Something Right by E.H. Lyon

Author:E.H. Lyon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: E.H. Lyon

13

BROOKE

When he sets me on the bed, he quickly moves to close my door gently. I perch on the edge of the mattress and watch as he approaches me with hungry eyes, and instantly he is next to me on the bed, pulling us to lie down.

On our sides, we entangle with my leg propping over his and his hand resting on my hip. His throbbing dick presses against my middle as our mouths seal together.

We moan as our breathing grows ragged. His scent of wood, I know, will stay on my sheets.

Tugging on his shirt, I make my intentions clear what direction this night is going. For a second, we part so he can whip his shirt off.

“Mmm, more.” I grip his belt, and I hear a low rumbled chuckle.

“That’s my line,” he answers, with his hands running up my shirt until he cups my bra. “Off, all of it.”

Sitting up, he helps peel my clothing off until I’m down to my panties. We both stare at one another with a smirk of anticipation.

“Beautiful,” he remarks, and his temporary praise quickly turns to demand. “Now lie down,” he commands, and at the same time, he helps me by swiftly landing his lips on mine and keeping me occupied as he leads me back until my head is on the pillow.

Grays, as my first love, was patient, albeit always encouraging us to try new things, but sweet.

Grays as the guy I hooked up with four years ago was a man with a craving, a set plan of what he wanted to do with me, fun with someone familiar.

Grays now is all those things rolled into one, and this time there is a sentimental undertone with every touch, every glance, every kiss.

This is different.

It causes me to gasp extra hard when the feeling of his fingers grazing along my damp panties brings me into this moment.

His lips brush along my cheek. “Speak to me, B,” he whispers tentatively.

“It’s nothing. Just kind of can’t believe we’re here again,” I softly reply, with my fingers entangling into his hair that is equal parts soft and perhaps rough from the sawdust.

The corner of his mouth tugs up from my words before he slowly kisses a trail down from my chin to my stomach, where his eyes peer up at me with a warning.

“It’s the only way it was going to go, sweetheart.”

I can’t help but let a laugh escape. It’s such a feel-good, shake-you-to-the-core kind of laugh. My body arches up underneath him from the enjoyment. Because Grayson Blisswood saying sweetheart is the most utterly ridiculous yet overly swoony thing he could do. It’s almost like a Southern drawl graces his tone, and that’s the funny part—we’re in northern Illinois. Southern charm doesn’t exist here.

“Ah, that still gets to you.” He begins to tickle my belly with his stubbled chin and tip of his nose.

“Maybe,” I play coy, but I’m almost hysterical.

He quickly slithers up my body to slam his mouth over mine to shut me up, before he murmurs against my lips.

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