Light My Fire

Today just about killed me.

Brooke is different today.

She’s more confident, she’s laughing easily, she’s walking around in ass-hugging leggings with a sway in her hips that didn’t exist before.

She’s been thoroughly fucked and loved by two guys, and it shows.

It’s as if this weekend allowed her to unleash the power of her pent up sexuality all in one big sexy swoop and she feels her own power. She’s owning her body and all its needs and damn it, that is so hot.

It’s fucking with my head and my dick, and everything in between, so yes, even my heart.

Because seeing her glowing—Jesus, she’s glowing—makes me really damn happy for her.

And really, really angry with myself.

If I wasn’t such an emotional black hole, I could be enjoying her smile and her teasing and her body right now, too. Instead, I’m shoving an endless supply of chips and guacamole into my mouth and trying not to say something we’ll both regret.

Like “Bend over this couch now,” or “I bet you look gorgeous on your knees sucking my cock.” Or even “Take that dick like a good girl.”

I don’t know for certain what Wyatt and Jackson have said to her privately, but maybe none of those.

They also probably haven’t tied her up, which is something I cannot get out of my head. I want her hands wrapped above her head and her legs spread wide, each ankle secured to a side of the bed. My bed.

I don’t think our newly deflowered virgin is ready for all that.

Brooke laughs, a high hearty laugh of pure joy as she accepts a chip loaded with guacamole from Wyatt, him feeding it to her in a way that makes me rage. She flicks her tongue over his finger and his blue eyes darken. Then her perfect pink lips close around his fingers and lightly suck.

I wonder if she’s sucked his cock yet. Or Jackson’s, wrapping that pretty mouth around a thick erection, learning to open her throat to please a man by taking him deep.

Wyatt pulls his finger away and kisses her.

I turn and head to the refrigerator for a beer I don’t need or want.

But I can’t watch.

I swear to God, she actually smells like sex, even though she’s showered and that’s not possible. But it’s like the cork was popped and all her endorphins are filling the whole damn cabin and it’s not fair that I’m the lone idiot jerking off in my shower while everyone else is fucking.

It’s also possible I’ve passed the point of being rational.

I would actually consider jumping in the lake to cool my overheated ass off if the damn thing wasn’t frozen still.

Yanking the refrigerator door open way too hard, all the condiments and beer bottles inside rattle aggressively.

Sixteen more hours, then we can leave this cabin and I can forget all about Brooke Wilder. I’ll text a hookup, I’ll hit the gym, and I’ll stop eating guacamole because now I’ll never be able to see an avocado again without thinking of the way she expertly removed the pit today on a half dozen of them and proudly showed us how she makes guac.

Fuck avocados. I don’t need them. Salsa is just fine.

But I like guacamole better and therein lies the whole damn problem. I can’t have the guacamole or Brooke and I’m stuck with salsa and a potential warm body next to me that I won’t be able to stop comparing to Brooke.

Which means I have no business being anything other than celibate for the near future until I can get a handle on my goddamn head.

I grab a beer and slam the fridge door shut again.

Then I unscrew the cap on the beer even though it’s not a screw top, scraping the skin on my palm, and toss the cap onto the island in a general “fuck you” to everything.

“I’m going to bed,” I announce.

Not that the three of them will care. They’re already talking about getting in the hot tub one last time, and I’m not doing that.

“Bed?” Wyatt exclaims. “It’s eight o’clock.”

“He’s old, remember?” Jackson grins as he strips out of his sweatpants. “Next thing you know, he’ll be eating dinner at four.”

“We’re just dropping trou in the kitchen now?” I ask, gesturing to his pants on the floor.

“We told you we’re going in the hot tub,” he replies. “Come on. It’s our last night here since the runway has been cleared for the plane, and hot tubs are good for aging joints.”

Something on my face must give him a clue it’s not a good time to mess with me because he just shrugs.

“Okay, then. You do you.”

It’s just an expression that has nothing whatsoever to do with sex and yet all I can think is that they’re both doing Brooke and I’m doing nothing.

Brooke peels herself away from Wyatt and comes over to me. “Join us. Please? It will be fun.”

I shake my head. “No.”

She knows why. I explained it to her yesterday.

She’s far too tempting.

“I don’t want you to be in here by yourself,” she murmurs.

“I have the dogs.”

“I’m going out,” Jackson declares.

“Me too. Brooke, you coming?” Wyatt asks.

“Not yet,” Jackson says with a grin.

They all laugh. So now we’re just joking about them fucking her? What are they going to do, share her tonight?

Jesus, I do not need that thought in my head.

