Page 54 of Something Borrowed

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The song ended, and they settled back in front of the fire, sharing some of the leftover brisket and rice and beer. They had just finished the food and cleaned up when the storm intensified, the wind howling and whipping outside. The sky had darkened to almost night, but they could hear the waves pounding the shoreline. Shortly after that, the power went out, plunging them into darkness, save for the firelight, the candles, and the hurricane lanterns that Grady had stocked up on. The cottage shook under the force of the wind, and Brigid shivered against the sofa.

Grady settled next to her and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. “Nervous?”

“I’ve always hated storms. Especially big thunder and lightning storms. Stupid, I know. We have so many here in Texas, but I never got used to them.” She smiled ruefully at him.

He hugged her close to his side. “I never knew that.”

“I learned to hide it well. Close all the curtains, pull the covers over my head, hide in the bathroom during tornado warnings. My father never tolerated my fear of storms. One more thing I had to hide from him.” She spoke more to herself than him, as if musing on her life rather than sharing something personal and terrifying.

“Well, that’s only logical if you don’t have a storm cellar,” he acknowledged, quelling the urge to want to hunt down the man who forced his daughter to face her own fears as a child rather than support, love, and cherish her. Instead, he pushed down those feelings and leaned back against the sofa, stretching his legs out. “I always found it ironic that Texas, with such a high incidence of tornadoes, can’t have basements, at least in many areas. Safe rooms are so damn expensive. Invest in a good bathtub.”

“Like that will save you in an F4 or F5 tornado.” She snorted. “But it’s better than nothing.”

He stroked a hand up and down her arm, lightly caressing her skin, soothing, not arousing. She shivered under his touch. “How are you feeling now? This storm is pretty intense.”

She thought for a long minute, her head resting against his shoulder. When she spoke, her voice had a tone of surprise. “I feel surprisingly calm and relaxed.”

She took another sip of her beer and they watched the fire in silence for a long time. Her hand kneaded the muscles on his thigh absently. Finally, she said, “I think we should talk about last night.”

He tensed, his hand stilling on her arm. He willed his breathing to start again and feigned a casualness he didn’t feel. “What do you mean?”

She shifted and came up on her knees to look at him. She put her bottle of beer on the coffee table and did the same for his bottle. She straddled his legs and sat back on her heels, trapping his legs under her. She took his face in her hands and cupped his cheeks. Gazing deep into his eyes, she leaned forward and kissed him on the lips, a soul-deep kiss that took his breath away. He rested his hands lightly on her waist, his fingers slipping under her shirt to stroke the soft skin of her midriff. She shuddered under the caress and deepened the kiss, her tongue sweeping into tangle with his.

Grady pulled back. “Brigid, are you sure?”

She smiled, a sweet coquettish look. “You’re really asking me that after last night? I may not be good at expressing my feelings, but I thought I was pretty damn good at actions.”

His eyes crinkled as he grinned at her. “You’re damned unexpected, Brigid Anderson.”

He drew his hands up her back, pulling her shirt with them, up and over her head, so she sat there clad only in a red lace bra. He groaned. “Damn, that’s a fine sight, Brigid. I thought you said you didn’t pack any lingerie.”

“I said I didn’t pack any sexy nighties. I said nothing about bras or matching panties.”

His head thudded against the sofa cushions even as one hand delved beneath her jeans to cup her ass and stroke the red lace that barely covered her. “Oh, shit, that’s fucking amazing.”

She smirked. “Red is your favorite color, isn’t it?”

“Anything you wear is my favorite,” he replied, although he wanted to add seeing her naked was his preference.

He tugged her head back down for a kiss. She buried her fingers in his hair, holding him steady for her lips. She tasted of beer, barbecue, and sweet, wild Brigid, a taste he could get addicted to so easily. He flicked the back clasp on her bra and it gaped open. He pulled the straps off her shoulders and dropped it to the floor. He cupped one of her breasts, lifting it to his mouth to suck the nipple, flicking it with his tongue. Brigid’s head fell back with a low groan and she arched into his grasp. He plied the other sensitive tip with his fingers, twisting and tugging until she writhed on his lap, pleading for relief.

He chuckled against her skin and switched breasts, torturing the other in the same way. She clung his head tightly, her fingers flexing on his scalp, kneading and massaging, her nails pricking his skin, her fingers flexing on his scalp, kneading and massaging, her nails pricking his skin. He lifted her effortlessly and placed her on the sofa behind him. He stripped off his clothes quickly, then her jeans, leaving the red panties.

He kneeled in front of her and stroked a finger over the seam of the red lace. “That’s a pretty sight, Brigid. Sexy as hell.”

And he pressed a kiss right to the middle of the soaked lace. She arched her back with a choked cry, then settled against the cushions, moaning. His erection was like a steel spike, but he had to taste her, had to explore her just a little. He pulled the lace aside and licked a path through her wet center, curling his tongue around her nub at the apex. She shouted at the contact, her hips arching and twisting. He grabbed them in his hands, gripping her in place while he settled in for a feast, licking, sucking, biting. Soon she was crying out loud, begging, pleading for relief. Finally, she came with a scream.

He stood and grabbed his jeans, pulling out the condom he had stashed there when she had shown up earlier. He sheathed himself and adjusted her so he was positioned at her entrance. He stroked her cheek lightly until she opened her eyes and smiled.

“Ready, Brigid?”

Before she could respond, he drove home with a slow, steady thrust deep inside to the hilt until he was balls deep. He paused once he was fully seated, his forehead against hers, sweat dripping off of him. She stroked his back lightly and wrapped her legs around his waist, moving her hips against his in an insistent motion.

Obligingly, he moved slowly, steadily even as she begged him to go faster. Quickly, though, his thrusts were deeper, harder, and she clenched around him, crying out her orgasm. He followed her over, sagging on the couch, only the sound of the wind, rain, and their heavy breathing to be heard.

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