Page 27 of The Marriage Deal (Sunset Falls #1)

AN ACHE SO LOW AND LOVELY

LILAH

Acrack of thunder wakes me well before I like to wake on a Saturday morning.

With a groan, I roll in bed to face the window that shows a sky dark with the threat of rain.

There’s a purple hue to the morning clouds that promise the violence of an early morning storm, confirmed when another crack of thunder sounds and lightning flashes.

I give up on sleep. It’s not that I’m afraid of storms. I’m not.

I can sleep through them, but who wants to miss the show?

Throwing the covers off my body, I fling my feet over the side of the bed in time to see Senior lift his head from his spot on the rug. Since he won’t sleep with me in the bed, I’d gotten him the cushiest of cush doggy beds. Has he slept in it even once? Nope.

“Mornin’ my boy.” I bend to give him a good full body scratch that has him grunting a doggy grunt of pleasure.

I stand, nab my robe from the hook and slide into it. As I tie it around my waist in a loose knot, I tell Senior, “Let’s boogy, boy.” I flick my gaze to the sky outside my window. “Gotta get you out to pee before the rain starts.”

I get another doggy rumble and together we exit the room.

My heart gives a curious little flip in my chest as I spot the lights on low in the kitchen.

It’s true the lights are always on low, because Briggs wakes every morning at an ungodly hour to throw back a coffee and ride, but this morning feels different.

One there’s a storm brewing, so I’m not sure he’ll be riding.

And two, I’m awake at least an hour earlier than usual.

To boot, it’s a Saturday, the day of late snoozing and slow mornings.

Senior takes off before me and I hear a low rumble, “Hey, Senior.” The sound of the tags jingling on Senior’s collar tells me he’s getting another rub down. This one by the man I’ve come to find increasingly difficult to be around.

Not because I can’t stand him, though. It’s the opposite, in fact.

I’m starting to like him. A lot. Definitely more than I should.

I enter the living room to see Briggs opening the big sliding doors for Senior. The gate on the deck is already swung open, so I know Briggs has been up for a while already.

My eyes dip to the mug in his hand. Yep, he’s been up.

And he’s been sitting outside on the deck with his coffee, clearly doing what I intended to do. Watch the storm.

“Morning,” I call, feeling the slam of his green gaze as it lands on me more than seeing it.

“You’re up early.”

“Storm woke me.”

Briggs meets me in the kitchen. “You don’t like storms?”

“I do, actually. Love them.” I rise onto my tiptoes for a mug—Briggs keeps them high. My fingertips swipe and miss. I feel heat at my back before a large hand hooks one.

There’s heat I’m determined to ignore in my cheeks and belly as I take the offered mug, setting it on the counter.

I mutter, “You really need to rearrange your cabinets now that you’ve got someone under five-foot-five living with you.”

“Well, aren’t you just a bucket of sunshine?” There’s amusement in his voice as he settles close to me, sliding his cup next to mine on the counter. I accept his silent request to fill his mug with fresh coffee.

“I’m perfectly happy.” I dunk two generous spoons of sugar into my coffee before pouring cream until it’s practically white. Briggs takes a splash of cream that can’t possibly change a thing. The man may as well take it black.

“Don’t sound happy.” He lifts his mug to his lips. His very kissable lips that he hasn’t kissed me with since that time in the park.

“I’m just saying. No one likes having to climb a mountain just to enjoy their morning coffee.”

“The mountain being…?”

I twist sideways with a huff to look at him. “The cabinets, Briggs.”

His brows swing up. “You climb the cabinets for a cup?”

“If there isn’t one right on the edge—yeah.” I refuse to admit to the man that I sometimes use the tongs to reach what I can’t.

His eyes dip down the length of me before they crinkle at the corners in a smile that threatens to burst with amusement. “Well, that’s something a man’s got to see.”

“Argh.” I hook my mug and brush past him for the still open door. “It’s too early for this. Aren’t you supposed to be on your ride?”

I can tell by how close his voice is that he’s following me. “It’s storming.”

I throw a look back at him. “Wimp.”

Briggs laughs. It does things to me.

I scowl, but deep inside there’s a whole lot more than a scowl happening.

I lower to the couch as Senior arrives at the top of the stairs. He takes his place on the rug closest to me when I lift my feet onto the cushion, sitting sideways to face Briggs. I don’t miss the way Briggs’ eyes drift over my legs as he settles on the patio set.

Is he looking at the stretch marks on my thighs? Can he see them?

I tug at the hem of my robe before I decide I don’t care. I do care, but the lie helps a little.

I shift my cup to my left hand so that I can let my right hand dangle over the side of the sectional to pet Senior. His content sigh is worth everything.

“So, you like storms?” Briggs breaks the silence a moment before thunder rolls.

“Don’t you?”

“I do.” He peers at me. “Most women I’ve dated don’t, though.”

I frown. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Well, they’re missing out.” Lightning flashes. I shiver in awe. “They’re beautiful.”

There is another booming crack that shakes the bones of the house. It must be directly overhead now. The sky opens and rain falls.

My soul sighs.

Briggs’ voice drops. “You’re beautiful, Lilah.”

My eyes snap to the man. “Wh—what?”

I attempt to cover my stutter with a sip of coffee.

I’m not pulling the wool over anyone’s eyes, least of all Briggs’.

“When you’re happy or you like something, you get this way about you. It’s beautiful.” He doesn’t look even a little bared by the exposing words he says.

What would it be like to have this man’s confidence?

I clear my throat. “Thank you.”

His eyes narrow. “You don’t believe me.”

It’s not a question. It’s a statement. A probe into my innermost insecurities.

