“Just curious, how long have you lived in this . . .” My question gets lost in my throat, as Brett swings himself forward on his crutches until his broad body is looming over me, trapping me between the wall and his dominating frame.
“In this condo? About three years. Ever since I signed with the Flyers.” He leans forward to drag his lips over mine. “I’ve been dying to do this since you walked through the door,” he whispers, his long, thick lashes tickling my skin as he blinks. “I wake up every morning thinking about you.” My head thumps softly against the wall as I close my eyes, reveling in the feel of his mouth against my ear. “I go to bed at night thinking about you.” Blood rushes through my veins with the adrenaline his words create. “Please tell me it’s not just me.”
“It’s not,” I manage to get out in a whispered moan, thankful that where I’m hesitant to voice my attraction to him, Brett seems to have no fears at all.
I let my gaze drift out the window behind us, the image of Brett’s back reflecting on the glass. A twinge of worry pricks the responsible side of me. “Can people see in here?” The lights are on, the curtains aren’t drawn, and this side of the condo faces another building. Sure, it’s storming, but—
Brett slaps his hand against the light switch in answer, throwing us into darkness as he closes his mouth over mine again. This time he grasps my waist and pulls my body closer, swallowing me up in his arms as he balances on his crutches, his tongue slipping across the seam of my lips, taunting me, urging me to open for him. I do, and he sighs against me, settling into that slow, hypnotic way he has of kissing.
Heat is thrumming through my veins in seconds, waking my limbs, making my skin itch for his touch. Making my fingers tug at his T-shirt, wanting it off.
Wanting his pants off, too.
Wanting my clothing off.
Wanting to feel every inch of his hot skin against mine.
Lightning skitters across the sky frequently, sending bright flashes into the room. A tease, really, to give me the briefest glimpse of his broad shoulder or the curve of his hard jaw.
“Are you okay with me bringing you in here?” he whispers against my mouth.
“Yes.”
“How far do you want this to go, tonight?”
I hesitate. Would he think less of me if I told him the thoughts that are swirling inside my head right now? If I asked him whether he has protection in that nightstand drawer? If we have to worry about being overheard?
As usual, he somehow senses what I’m thinking. “I’m fine with anything you say, Cath. You just have to tell me, so it doesn’t go too far. You’ll tell me, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.” He breaks free of me to ease himself back the three feet to the edge of his bed. Leaning his crutches haphazardly against the nightstand, out of the way, he holds a hand out, beckoning me.
I’m careful not to bump his cast in the dark as I step forward. I settle my hands on his shoulders, though I can’t keep them from wandering, drawing lines along the hard ridge of his collarbone with my fingertips, marveling at how his muscles surround it. I let my fingers slip under his shirt, careful not to stretch the cotton.
Warm hands cup the outsides of my thighs, sliding up and down soothingly, slowly. On the third pass, his fingertips slip under the loose material, all the way to the edge of my lace panties beneath. I never really considered how easy the access under this jumpsuit is, and now that he’s gently gripping the curve of my backside, a deep throb settles in my core.
“You are the most stunning woman I’ve ever met.”
I shake my head at him and smile, a wordless dismissal of his flattery. He’s literally seen me at my worst—unshowered, smelling of burned and greasy diner food, in ratty threadbare clothes. He’s delusional.
He grins. “I’m glad you’re oblivious. I think that’s part of your charm.” An especially long wave of lightning explodes in the sky, filling the room, enough to catch his adoring eyes as they peer up at me. “I have never wanted anyone as much as I want you. Not even a fraction.”
My heart swells with his words, raw and emotional and undoing me with their sincerity.
“I . . .” I falter. I remember a time when I didn’t care if a guy knew I wanted him. When the idea of flirting wasn’t met with apprehension, when the thought of being abandoned and heartbroken never entered my mind. When I didn’t know what it would feel like to be shamed for my having expressed desire in the first place.
But that’s all years in the past and this is Brett, a guy who I have to believe would never allow me to feel shame for a second. I can be smart and still live, still allow myself to trust.
And chase after what I want.
I can let myself love again.
“Take this off,” I ask, too shyly, but I balance the meek request by tugging at his shirt.
Without hesitation, his hands leave my body to reach over his head and smoothly peel off the soft cotton, tossing it aside. Lightning flashes and I stifle a groan at the brief glimpse of those curves and ridges.
His responding chuckle is dark and playful. “There’s a switch over there, on the wall. Hit that and then you can turn on the lamp.”
I do, and a panel of curtains slides across the windows, closing off the chaos outside. The lamp casts a pleasant dim glow.
Brett grins, his eyes twinkling as he watches me blatantly gawk at him. “Better?”
I manage a nod, and then I’m giggling at myself, at how dumbstruck and shy I become around him.
“Get over here.” He guides me onto the bed next to him, gently easing me down, struggling to twist his body toward me while keeping his casted leg away. While the angle has his stomach muscles tensing in a way that makes my jaw temporarily drop, it can’t be comfortable.
“Stop, you’re going to hurt yourself. Lie back.” I press against his bare chest, taking in his hot skin against my palms as I push him back onto his elbows. The sheer size of him, sprawled out across the queen-size bed, is overwhelming.
“How on earth did I ever get you out of that car?” I let my hand drop, intent on settling it on his stomach. Only he’s sliding himself up the mattress.
And my hand lands about eight inches lower.
I jump, pulling away quickly, but not before I’ve managed a solid feel of him through his track pants. “I didn’t mean to touch that.” My cheeks flame.
He falls back against the bed, his breathing more labored than before. An intimate chuckles escapes his lips. “What were you trying to touch, then?”
“Your stomach.” My eyes flicker to the washboard ridges, but then they veer farther down, to where the sharp cut of his hips angles south, and his track pants highlight his hard length.
“Can you please stop rushing me? I’d like to take things slow.”
My giggle is soft, at first. An embarrassed sound, but it quickly grows and strengthens, until I’m laughing from deep within my belly, unable to contain myself.
“What’s so funny now?”
“My friend Misty was wondering how this would work, with you in a cast.” Clumsy, I would say. All elbows and knees, and nothing at all like the sensual scene from a movie.