Page 30 of The Nook for Brooks
“Come for me,” I urged. “Let go.”
His whole body arched, and suddenly he gushed in thick hot spurts that spilled over my hand. His voice caught in short, clipped groans. The sound of it—desperate and raw—pushed me over the edge too.
I grunted into his mouth as I came, surges of cum flooding his fist, my hips bucking helplessly under his touch.
For a moment there was nothing but the sound of us—panting, clinging, trembling—and the hammer of the rain outside. My hand was still sticky with him, his with me, and we didn’t even bother to wipe it away. Brooks was pressed into my chest, bow tie gone, shirt hanging open, his breath hot and unsteady against my throat.
I kissed the side of his head, whispering, “You okay?”
He let out a half laugh, half groan. “I think so. Although my bow tie has seen better days.”
We both glanced down at the soggy bow tie slumped in a heap a few steps down and chuckled.
I held him tighter, and for once he didn’t wriggle out of contact. He clung back, as if surprised by himself.
“I’ve never—” he started, then shook his head.
“Never what?”
“I’ve never… let myself go like that… in a place like this… in the middle of a storm. It was all so—”
“Romantic?” I asked.
“I was going to say, like something straight out of a book.”
Another crack of thunder shuddered through the mill, making the beams above our heads shake. A low groan came from outside as the river pushed harder against the waterwheel, forcing it another few inches into motion.
Brooks stiffened in my arms. “The river’s rising.”
I glanced down. He wasn’t wrong—water was flooding in through the warped floorboards below, splashing up between the cracks.
“Okay,” I said, voice steady but low. “We can’t stay here long.”
Brooks pulled back, blinking like he’d just come out of a spell. His chest rose and fell in short breaths, his eyes darting nervously toward the gurgling boards. “Oh god, are we gonna die?”
“No, of course not. This place is old, but its bones are sturdy. Come on.” I gave him a quick kiss before tugging him up by the hand. “We’ll get higher. The upper floor should be safe enough. We’ll just wait it out till the worst passes.”
He tugged his damp shirt closed with trembling fingers. “Are you sure we’ll be okay?”
“Of course I’m sure.” I tightened my grip on him. “Trust me, Brooks. We’ll be fine.”
We climbed a few more steps together, soaked and trying not to slip on the boards, leaving his bow tie abandoned below like some drowned relic. Outside, the wheel rumbled and lurched into motion several feet. Inside, it sent a quiver through the cogs of the machine, jolting them to life if only for a second, sending puffs of years-old layers of dust into the air.
“Keep away from the gears,” I warned Brooks, although telling him to steer clear of danger seemed rather redundant.
We reached the upper level and snuggled safely into a corner. I wrapped my arms tightly around him and he nestled his head against my bare chest.
His damp hair clung to my skin, his breath warm and shaky against me. For a long moment we just listened—to the storm battering the roof, to the river roaring beneath the floorboards,to the faint groan of the wheel as if the whole mill was waking from a long deep sleep.
“Your heart’s racing,” Brooks murmured against my chest.
“So’s yours,” I said, pressing a kiss into his wet hair. “But I don’t think the storm is completely to blame for that.”
He gave a nervous laugh. “I’ve read scenes like this before. Lovers trapped in some gothic ruin while the elements rage outside. It always seemed like the author’s imagination was working overtime.”
“And now?”
He tilted his face up to me, eyes dark and glinting in the flickers of lightning through the roof. “Now I’m wondering if those writers knew something I didn’t.”
