Page 42 of First Echo
MADELINE
J ust shut up and kiss me."
The words had barely left my lips before I was crossing the room, my body moving with a certainty my mind couldn't match. My hands found Brooke's face, fingers threading into her hair, pulling her toward me with an urgency that surprised even me.
And then I was kissing her. Not because I should. Because I had to.
The first press of my lips against hers sent electricity coursing through me, a jolt so intense I nearly pulled away from the shock of it. But Brooke's hands found my waist, steadying me, holding me close, and suddenly I was falling into the kiss, into her, into everything I'd been denying myself.
It was messy, desperate, hungry. Nothing like the hesitant kiss she'd initiated earlier.
This was raw need, the culmination of every charged glance, every almost-touch, every moment of tension that had been building between us since that first night in this room.
My lips parted against hers, inviting her deeper, and she responded immediately, her tongue sliding against mine in a way that drew a soft moan from my throat.
Brooke's hands tightened on my waist, fingers digging into my skin through the thin fabric of my sleep shirt. The pressure of her touch was possessive, confident, sending shivers racing down my spine. Without breaking the kiss, her hands slid lower, gripping my thighs with unexpected strength.
In one fluid motion that stole my breath, she lifted me off the ground.
My legs instinctively wrapped around her waist, ankles crossing at the small of her back to anchor myself against her.
The sudden elevation made me gasp into her mouth, my arms tightening around her neck for support.
The feeling of being weightless, of being held so effortlessly in her arms, sent a rush of heat flooding through me.
"Brooke," I breathed against her lips, surprised and aroused by this display of strength.
She didn't respond with words. Instead, she secured her grip beneath my thighs and carried me toward the bed, her steps sure and steady despite the darkness, despite the weight of me wrapped around her.
Her muscles flexed beneath my touch, the definition I'd glimpsed that night she stood half-dressed now evident in the way she held me like I weighed nothing at all.
The few steps to the bed felt like an eternity and no time at all.
Her lips never left mine, the kiss deepening as she walked, her tongue sliding against mine in a way that made me whimper.
I could feel her heartbeat hammering against my chest, matching the frantic rhythm of my own.
My fingers tangled in her hair, tugging slightly, drawing a low groan from deep in her throat that vibrated through me.
When she reached the bed, she lowered me onto it with surprising gentleness, the contrast between her strength and her care making my heart stutter.
She followed me down, her body hovering over mine, her weight settling partially on top of me as the mattress dipped beneath us.
Her thigh slipped between mine, creating a delicious pressure that made me arch against her, seeking more contact, more of her.
For a brief moment, she pulled back, her eyes searching mine in the dim light. I could see questions there, hesitation—was this okay, did I want this, was she going too fast? I answered by pulling her back down to me, reclaiming her lips, arching my body up to meet hers.
"Brooke," I whispered against her mouth, the first word either of us had spoken since this began. Her name felt different on my tongue now, weighted with desire, with need.
She responded by trailing kisses along my jawline, down the column of my throat, finding the sensitive spot where my neck met my shoulder.
I gasped as she nipped gently at the skin there, then soothed it with her tongue.
My hands found their way under the hem of her shirt, fingers spreading across the warm skin of her back, tracing the ridges of her spine.
Brooke shivered at my touch, her breath hitching against my neck.
She shifted, one of her thighs pressing between mine, creating a delicious pressure that made me whimper.
I hadn't known I could make that sound, hadn't known I could want someone this badly, hadn't known desire could feel like drowning and flying all at once.
"Is this okay?" she murmured against my skin, her voice rough with want but edged with concern.
"Yes," I breathed, my fingers digging into her shoulders. "Don't stop."
She kissed me again, deeper this time, slower, like she was memorizing the taste of me.
Her hand slipped beneath my shirt, palm flat against my stomach, fingers splayed wide.
I felt the callouses on her fingertips—from snowboarding, from climbing, from a life lived with her whole body—and the contrast of rough against smooth sent shivers across my skin.
