Page 11

11

M ichelle

My body still tingled from the first orgasm, a slow, delicious aftershock that I hadn’t felt in a long-ass time. I’d had sex, sure, but an orgasm like this? It had been forever. My fingers and toes were numb, my limbs light with the kind of post-release haze that made me feel almost untethered, like I wasn’t inside my own body. It had been so long since I let myself unravel like that—since I let go of the carefully constructed control I clung to every day.

And Brooks? He was looking at me like he was ready to ruin me all over again.

I sucked in a breath, trying to gather the pieces of myself, but my mind was still tangled in the emotions that had been pulling me under all night.

The wedding was beautiful. Perfect. I wasn’t built for that kind of thing.

I spent the entire evening feeling like an outsider looking in, like I had stepped into a world I had no business belonging to. Fiona had been radiant, standing there with Gideon like she knew—without a shadow of a doubt—that she was loved. That she was safe.

And I had been happy for her. Truly.

But something had settled in my chest, tight and unwelcome. I was too focused, too careful, too busy making sure my life stayed on track to ever let myself dream about something like that.

I couldn’t afford to.

Which was why I needed this.

Needed him. Just for tonight.

One night where I could shut everything off—the expectations, the control, the constant pressure to be responsible and level-headed—and just feel.

Brooks made me feel everything.

His body was warm, solid, real beneath my fingertips. The way he looked at me—like he wanted to devour me, like he had waited a long time for this and wasn’t about to waste a second—set every nerve in my body on fire.

His fingers traced a slow, lazy line along my thigh, his touch sending sharp little sparks through my already-sensitive skin.

“I know we agreed on hands,” he murmured, voice thick with hunger, “but how would you feel about my mouth?”

My breath hitched.

His grin stretched wide, almost dangerous in the way it made my stomach twist with need. “I want to taste you,” he continued, dragging his fingers higher. “See if your pussy is still so fucking sweet.”

Jesus. Jesus Christ.

The way he said it—low, rough, possessive—made my thighs clench around nothing, my breath coming in quick, uneven bursts.

I was already spiraling, my head too full of emotions I didn’t have the capacity to sort through.

I wanted to disappear into this. Into him.

Into the way he touched me like I was something he needed just as badly as I needed him.

My limbs trembled, anticipation and something deeper curling low in my stomach. I was too raw, too desperate, my body already begging for more before I could even think about pretending to play it cool.

I had no control here. And for the first time in forever, I didn’t want any.

I could only nod, my lips parting as I sucked in a shaky breath.

But Brooks wasn’t having that.

“Mitch,” he murmured, voice all gravel and silk as he pressed a slow, teasing kiss to the inside of my thigh. “Answer me.”

His fingers flexed, digging in just enough to make me squirm, to remind me that I had to use my words.

I swallowed, my voice a breathless, wrecked whisper. “Yes.”

“Good girl.”

Brooks ran his teeth over his lower lip, his grin stretching wide, predatory, like he was about to devour me whole.

His smirk was sinful as he slid lower, eyes locked onto mine. For a man his size, he moved too fast, too smoothly, repositioning himself between my legs with practiced ease.

I reached out blindly, desperate for something solid to hold onto, but the only thing I could find was a seatbelt. I gripped it tight, feeling ridiculous, but my body was already too far gone to care. My skin still buzzed from my first orgasm, too sensitive, too reactive, the aftershocks tingling in my fingertips, vibrating in my core.

Brooks’ eyes locked onto mine as his fingers ghosted over the outside of my panties. He wasn’t touching me, not really—just tracing the edge of where I wanted him most, dragging his fingertips up and down my inner thighs like he had all the time in the world.

He watched me like he was searching for something, some kind of answer to a question he hadn’t spoken aloud.

I couldn’t handle the intensity of it.

So I squeezed my eyes shut and focused on his touch—the way he teased, the way his cologne mixed with the warm, musky scent of sex, the way my body throbbed in anticipation for more.

Then he blew softly against my skin, the cool air shocking my overheated flesh. A violent shudder ripped through me, sending chills shooting down my spine.

“Brooks,” I half-begged, half-warned, my fingers tightening around the seatbelt.

He laughed, dark and smug, a sound that only made the ache between my legs worse.

And then his mouth was on me.

He kissed up my thigh, slow and teasing, pausing when he reached my panties. He looked up at me through half-lidded eyes, his mouth curving into a smirk before he used his teeth to pull them down.

Jesus .

He should’ve looked ridiculous doing it. Anyone else would’ve. But Brooks? Brooks made it filthy. Made it so unbearably hot that my pulse skyrocketed, my breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts.

I repositioned myself, needing to see, needing to watch the way his mouth moved, the way he kissed and tasted and claimed every inch of me like he had some right to.

Watching and feeling him was like pouring gasoline onto a fire, and I wanted to burn.

“I missed you,” he murmured, his lips hovering right over my center, his breath hot against my slick, sensitive skin. “Will you taste the same, hmm?”