Brooke shoots me one last look but follows them.

I stand in the kitchen for ten minutes, nursing my beer, debating what to do with myself and all my frustration, when Brooke suddenly comes back into the kitchen.

She’s not wearing any pants or a bra and she has on Jackson’s white T-shirt. It skims her thighs. “I forgot to get my wine.”

I don’t say anything. I just shift out of the way so she can access the refrigerator. Brooke pulls out a bottle of wine and gets a glass from the cabinet, which makes the shirt draw up. I see she has her panties on still, which is oddly a relief.

I know she’s going to have sex with one or both of those guys, yet I don’t really want to think about it. Or see any more of her body.

“What are you thinking right now?” she asks me. “You look so…”

“What?”

“I don’t know. What are you thinking?” she repeats.

I scoff. “You really don’t want to know, little girl.”

But Brooke leans in closer to me, earnest. “I do want to know. I want to know you. The real you. You showed him to me yesterday, and I appreciate that so much. I like you—a lot. But I want more.”

“Greedy, greedy,” I say, a little amused she’s pushing so hard.

As amused as you can be with a rock solid cock.

Brooke stares at me. Her nostrils flare. I’ve hit a nerve of some kind.

Did one of the guys call her greedy? Was she greedy with them? Jesus, I hope so.

“I’m not leaving until you tell me what you’re thinking right now.”

There’s a bratty side to Brooke. I didn’t expect this. Ironically, it only serves to make her hotter.

“The angel is actually a brat,” I muse.

Brooke gasps and pulls back. Then, after a beat, her eyes narrow. “So teach me a lesson then.”

Fuck.

That backfired on me.

I shake my head. “No.”

“Then tell me the truth. What are you thinking?”

If she wants the truth that much, then fucking fine.

“I’m thinking that I want to see you pull those panties off so I can back you against the wall. I’m thinking that I want to hold your hands above your head so you can’t stop me from going as deep as I want when I fuck you. When I fuck you against that wall so hard you can’t even breathe and your ass dents the drywall.”

Her jaw drops.

That should push her away for good.

But instead of turning on her heel and running away, which was my last hope, she just asks, “Which wall?”

Then she licks her lips.

I groan, unable to stop myself. “No. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re hurting me now by rejecting me.”

“I’m not rejecting you. I’m protecting you.” What is so damn hard to understand about that?

“I don’t need you to protect me from you. I’m a grown woman who knows what she wants. I want you.”

It’s pure, absolute torture.

Her voice is husky, raw, pleading. She sounds sensual and needy, and I want to give her exactly what she wants.

My self-control is pulled taut like a rubber band and I’m one soft plea away from snapping.

My hands are trembling now with the urge to pick her up and slam her against the wall, to bury myself to the fucking hilt in her tight body.

“Don’t. Go back outside.” My voice is rough.

“Please, Luke. I want you to show me.” She reaches under the loose T-shirt and peels down her panties. They drop onto the floor.

“Like this? Is this how you want to fuck me?” She backs herself against the wall next to the fridge with a soft thump. Her hands go above her head.

The movement draws the shirt up, so that it just skims the tops of her thighs. Her bare sex is a hint, a promise, a fucking tease that I can’t see. So close, yet not mine.

I can look, right? Even if I shouldn’t touch.

“Higher,” I demand. “Put your hands up higher so I can see your pretty little pussy.”

Her breath catches. She obediently does as I ask and there it is—all that sweet juicy goodness bared for me to see. I study the apex of her thighs, imagining what it would feel like to run my tongue over her and have her quiver and buck beneath my touch. I imagine how slick and welcoming her slit would be if I buried myself in her tight heat.

I stand there, rigid, my cock hard in my jeans, and just stare at her.

“Luke,” she begs. “Please.”

A glance up the length of her shows she is breathing hard, chest rising up and down rapidly, her nipples tight pebbles beneath the shirt, her neck stained pink from desire. Her eyes are pleading, her tongue sliding across her bottom lip. She’s gripping her hands together tightly in obedience.

I rake my gaze back down, and she shifts her feet apart in obvious invitation. She even turns one knee out to the side, to open herself for better viewing.

And then, as I watch her, I see the slow slide of her arousal from her pussy down onto her thigh.

The rubber band snaps.

I can’t resist her any more.

Hell, maybe I was never going to, anyway.

With a sound that might be a growl or a roar, I don’t know, I yank down my zipper, free my cock, and stalk toward her.

“Is this what you want?” I demand, jerking my hand up and down my throbbing dick. “Tell me now if you’ve changed your mind.”