Her hand inched higher, hesitating just below my breast, waiting for permission.
I arched into her touch in answer, and she cupped me gently, her thumb brushing across my nipple through the thin fabric of my bra.
The sensation tore another gasp from my throat, my body responding with a heat that pooled low in my abdomen.
Time lost meaning as we moved together, exploring each other with hands and lips and whispered breaths.
Clothes shifted but didn't fully disappear—my shirt pushed up, her pants riding low on her hips, exposing a strip of skin I couldn't stop touching.
We didn't cross certain lines, didn't go as far as we could have, but it was enough—more than enough—to leave me breathless, trembling, completely undone.
Brooke's weight on top of me was grounding, a delicious pressure that kept me from floating away on the waves of sensation.
Her lips never seemed to leave my skin for long, always returning to my mouth, my neck, the sensitive spot behind my ear that made me shiver when she found it.
I traced the muscles of her back, her shoulders, the curve of her waist, committing every inch to memory.
"You're beautiful," she whispered against my collarbone, the words vibrating against my skin. "So beautiful."
No one had ever said those words to me and made me believe them like she did.
Not Sam, not the countless boys who'd tried to catch my attention, not the photographers at family events who positioned me just so for the perfect shot.
There was a rawness to Brooke's voice, an honesty that cut through all my defenses.
When her hand brushed the waistband of my sleep shorts, fingers tracing the sensitive skin just beneath the elastic, my hips instinctively lifted toward her touch.
Heat pooled low in my abdomen, a delicious ache building with every caress of her fingers.
Brooke's eyes locked with mine, dark and intent, pupils blown wide with desire.
Her thumb traced slow circles against my hip bone, each movement deliberate, testing boundaries without crossing them.
"Is this okay?" she whispered, her voice rough with want.
"Yes," I breathed, reaching up to pull her back down to me, capturing her lips in a kiss that conveyed everything I couldn't say aloud—my need, my trust, my surrender.
Brooke responded with equal fervor, her kisses growing deeper, more consuming.
She shifted her weight, her thigh pressing more firmly between mine, creating a rhythm that had me gasping against her mouth.
Her hand slipped beneath my shirt again, tracing the curve of my ribs, the sensitive skin beneath my breast. Every touch was electric, lighting fires across my skin that made me tremble beneath her.
Time dissolved as we moved together, learning each other's bodies through touch and taste.
Brooke's mouth found the pulse point at my neck, her teeth grazing lightly before her tongue soothed the sting.
I arched beneath her, my fingers tangled in her hair, holding her close, never wanting her to stop.
The pressure built within me, a coiling tension that grew with each roll of her hips against mine, each stroke of her fingers across my heated skin.
When the wave finally broke, it was unexpected and overwhelming.
I clung to her, burying my face against her shoulder to muffle the sound that escaped me, my body shuddering beneath hers.
Brooke held me through it, her arms strong and steady, her lips pressed against my temple, whispering words I couldn't quite catch but felt in my soul.
As the tremors subsided, she gathered me close, tucking my head beneath her chin.
I could hear her heart racing, could feel the slight tremble in her arms that betrayed her own unsatisfied desire.
But she asked for nothing, content to hold me as I caught my breath, as the world slowly came back into focus.
"That was..." I whispered, unable to find words adequate for what had just happened.
"I know," she murmured against my hair, her voice soft and intimate in the darkness.
We lay tangled together, trading lazy kisses as our breathing slowed, as the heat between us banked to a warm glow rather than a consuming fire.
My fingers traced patterns on her back, memorizing the feel of her, the weight of her beside me, the scent of her skin.
It was the most intimate moment I'd ever shared with anyone, not because of what we'd done but because of how completely I'd let myself go, how fully I'd trusted her with my vulnerability.
I turned to face her, our foreheads touching, breaths mingling in the small space between us.
Her eyes were dark in the dim light of our room, pupils blown wide with desire, but there was something else there too—a vulnerability that matched my own.
We were both diving into uncharted waters, both terrified and exhilarated by what we'd found.