“Stop talking to it and—” But I never finished my sentence.

Because the second my words cut off, his tongue replaced them.

I gasped, back arching as he swirled his tongue over my folds, teasing and licking in agonizingly slow strokes. His pace was torturous, a cruel mix of fast and slow, sharp flicks and soft caresses that sent sharp spikes of pleasure straight to my gut.

And then—Jesus Christ—he sucked my clit into his mouth and groaned, the deep vibration sparking a live wire inside me. My hips bucked on instinct, chasing the pressure, chasing more.

“Goddamn, you taste perfect,” he moaned, sliding two fingers inside me, stretching me in the best way possible. He moved in and out, matching the rhythm of his tongue, building me up so painfully slow I thought I might die from it.

It was deliberate. Calculated. Like he wanted to savor every second, like he had all night to break me apart.

He pressed deeper, hitting the spot that made me see white, and my vision blurred at the edges as the pleasure coiled inside me, hot and tight and too much all at once.

I cried out, fingers white-knuckling the seatbelt as the orgasm powered through me, every nerve in my body short-circuiting beneath his mouth, his hands, his name tumbling past my lips in broken sounds.

Brooks licked me clean, slow and unhurried, like he was savoring the taste of me. When he finally pulled away, his chin glistened, his mouth curved into a self-satisfied smirk. “I could watch you come every day of my life.”

That did something strange to my chest.

Heat climbed my throat, but I was too blissed-out to care that he could see my blush. “It’d go to your head.”

He chuckled, eyes still locked onto me like he was memorizing every detail. “Your muscles feel relaxed now?”

“God, yes.” I groaned, my limbs heavy and boneless. “Like noodles. My legs are like… cooked pasta noodles.”

What the fuck am I saying?

The words left my mouth before my brain caught up, but Brooks just grinned, like I had somehow amused the shit out of him.

“My pulse is still vibrating through my whole body,” I admitted, pressing my palm to my chest like I could physically slow it down.

Brooks ran his hands up my thighs, grabbing my discarded panties, then slid them into his pocket before kissing me.

He smoothed my dress back down and leaned back, fully clothed, fully put together, like no one would ever suspect what he’d just done to me.

“No one would have any idea I’ve got your panties in my pocket like a badge of honor.” His voice was deep, laced with satisfaction. “You still look gorgeous.”

And then he did it again.

Gave me that look.

Like he was seeing through me, through all my walls, through all the barriers I kept firmly in place.

That look was the reason I had rules.

So I winked, needing to lighten the moment before it swallowed me whole. “Get your fill, hot stuff, because tonight I’m all yours.”

His expression didn’t change. But something in his voice did. “So you said.”

There was something hidden beneath those words—something I couldn’t quite place.

Before I could figure it out, he pulled open a cooler, revealing a second bottle of champagne.

“I didn’t tell you, but I brought another one.”

“Oh, fun!” I grinned, already eyeing the very obvious problem in his pants. “I think a little champagne and a blowjob would be the perfect ending to this limo ride.”

“Nope.”

He popped the cork effortlessly, barely even looking at it. Of course he had the skill down perfectly.

I frowned. “Uh, I want to take care of your situation there.”

“I know,” he gritted out, taking a long swig of the bottle. “But I’d rather wait until after the wedding. That way we can spend all night with my cock in various parts of you.”

Christ.

I shivered. Turned on all over again.

I didn’t push. Not yet.

But something about his mood had shifted, and it nagged at me.

Brooks had always been smooth, always been the kind of guy who took what he wanted without hesitation. But right now? He was holding back.

And I needed to know why.

“Are you sure?” I hated the insecurity in my voice. “I don’t mind, Brooks.”

“I told you. This was about you, okay?” He leveled his gaze with mine, and I nodded.

“Now, how are you feeling about the wedding?” He leaned back into the bench, looking completely at ease like he hadn’t just made me come.

My heart still hadn’t settled and I tried mirroring his casual stance.

Instead of feeling uncertain about not reciprocating the favor, I leaned back into my seat, body loose and satisfied, and answered him truthfully. It was easier than thinking about why he’d done it, easier than facing the unsettling idea that he wanted me to feel good for reasons that had nothing to do with sex.

“It’s been an experience,” I murmured, rolling my head to look at him. “I always thought weddings were just a gateway to shitty marriages. A money trap. And instead of a happily ever after, they just led to a lifelong string of threats and blackmail.”

Brooks’ face didn’t shift, but something flickered in his eyes—something quiet, calculating.

I let out a short, breathy laugh, more bitter than amused. “But then I watched Fiona and Gideon. And they were… happy. Like, really happy. And it was—” I hesitated, exhaling sharply. “I don’t know. Eye-opening.”

Brooks tipped his head slightly, like he was piecing together a puzzle I hadn’t realized I’d handed him.

“I take it your parents had a shit marriage.”

A half-laugh, half-whine left my throat as I ran a finger over the back of my hand, refusing to meet his gaze. “Textbooks could be written about it.”

