Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Chapter 17
Brooks
I’m a man very aware of who he is.
I don’t live in a land filled with what-ifs and could-bes.
I knew what was going to happen in the sauna with Archer.
I knew that if he kissed me the way he did in the elevator, if he made that same little noise when my tongue touched his a second time, it wouldn’t end at kissing.
I wouldn’t be strong enough to pull away.
I don’t believe in fate or stars aligning.
But those two men coming into the sauna the exact second they did was the work of a greater force because I was no longer in control of my body.
I ached with need as I got dressed, keeping my back to him the same way I did when I stripped down. If I saw the desire I knew was in his eyes, I would’ve dragged him back to my condo and let my body take over.
I don’t feel an ounce of pride in my ability to get myself under control as I open the door to the cab for him.
Just seeing the man lick his lips makes me insane because I want to lick those lips. I want to press my mouth to his and lose control.
But I don’t get what I want because Archer Bremen isn’t mine to do with as I please. He’s a client, a man in need of the services that Blackbridge Security provides.
I’m a professional—albeit a professional with a raging hard-on barely contained by the fabric of my slacks—but a professional, nonetheless.
Sex and attraction aren’t the issue. I can’t stop what Davien Hartman said in his kitchen from running through my head.
Heart eyes. Sexual attraction, the need to scratch an itch, is one thing. If the man is catching feelings, that’s not something I can fuck with. It’s not fair to either of us. He needs someone he can trust in his life that isn’t using him like every other person he knows, and I don’t get tangled up with emotional shit.
I ignore the warmth his gaze causes on my face as he settles in the back of the cab. I avoid looking at him for the longest time, but at the final moment, I give in to my own selfish need and meet his eyes.
He blinks up at me, his tongue sweeping across the plush curve of his lower lip, and my brain short-circuits. Instead of sending him on his way, I lean in close.
“Brooks.” The word is whispered, and I don’t have the ability to determine whether it’s a plea of need or if the man is needing me to back off.
I press my mouth to his, intending just a gentle, chaste brush of our lips, but I end up tugging his lower lip with my teeth before pulling away.
“In case anyone is watching,” I whisper, watching his throat work on a swallow.
It’s clear I affect him in all the same ways he affects me. As much as that should make me want to change plans and bring him upstairs, I know it means I need as much distance between the two of us as we can manage.
“Sweet dreams, rock star.”
I close the door to the cab, knocking on the top so the driver can drive away before I change my mind.
I feel the need to schedule my own appointment with Dr. Kent as I stand there and watch the cab’s taillights disappear down the street, my heart kicking harder in my chest when the brake lights activate. For a second, I get excited with the idea of Archer telling him to stop and turn back around.
I breathe out a sigh, both in relief and disappointment, when it keeps on going.
The harder I try not to think about the man, the easier he comes to mind, and it’s not just the sexual stuff. Of course, I’ve been fighting thinking about him that way since I walked up the stairs of his home and found him naked in bed, cock in hand.
“And I have an erection,” he’d said that very first day as if the dick in his hand didn’t explain enough.
“Me too,” I mutter as I climb in the elevator.
Once back in my condo, I strip and grab a shower, taking care of the problem Archer caused, but there’s no real relief in it. Rubbing one out is perfunctory, a means to get the blood circulating to more than one area of my body.
It doesn’t stop the thoughts, the desires, the fucking need.
If anything, it makes it worse, because I know if the man fucks the way he kisses, he’d have the ability to ruin me.
I know trying to sleep will be impossible, but I make the attempt anyway, tossing and turning for hours before throwing back the covers and climbing out of bed. I revisit the gym in the building, working up a sweat, but that has more to do with the effort required not getting an erection, a problem that started the second I stepped into the elevator.