Page 60 of Brew
He slides one side of my earmuffs away, so I can hear him. “Pick up my gun, the safety is on.”
My heart is racing so fast, but I do as he says. The cool metal feels foreign in my hands. Brew’s hands find mine, positioning itcorrectly. I press my ass back just a little, and I hear his intake of breath.
“You gonna tease me?”
“I didn’t realize I was.”
His mouth is at my neck, just a whisper… and he bites down. My body goes into shock. It’s not overly hard, nor does it hurt, but it’s a message, and my body feels it. The pooling between my legs has me clenching. A sigh leaves my mouth before I can stop it.
My hands start to shake.
“You don’t seem confident with that between your hands.”
“Maybe I’d prefer something else between my hands,” I whisper.
“Touché.”
I don’t know how it happens, but I feel the shift. The connection between us.Does he feel it too?
As if reading my mindagain, he mutters in my ear. “You don’t know what you do to me, do you?”
“Why don’t you tell me?” I whisper bravely. “You’re the one who keeps telling me I’m not ready for it.”
“Oh, I know I was wrong about that.”
His sweet but spicy scent washes over me. I know it’s impossible, but it seems to permeate through every single cell of my body, capturing me in a moment suspended in time.
Even though my heart is racing wildly in my chest, I still manage to get a few words out, “H-how do you know?”
He places two fingers at the pulse point on my neck. “I can feel it.”
“Did we come here to shoot, or?—”
“You want me to stop?”
“No!”
He chuckles, and I blush at my erraticness. “Miss me bad?” He runs his nose up my neck and I shudder.
“If I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”
He chuckles and it’s a delicious sound; one I don’t get to hear often. “So, shoot.”
“I- I don’t know what to do.”
He steadies his hands over mine once more, then flicks the safety off. “Relax. What you wanna do is aim at the target, preferably the bullseye.”
“Oh, really?” I laugh sarcastically.
His chest presses against mine as I nestle against his huge frame.This man could surely be the death of me.
I do as he says, even though it’s hard to concentrate with his hands on me. My adrenaline pumping, my cheeks burning because of our close proximity, I curl my finger around the trigger and squeeze. It goes off, and so do I, frightened at how loud it is — even with my earmuffs on.
He removes one hand from mine, lifting my earmuff up at one side. “Again. Squeeze the trigger until you’re all out.”
Holy crap.
I do as he says.