Before I can say anything, he presses, “Why?”

I cast my eyes to the sky that riots with the violence of a dark storm, wrestling with the rising sun. “It’s not that I don’t believe you.”

“Then what is it?”

“I don’t know.” I shrug, then repeat, “I don’t know.”

The rain falls harder. Senior lets out a snore.

Briggs surprises me again. “I’m here for you, you know?”

“Oh.” I take another sip of my coffee, wrapping both hands around the mug. “Thank you.”

I can feel the weight of Briggs’ gaze for a long moment before he stands.

He walks back into the house before appearing again with a throw blanket in hand.

He says nothing as he takes my coffee, setting it on the table before he places a knee into the couch between my feet.

He bends low to tuck the blanket around me, his big body hovering over mine.

His face is so close to mine. He is so close to me. Earth and leather with just a hint of cologne surround me, and something tightens in my belly. An ache so low and lovely. I’ve never felt anything like it before. Never experienced a want like this, deeper than flesh.

“Thank you,” I rasp.

His eyes lift to mine and God, but they pin me there. “You looked cold.”

He doesn’t move away as his eyes drift to my lips. I wet them with the tip of my tongue. His lids look heavy as his eyes tip back up to mine.

His eyes fall and lift again. He moves in. I don’t shift away.

With a crack of thunder that makes me gasp, Briggs invades. His lips are hot enough to sear. He tastes like man and bitter coffee as he commands my mouth, kissing me with raw hunger and unbridled need.

My thoughts fracture as fire surges inside my veins.

Kissing this man is like experiencing the wonders of the universe while simultaneously coming home for the first time.

His tongue sweeps across mine as he presses deeper into me.

A shiver erupts in a thousand tiny goosebumps across my skin as his hand, big and rough, cups the side of my jaw gently.

With a sweep of his thumb over my chin, he angles my face higher, deepening the kiss further until I feel as though I’m breathing him in.

In the background, the storm crests with roars of thunder and bright flashes of lightning.

Rain pelts the roof of the covered porch to craft an otherworldly symphony that lulls me deeper into this moment.

Between the storm and Briggs’ kiss, it doesn’t take long for me to lose all sense of self preservation. When his hand falls from the side of my face to cup my hip instead—the feel of his warmth is amplified by the silk that covers my body.

A hitched moan I don’t mean to let slip free sounds.

Briggs responds by curling his fingers into my hip, sinking deeper into the kiss.

I don’t know how it happened, but I’m no longer sitting.

I’ve scooted down on the couch, laying nearly flat on my back.

Briggs is hovering above me, one knee planted between my legs.

That big hand is still gripping my hip and somehow my hands find themselves in his hair.

My fingers twist in the curls as he sucks my bottom lip into his mouth.

His lips, burning hot, drift over my jaw to the sensitive flesh behind my ear. I loose another shuddering breath as he rumbles roughly there, “I should stop.”

Oh God, he wants to stop.

“You want to stop?” The words fall from my lips in a breathless rasp.

“Fuck no.”

“Then don’t,” I beg.

The growl he releases is the embodiment of broken male will, and I think it’s my most favorite sound ever.

He asks into my throat, “You don’t want me to stop?”

I shake my head. It feels somewhat frantic, but I don’t have the headspace for shame right now.

“Say the words, Lilah. Tell me you don’t want me to stop.”

“Don’t stop.” I rush to give him what he wants. “I don’t want you to stop. Please.”

“Hell,” he rasps.

Then he covers my mouth with his once more. He kisses me like his life depends on it. He moans like I’m the best thing he’s ever tasted. He devours me like I’m his last meal.

And I surrender myself to him as easily as I breathe.

The storm continues to rage around us as we fall into a world where only we exist. Briggs kisses away gentle nips and swallows my every sigh.

The loose knot of my robe had no chance and has come undone.

Briggs’ hand slides over silky fabric until it finds the lace hem of my camisole.

There is a moment of pause before he pushes his fingers beneath the fabric to touch skin.

His fingertips are featherlight as they whisper across my stomach, and yet a swarm of butterflies flutters inside me. My belly quivers and I feel his responding smile against my lips.

“You’re so soft.” He lifts his head to watch me as he explores my stomach. The rough skin of his fingertips against my skin is now my new favorite feeling. His eyes drift over my face, lingering on my kiss swollen lips. “So beautiful.”

“Briggs.”

“I love it when you say my name like that. Raspy and wanting.”

Oh, my God. Has any man ever spoken to me like this?

They’ve all been so eager to get to the end. Slow caresses and pretty words were never a part of it. Yet this man who is fake has the wherewithal to put out all the stops.

My heart aches even as it swells. It’s a terribly odd feeling. Like drowning in an inch of water.

I can’t speak and I’m not ready for this to end even if it’s not real. So, I lift my head to steal a kiss.

He doesn’t deny me, taking over quickly.

Maybe it’s the confliction in my soul, but I kiss him harder. I open to him in a way I’ve never opened to any man. I surrender all thought to the sensation of him.

It doesn’t take long for a yearning hunger to burn inside me. It strikes like the lightning that arcs high in the sky. Warmth spills between my legs as his thigh shifts against me. I moan, helpless against the need that propels me to shift my hips—seeking touch. Aching for relief.

His lips slide from mine to my ear, teeth a blade that never bites against my lobe as he whispers roughly, “More?”

My breath hitches. “Yes.”

His hand drifts down over the satin of my shorts to the warmth of my core. He hisses in a sharp breath between his teeth. “Fucking hell, you’re hot.”

I let my head fall back as my eyes drift closed. Sensation overrides me and I sigh, “Yes. God, Briggs, yes.”