He said nothing, just let me talk.

“Take every toxic, disastrous relationship you can think of and amplify it by ten,” I continued. “Fights, broken bottles, yelling. Marriage was a worse curse word than fuck in our house.”

Brooks let out a sharp breath. Not the pitying sigh people usually gave when they didn’t know what to say. No soft, I’m sorry, no attempt to make it neat and digestible.

Just a low, unimpressed exhale. “Assholes.”

I blinked, finally looking up. “What?”

“Your parents are assholes,” he repeated without hesitation, voice rougher than before. “No offense.”

I frowned, caught off guard. That wasn’t the reaction I expected.

“Shit like that messes kids up,” he said, shaking his head. “Sounds like you weren’t in a safe situation. And that pisses me off.”

I stared at him. Oh.

That wasn’t pity. That wasn’t someone offering me a sympathetic pat on the head and a wow, that must have been so hard look.

That was… anger. For me.

I shifted in my seat, my stomach tight, uncomfortable. “They’re assholes. Still are.” I shrugged, like it was no big deal. Like I hadn’t spent years unpicking the damage they left behind.

Once, I regretted not having the kind of family people bragged about on Facebook. But then I realized no one really had that. Even the ones that seemed perfect had their own fucked-up baggage.

So instead of wasting time wishing my childhood had been different, I focused on the one thing I could control—success. Getting out. Doing better. Being better.

Not stealing. Not landing in jail.

Not falling into the same self-destructive cycles my parents did.

Not using others for your own gain, not caring about the destruction that followed.

I almost told him that.

Almost explained why I was the way I was—why I had rules, why I kept people at a distance, why my entire life was structured around keeping myself in check.

But something lodged in my throat before I could get the words out.

Why was I talking about this? I never talked about this. Ever.

A thin layer of sweat broke out on my neck, and I rolled the window down, sucking in a breath of cool night air.

His face twisted in understanding, like he knew just what kind of battle was going on inside my head. Then, without a word, he passed me the bottle.

“Don’t worry, Mitch.” His voice was steady. Unassuming. “I won’t ask you to spill your secrets. Maybe over time you can tell me as a friend, but not tonight.”

Over time.

Friends.

Not tonight.

I ran my finger over my lip and glanced at him. “Planning on us hanging out in the future? Awfully arrogant of you.”

“Nah. With our friends being friends, it makes sense.” He shot me an easy grin, eyes wide and warm, like he hadn’t just pried open a part of me I kept locked up tight.

A heavy pause settled between us before he tilted his head toward the window. “We can go in now.”

“Wait, we’re here?”

“Yeah. It’s typical for the bridal party to take photos and drink for an hour before arriving, so I asked our driver to stay on the road for a bit.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Was your plan to get in my pants the entire time?”

I meant it as a joke, but his smile faltered, his expression flickering with something I couldn’t quite place. “Because I didn’t mind,” I added quickly.

Still, silence.

Guilt curled in my stomach, irrational and immediate. I wasn’t even sure what I’d done wrong, but before I could overthink it, he took my hand and led me out of the limo.

Couples and families lined up at the entrance, and I barely had time to take it all in before I noticed the security guards stationed near the doors.

“Oh, damn,” I muttered.

Brooks followed my gaze and nodded. “Part of Gideon’s life, I’m sure.”

“Do you… would you have security guards?”

“Depends on the event.” He shrugged, squeezing my hand a few times, almost like he couldn’t believe I still held his. “Public places like this? Yeah. Social media spreads news fast. It’d be easy for fans to sneak in and ruin the moment.”

Loud music thumped through the double doors as he led me inside, and I sucked in a sharp breath at how gorgeous the reception hall was.

Vases of white flowers decorated the tables, chairs covered in crisp white fabric and tied with elegant purple bows. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their light casting the room in a soft golden glow.

I smiled, pride swelling in my chest for Fiona. “Her wedding is beautiful.”

Brooks let go of my hand long enough to grab the name cards from the table, grinning as he handed mine over.

“Table five,” he murmured, amused. “I think that makes us important.”

I laughed. “I don’t know about that…”

“Family isn’t always blood, Mitch,” he said, tucking his name card into his jacket.

My stomach did something weird.

I barely had time to process it before his teammates found us. I stepped back, letting them greet him, but Brooks reached for my hand, tugging me against his side like he wasn’t ready to let me go just yet.

“This is my lovely date, Michelle.” He grinned, squeezing my fingers like it was second nature.

Tate O’Donahue, a veteran on the team, raised a brow. “Lovely, huh?”

“She had no choice,” Brooks said, smirking at me like we had a shared secret. “I forced her to take me.”

“You did,” I teased, trying not to think about how much I liked standing this close to him. His arm stayed firmly around me, his touch solid, warm, steady. I wanted to lean onto him, but like every time before, I panicked and stood on my tip toes to whisper in his ear. “Remember our rules, please. Just tonight.”

He tensed.

And for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to pull away.