Page 117 of Brewer Family Collection, Part 1

Chapter Twenty-Five

G eorgia

“You live here? Holy shit.” I climb out of the car, not waiting for a response, and look around. “I’m … speechless.”

Ripley leans against his car, smiling smugly.

His house, a place I’ve intentionally never visited, is absolutely breathtaking. It sits on top of a hill overlooking a never-ending valley. The deep gray exterior is brightened by tons of windows that probably offer an amazing view even from inside.

“So you like it?” he asks.

“What’s not to like?”

He chuckles. “We’re off to a good start then.”

The wine I consumed earlier has started to dissipate. Ripley getting stuck in traffic and taking over an hour to get to my house helped. I’m still warm and blissfully happy, but I don’t think that has anything to do with the wine.

“Would you like to come inside?” he asks.

“Shouldn’t that be my line?”

He laughs, motioning for me to join him on the sidewalk leading to the house. He takes my hand in his, locking our fingers together, and ushers me into his home.

Immediately, a small Jack Russell terrier flies down a white stone hallway and launches himself at Ripley. He scoops him up, carrying him like a football.

“Waffles, I’d like you to meet someone,” he says, petting his back.

The puppy tilts his head back and forth as if he doesn’t understand who I am.

“This is Georgia,” Ripley says.

Waffles barks. It’s followed by a whine as he tries to jump from Ripley to me.

“Hey, Waffles,” I say, holding my hand out so he can sniff me.

He does a couple of sniffs, then he licks my palm.

“He’s a cutie,” I say, taking in his sweet face. “I see why you’re obsessed with him.”

“Obsessed?”

“Yeah. You were literally stuck in a cabin with me in a soaked white T-shirt and you were trying to call your brother to pick up your puppy. That’s obsessed. It’s sweet and a huge green flag, but it’s still obsessed.”

He places the dog on the ground and then grabs me by the hips. He yanks me into him, penetrating me with his heated gaze.

“Wanna talk about obsessed?” He grins. “I’m obsessed with you.”

Waffles barks at our feet.

I laugh. “You’re making him jealous.”

“Oh, I am not. He knows he’s my boy.” He bites his lip before a shy smile graces his lips. “And you’re my girl.”

Waffles growls, biting my shoelace and pulling it. He jerks it and twists his head back and forth like he’s trying to kill it.

“Hey,” I say, bending to his level.

He crouches to the ground, my shoelace still in his mouth.

“You’re really strong,” I say, playing to his pride. “Look at how ferocious you are.”

All of a sudden, he stands, drops the shoelace, and leaps from where he’s crouched right into my lap. I catch him but lose my balance. Thankfully, Ripley catches me before I fall flat on my back.

Waffles puts his paws on my chest and licks my face.

“We’re still working on manners.” Ripley sighs.

“It’s okay.” I set the puppy on the floor. “Do you have a ball? Go get your ball.”

He whizzes down the hallway as if he understands what I’m saying. What a smartie.

I get to my feet with Ripley’s arm around my waist. I slip off my shoes, and then let him take me by the hand.

He shows me his immaculate chef’s kitchen with—as I suspected—an amazing view.

From the window, I check out the pool and outdoor barbecue area that looks to be straight from a magazine.

We pass through a dining room big enough to throw a party with a small army, an office, and a game room.

Then we make our way up the stairs, Waffles leading the pack with his ball in his mouth.

Ripley’s home isn’t at all what I’d pictured in my mind when I imagined where he’d live. It’s clean and bright with lots of natural light. The decor is minimal and tasteful. There are pictures of his family—none of his father—and baskets of Waffles’s toys in almost every room.

Talk about a spoiled dog.

Talk about a swoon-worthy owner.

Ripley’s home is quiet and comfortable, yet lived in.

It’s the epitome of my dream home.

The thought makes me smile.

“Tate uses that room when he stays here,” Ripley says, pointing at a closed door on our left. “He used to hang out here a lot—not as much anymore. But instead of driving when it’s late and he’s had a few drinks, it’s easier for him just to crash at my house.”

“Smart.”

Ripley pulls me closer to him. “Those two doors are guest rooms. Every bedroom has a bathroom.” We make our way down the hall. “There are three bedrooms in the basement, too.”

“You have more square footage in bathrooms than I do in my entire townhouse.”

He grins. “I don’t really know what to say to that.”

“You don’t have to say anything. I was just commenting.”

Waffles runs ahead of us and scratches on the door at the end. He hops in a circle when we don’t get there fast enough.

Ripley then opens the door to the primary suite. “This is my room.”

