Stupid Girl(84)

“Do you want me to stay, Gracie?” His quiet gruff voice washed over me.

I nodded, turned my mouth to his, hovered my lips close, but not quite touching. “More than anything.”

Silently, Brax unlocked and shoved the door wide for us to enter. He closed and locked it behind us. Threw the quilt and pillows on my bed, then waited for nothing else; he took my hand, led me through the hazy dark to my single bed, turned me around. His fingers squeezed mine, strong, protective. While his fingers grasped the hem of my cami, he leaned close, whispered in my ear. “Hold your arms up.” I did, and he lifted my shirt up and over, and dropped it to the floor. His hands moved over my arms, lingering at my shoulders, then traced my collar bone with his thumbs, trailed down my ribs and I felt the roughened calluses of his pitching hand as it skimmed my skin. The yard lamp at the corner of the building shined through my window, and its sallow rosy shaft fell across Brax’s face and I found the stark contrast between his beauty and brutality a drug to which I’d become addicted. I couldn’t tear my gaze away. My fingers found their way to the buttons of his shirt, and as nimbly as I could I loosened each one until the edges hung free. Hesitantly I pushed the shirt over his wide shoulders, pulled each arm out and let the material fall to the floor next to my cami. I had no idea what I was doing; I only knew I wanted to touch him; feel the ridges of muscle beneath my palms, and his mouth on me. He scooped me up in his arms, put a knee into the mattress and lowered us both, and he rolled over me, bracing his weight on his elbow, much like we’d been on the rooftop, but so much more intense. Wraithlike eyes left mine and traveled slowly down my throat, my chest, and stomach, where his hand came to rest. He dragged his fingertips over my navel, across my hipbones, and with expert fingers loosened the five buttons of my jeans. I watched as his head dipped low, his lips pressing against my lower stomach, sending tingles of sensation scattering over my flesh when he licked then sucked the skin there, his tongue swirling over it, making me writhe beneath him. My fingers found their way into his silky dark curls, his taut neck, the corded muscles there. His mouth trailed upward, dragging those perfectly shaped lips and velvety tongue over my skin as his fingers dug into my ribs, and my eyes drifted shut as I twisted my hips, inching closer to him yet not nearly close enough. The anticipation was excruciating and painful and delicious.

Brax’s tongue tasted and licked and suckled as he kissed the sensitive flesh of my breasts that rose above the lace of my bra. He kissed the hollow of my throat, settled his lips over my pulse that was rapid-fire fast. As fast as my breath. He moved to my ear. “As much as I’ve fantasized seeing you in nothing but those boots, they’re in the way,” he whispered. “Hold still.”

Words would not push past my vocal cords, so I just waited and watched as Brax sat up, bent over at the waist, and in seconds I heard his heavy boots hit the floor. He twisted, grabbed first one foot, relieved it of my boot and sock, then the other, and he moved back up to my waist. “Raise up.” I did, and he eased my jeans over my hips, tossing them to the floor and leaving me in nothing but my bra and panties. He flung his big body next to mine, and the bed dipped with his weight and I bounced beside him. I couldn’t help but giggle.

“Oh, you finding something funny with my moves, Sunshine?” he teased, and his mouth and fingers dug into my sides, my belly, my neck, and I squealed as he tickled me.

“Brax! No! Stop it! Please!” My giggles were unstoppable. “Please! I love. Your moves. Not. Funny.” I gasped.

He threw one jean-clad leg over both of mine, pinning me as he laid half on top of me, and looked down. His longish curls twisted messy and perfect over his forehead, his teeth gleaming white as he smiled a long, silky lazy smile that was hidden mostly in shadows.

I lifted my fingertips to his chest, caressed his lip that carried a scar just like mine, and it was then my gaze landed on my ring. It had meant something to me, and had eased my pain in more ways than one. But I no longer needed it. I eased it off, Brax’s eyes watching closely, and I set it on my nightstand. Then I slipped my hands round his neck. When I tugged, ever so gently, Brax’s gaze went from jovial and mischievous to stormy. “Tell me what you want, Gracie.”

My smile was sincere, my voice a whisper and I was scared and brave at once. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Brax,” I confessed. “But I know I want your mouth on mine. Your tongue tasting me. And your hands on my body.” His eyes turned to liquid metal in the hazy shadows. “I want to feel you so bad I actually ache.”