Page 28 of The Dating Pact

There wasn’t any.

And when her honey eyes drifted between my own, I was positive she searched my gaze for hesitation.

There wouldn’t be any.

“Yes,” I said, more sure of that answer than I had been of anything in a long time.

Her lips parted on an exhale that seemed gratified, and she wasted no time, pulling my T-shirt up, forcing me back to my knees so I could help her remove it. Her attention floated over me, and I refused to cover up and be nervous, allowing her to look her fill of me, at the hair that covered my chest and my stomach that hadn’t been flat in years. This was me.

She merely raised her gaze to mine and offered me a smile before shucking her own top. The bra she wore kept her breasts high and round, and I had to assume it wasn’t very comfortable. So, I did the gentlemanly thing and found the clasp at her back to relieve her of it. She shrugged it off her shoulders and tossed it to the floor, appearing a bit shy now, awkwardly crossing her arms as if she had an itch on her neck that needed scratching. I peeled her fingers away from her throat and held her hands in mine. “You want to keep going?”

She licked her lips, and I’d bet all of my money she didn’t know how sexy she was. “Yes.”

Only then did I let my attention wander over her throat, down the long chain that hung between her breasts, like teardrops with small, dark-pink nipples.

“What would I do now?” I asked, altering our game a bit.

“Now you would touch her,” she directed me quietly. “Let her know how much you want her…with your hands and mouth.”

I cupped Brooke’s breasts, dragging my thumbs back and forth over her nipples until they tightened, but I didn’t stop. I kept going, caressing the undersides, lifting and weighing them in my hands, rediscovering all the things I loved about a woman. The curves, the softness, and the perfect sighs that they made.

Well, that Brooke made.

I forced my gaze up to her face, her eyes wide like melted caramel, and I kissed her again, our tongues tangling. She wrapped her arms around me, pulling me back down on top of her, and I didn’t hesitate to suck one of her nipples into my mouth. She inhaled sharply, arching her back, and I skimmed my hand down her side, her skin hot under my touch, until I reached the waistband of her jeans.

I curled my index finger around a belt loop, tugging gently in silent question. When she nodded, I opened the button, pulled down the zipper, and stripped them off her legs, leaving her in only skimpy black underwear. I sat back to admire her. Brooke wasn’t skinny, but she was solid, muscular from all of her physical labor. Her hips flared wide, giving way to thick thighs, and I slid my hands around them.

She bit into her lower lip, hesitating a moment before telling me, “Some women like to be grabbed. Hard.”

I understood and grabbed her. Hard. Yanked her toward me. “Like that?”

Her answering sound of approval was the only thing I wanted to hear for the rest of my life.

I skated my fingers up and down her thighs and palmed the naked globes of her ass, wondering if she always wore thongs underneath her clothes. Under those worn overalls I pretended to hate but actually loved. Especially when she wrapped a bandanna around her hair. Like some 1950s farmer pinup.

I pulled off the tiny scrap of material, tossing it somewhere behind me, all my focus on how Brooke—my friend—spread her legs, propping her feet on the couch, allowing me to see everything.

The way her skin flushed from her face to her chest.

The surgical scars I knew she didn’t like to show.

The triangle of dark hair between her legs.

She was beautiful, but still, I teased her.

“All natural, huh?” When her brow furrowed, I dragged my fingers over the horizontal scar on her lower abdomen to the patch of hair. “Like a ’70s porno.”

“You watch a lot of ’70s porn?”

“What can I say? I enjoy classic cinema.”

She cackled, flinging her foot out to kick me, but I caught it and pushed it down and back, forcing her legs on either side of me. She reached her arms up above her, holding on to the arm of the couch, and waited, unmoving.

I did too.

Until she told me, “You can touch me. However you want.”

Only then did I rake my hands from her shoulders to her hips, lightly scraping her nipples with my fingernails. She seemed to like it, so I did it again. And again. Until she closed her eyes and swiveled her hips. I bent, pushing her breasts together, licking and sucking on each one until she moaned, wiggling underneath me.

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