A childish giddiness rushes over me when I see his SUV pull up to the house, and like a creeper, I press my nose to the crack in the curtain, waiting for him to climb out. I watch for long minutes, my breath fogging the glass as he just sits there.
My brow draws in when his brake lights flash, because instead of him turning off his vehicle, the man drives right back off the property. I stare, blinking in confusion, when he disappears down the road.
Me: Forget something?
I stare down at my phone after sending the text, hoping he can’t read the desperation in those two words. I want him lighthearted and grinning when he comes to me. Both of us have had enough of the annoyance and frustration.
Brooks: Sorry. I have something I need to take care of.
My chest caves a little. He’d probably tell me what’s going on if I ask, but I want him to volunteer that information. I don’t want to have to pull details about his life out of him.
With a deep, irritated sigh, I make sure Princess has everything she needs before heading to bed. It’s too early, and I’ll probably end up awake at three in the morning, but I’ll only grow more frustrated if I sit in the living room with the hope that he’ll be back.
Trying to go to sleep isn’t much better because after my mind works through whatever the hell is going on with Brooks, it decides to focus on what I saw outside the record label. It was clear that Davien and Fletcher have something going on. I don’t know if I even have the right to be upset about it. I’m not jealous. I don’t feel angry that they may be together. I’m upset because Davien didn’t tell me. I wonder if they had something going on while Fletcher and I were together, but I came to the conclusion that isn’t fair either. I was never able to give myself fully to Fletcher, and he deserved more than the scraps I did allow.
I toss and turn, the evening slowly turning into night before my eyes even consider closing for good, but then I hear the beep of the security alarm, and it brings a smile to my face.
I expect Brooks to walk in and cover my body with his, so I’m surprised when the bedroom light flips on without warning.
“Really?” I grumble, pulling the comforter over my head to block out the harsh light.
“It’s early,” he says, tugging the blanket from my face.
The smile I’ve grown addicted to is spread across his entire face, and it’s the most magnificent thing I’ve ever seen.
His hands skate up my bare chest before he cups my jaw in his hands. His lips press to mine, but he draws back before I can deepen the kiss.
“Tease,” I mutter.
“Kit is forcing Jules to tell everyone the truth.”
I blink up at him. I’m pretty certain that I’m dreaming because I rarely get what I want.
“Everyone?” I ask.
He nods. “I chatted with the guys tonight, and of course none of them believed that I was the father.”
“Meaning?”
“They don’t think I’m a woman-stealing piece of shit.”
I wish his grin was contagious, but I’m still a little salty about his friend expecting him to lie in the first place.
“How? I mean what made him change his mind?”
His smile falls. “You already dislike her. I don’t want to make it worse.”
“It’s worse than lying about the paternity?”
He cringes. “I don’t want to talk about Kit and Jules.”
His thumbs trace my nipples as his teeth dig into his lower lip.
“No? What else are you interested in conversing about? Don’t go.” I reach for him when he climbs off the bed, but then clamp my mouth shut when he begins to shed his clothes.
“We didn’t have sex in California,” he says, his hands working open his belt.
“We didn’t,” I agree, my eyes locked on the expanse of taut skin he’s revealing.
My cock started to get hard the second he walked in the house, but it’s at full attention now.
“I need you,” he says as he bends to grab supplies from the bedside table.
I toss the blanket back completely, my hand automatically reaching down to stroke my cock as I spread my legs. “Have me.”
He bites his lip again, his eyes locked on my working hand.
“I need you,” he says again. “Inside me.”
I freeze. “What?”
“Don’t make me beg,” he whispers, his cheeks turning pink.
We never talk about what we’re going to do. We’ve always allowed our bodies to carry the conversation, to pick what’s right. I know it’s taking a lot of courage for this man to voice his desires.
“You’re sure?” I sit up and reach for his hand.
Instead of tangling our fingers together, he pushes the lube and a condom into my palm.