I step inside a small sitting area with a midnight-blue sofa, two fluffy chairs, and a small table. An arched doorway leads into a larger room—Ripley’s bedroom.

A king-sized, four-poster bed is covered with a fluffy white comforter, and there are more pillows than I can count lining the headboard. A fireplace takes up much of the way across from the bed, and a television screen hangs from the ceiling just above it.

“Nice room,” I say, peeking into the bathroom. “Did you design this?”

He leans against the doorway while I inspect the clawfoot bathtub situated inside an expansive shower with showerheads that befuddle me. There are two sinks. Brass hardware. In the corner is a sauna next to a linen closet.

“I had a hand in the design,” he says. “There were things I wanted to be sure made it into the final product, but I didn’t obsess about every little detail. Stuff can be changed.”

“True.”

“So what do you think? Do you like it?”

“It’s not bad.” I try not to smile and fail miserably. “I just saw you living in a cave somewhere with bats and lots of fire.”

He grabs me by the waist and pulls me in for a kiss. I melt into him, giving him free rein to kiss me as hard, soft, and as long as he wants.

“I love having you here,” he says, resting his forehead against mine.

“I love being here. I thought it might feel weird.”

He pulls away. “Why?”

“You know, with the bats and all …”

He smacks my ass, making me yelp. The contact sends a zing of pleasure shooting through me, snaking through my body until it lands deep in my core.

Something shifts between us. His eyes darken as he licks his lips, and my insides clench at the thought of having him again.

“Do you have plans?” I ask him.

“We were going to film, but …”

I grab the waistband of his joggers, letting my fingers drift across his hips. I look him in the eyes and grin. “You better not film this.”

His eyes flare as he waits with anticipation of my next move. I want him inside me so badly. But first, I want to taste him.

I push his pants over his hips so they bunch at his feet. He fists his cock, already so hard for me, and smiles.

“Now, what are you going to do?” he asks.

I drop to my knees, catching a glimpse of Waffles in the doorway and noting we’re going to have to do something about privacy. I grip Ripley’s cock with one hand, sliding my fingers up and down his shaft. He groans, widening his stance.

I kiss the head of his cock as I stroke his balls with my free hand. He hisses a breath, threading his fingers through my hair, and flexes toward my mouth.

“This would make one hell of a video,” he says, shivering as I drag my flattened tongue from the root to the tip.

“Maybe one day.”

He chuckles. “Really? You’re going to let me film us fucking?”

My tongue swirls over the tip, collecting the precum gathered there for me. “You never know.” I flick my tongue across the underside of his cock. “It might be hot.”

I keep my gaze pinned to his as I lick up to the head again. I suck the tip into my mouth, earning a hissing sound in return.

“Does that feel good?” I ask.

“You know it fucking does.”

I know it does . Watching him react to me, to the things I’m doing to him, makes me feel like a goddess. He’s warring with himself, struggling not to fall apart—struggling not to take control. And that leaves me feeling powerful.

“I love watching you while I suck your cock,” I say before taking him into my mouth. He rocks his hips, encouraging me to take him deeper, and his fingers tug on my hair until the follicles burn.

It’s a cacophony of sensations—enough to bring me to the edge of an orgasm without being touched.

The saltiness of his precum. The heat of his body. The smooth rigidity of his cock in my hand.

The look of pure desire in his eyes when he looks down at me.

“I’m never videoing this,” he says, guiding himself deeper down my throat. “This is just for me. No one gets to see you like this but me.”

I roll him around my mouth, letting my spit trickle down his length. Every sound coming from him causes me to get wetter. The thought of him splitting me open again makes me moan.

I take him deeper, pumping my fist—letting him guide me with his hands. He lifts his hips into my mouth, urging me to go faster, harder, until I feel his balls tighten.

My eyes water as he stops, and he refuses to let me move. His eyes squeeze shut as he pulls out of my mouth carefully.

“Dammit,” he says, heaving a breath. “You almost made me come.”

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “That was the point. Thanks for stealing that from me.”

“ Oh, no . You’re going to get it. I promise.”

“Can I have it now? Or is that too much to ask?”

He laughs, pulling me to my feet. “I’m glad to see you didn’t lose your moxie.”

“Me? Never.”

He kicks off his pants, takes my hand, and pulls me into his bedroom. Then he sits on the edge of the bed, leaving me standing in front of him.

“Can I ask a favor of you?” he asks.

I shrug. “Maybe. I can’t guarantee anything.”

He shakes his head, amused.

“Will this favor expedite you fucking me?” I ask.

“Yes, it will.”

“Then the odds are in your favor, champ.”