She shakes her head frantically. “No. This is what I want. This is everything I want. Now. Right now.”

The little temptress is eyeing my dick with naked curiosity. She actually licks her bottom lip.

Under other circumstances, I would push her down onto her knees, grip her hair, and show her how dominating I can be. But I don’t have the patience for that.

Instead, I press against her, crowding her into the wall. I yank her leg up onto my hip. “Last chance to back out, angel.”

I’ll walk away if she says no now, no questions asked.

Even with her breath warm on my cheek, even with her pussy an inch away from my tip, I’ll walk away.

But instead of changing her mind, she pumps her hips forward, seeking my cock. She’s sliding all that soft wetness all over me and I bite back a groan at the electric jolt that courses through my body.

She’s whimpering right next to my ear. “Show me how you like it, Luke. Show me fucking.”

I brace myself against the wall with one hand and squeeze her thigh with the other, hard. “You’re a dirty little girl, Brooke.” I press my forehead to hers, wanting her to understand what it means to be with a man like me. Overpowered. Consumed. “You hid it well. Don’t ever hide it from me again.”

Brooke is frantic now, bucking her hips to grind against me. She clearly wants to lower her hands and grip my shoulders, but she stays true to the game. She keeps her hands up high.

“That’s it. That’s my good girl. You ready?”

“Yes! Please!”

Her cunt is right there and all it takes is one hard thrust and then I’m in fucking heaven. Brooke is tight and soaking wet and the minute I complete one slow slide in and out and back in, she’s actually coming. She shatters with a muffled scream, biting so hard on her lip it turns white.

“Holy hell, pretty girl,” I breathe, overcome with shock and lust. “That’s it. Rub that little clit against me.” I pause so that she can grind out the rest of her orgasm.

Then I just take her, driving myself into her deeper and deeper, her body like a slick fist squeezing up and down my length. “You’re so tight, angel, holy fuck.”

“Don’t hold back,” she begs me. “Do everything you want to me.”

“I am. I’m fucking you just like you asked me so nicely for.” I run my lips over the softness of her neck, trailing kisses while I pound into her, over and over. “Do you know why?” I murmur.

“No.”

“Because you’re mine,” I tell her. “This is my cunt, do you understand? Mine.” I thrust balls deep and take great satisfaction at the sound of her ass slamming into the wall.

“Yes, yes, yes. Give it to me, yes.”

She’s actually crying now, great sobs of overwhelming pleasure as she wrings out another orgasm.

I’ve never felt anything like it as a hot surge of her liquid pleasure soaks my cock.

She’s gorgeous in her complete wild abandonment to her arousal, to her body. She’s slipping down the wall, only me and gravity holding her up.

“Lower your hands,” I urge. “Hold on to me, angel.”

Her hands drop to my shoulders and she focuses long enough to lock her gaze on me. “What is happening?” she whispers, her eyes glazed, her cheeks pink. There is dew on her forehead. “Why am I so…”

“So what?” I shift her hip, angling her even higher, opening her more.

“Wet?” Her eyes briefly close.

She’s drowning in it, in the pleasure, the overwhelm.

I kiss her then, deeply, teasing at her lips so she’ll open for me.

Our very first kiss, while I’m stroking in and out of her and she’s just experienced what it’s like to come really fucking hard.

“That’s because you came, angel. So, so good.” We can talk about female ejaculation later. Right now, I need to empty myself into her.

Thank God I don’t need condoms. Thank God for that vasectomy I had after Marci ruined my life. Because fucking this girl bare, feeling every inch of her velvety heat clasping me tight is going down as the most pleasurable experience of my life.

“Oh.” Her nails dig into my shoulders. “Did you? Come?”

“Not yet.” A wave of tenderness rolls over me, in the midst of the greatest pleasure I’ve ever known. “Do you want me to?”

She nods. “Yes, please. I need to know that I can do that for you.”

God, so fucking sweet. So incredible.

I come with a roar I didn’t know I was holding back, letting all my hot cum surge deep up inside her as I pound out through the last final strokes.

“You do that for me,” I tell her. “You abso-fucking-lutely do that for me.”

She’s actually wrecked me.

I’m never going to be the same.

Ever again.

I’m panting and leaning against her, easing her thigh down off of my hip. “Brooke.” I nibble at her ear. “You do everything for me.”

The slider suddenly yanks open.

“What’s taking you so lo—” Jackson’s voice cuts off mid-word. “Holy shit.”

I half-turn. The guys are striding through the doorway.

“What the fuck?” Wyatt stares at us, in clear shock. Then he glares at me and roars, “Moody, you fucking asshole.”