Page 96 of Pucking Revenge

My lungs constrict, but I breathe through the ache. “Seb didn’t hurt me, Brooks. But losing you?—”

He splays his hands on either side of my neck, cradling my head and threading his fingers through my hair. “You will never lose me.”

With a deep breath in, I allow that sentiment to settle between us. There is no nervousness when it comes to that anymore. I believe him. This man just bared himself to me. He spent the day showing me that I’m safe with him. He deserves to know he’s safe with me too.

“I’d like to see the bedazzled penis now.”

A slow smile spreads across Brooks’s face. Still cradling my head with both hands, he tips forward and kisses me softly. “You’re insane, you know that?”

“Certifiable. Now take off your pants.”

“Sara—”

“Owns your penis,” I decree. “Now show it to me.”

His smile turns into a smirk, but he doesn’t make a move to obey. I splay my hands on his chest and slide down his body, taking my sweet time kissing him as I go.

“Have you done this before?” I ask between kisses down his abdomen.

Above me, he shakes his head and grunts.

I’m a riot of emotions. Excitement and pride and ecstatic shock. It culminates into an unfamiliar sense of power. Because this man has been saving himself for me. Hell, he pierced his penis rather than admitting the truth to his friends.

I unbuckle his pants and grin up at him. “If you aren’t going to help me, then you might as well get back to your ritual. Why don’t you visualize what’s about to happen? Ya know, give us a play-by-play. Maybe then you’ll score just like we both know you want to.”

“How is it that you can simultaneously drive me fucking insane and turn me on?”

“It’s a talent. Just wait till you see what I can do with my tongue.” I tug on his jeans roughly.

He laughs at my comment. It’s gritty. Dark. It scrapes through me with a delicious friction that makes me squeeze my legs together.

His navy-blue boxers are sculpted to him, putting every inch of his erection on display. From here, I think I might even see the outline of his piercing. Gliding my finger up his shaft slowly, I hum, memorizing every inch. My pussy clenches when I find the piercing. When I continue up, I hit another, then another. My breath catches, and excitement thrums through me. “Three?” I tip my head back and lick my lips at the vision that hits me.

“Fuck, Sar,” he grinds out, fisting his hands at his sides as if he’s trying to keep from touching me.

“I’m going to suck your cock. I’d appreciate it if you weren’t a saint right now. Touch me, Brooks. Be a good boy and grab a fist full of my hair and fuck my mouth.”

His cock bobs, stretching the already tight fabric of his boxer briefs taut.

My core throbs. “You like being called a good boy?”

His jaw locks, but his eyes are hazy with lust. I’m drunk on it.

Sliding my fingers beneath the fabric of his boxers, I revel in the feel of his hot skin. I pull them down and moan when his heavy cock finally makes its appearance. In the dim light, the three piercings that make up his Jacob’s ladder glisten in Bolts blue.

I try to hold back my smile but can’t. “You take your loyalty to the team seriously, I see.” I lick from the base of his balls right up to the tip and then press a kiss to where a bead of excitement has accumulated. The taste of him on my tongue pulls an appreciative hum from deep in my chest. “So good.”

Finally, he settles a hand on my head, his broad palm warm against my scalp.

I open my mouth and suck him in. Holding him there, I look up and smile around his dick. In this moment, I understand the phrase about a person having hearts in their eyes. Because that is precisely how Brooks is looking at me. Like I own his damn heart.

I tickle the piercings with my tongue, and he grunts. “Fuck. I need to move.”

Desire wells in me, and I moan around him. “Good. Then take control. Fuck my mouth,” I dare.

He closes his eyes, and I swear a switch flips. When he opens them again, he’s no longer looking at me like I’m a precious thing. Instead, his gaze is filled with nothing but feral need. The hand on my head snakes around until he’s got his fingers threaded through my hair. Then, with a grunt, he tugs and makes a fist.

“Squeeze my leg if it’s too much,” he warns.

---