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|On Dublin Street(On Dublin Street #1)(30) by Samantha Young|
Well, considering I told him to give me some space tonight, no. He could get a crick in the neck for his trouble. “No. He looks wiped. And I’m wiped. He should have gone home.”
Ellie’s eyes were teasing. “He must have enjoyed himself last night if he’s so eager to see you again so soon.”
I snorted. “Do you really want to have this conversation about your brother?”
She thought about it and wrinkled her nose. “You’re right. Boo.” She pouted. “You date a guy and I can’t even have girly talks with you about it.”
I laughed softly. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m not exactly the girly talking kind of person. And Braden and I aren’t dating. We’re just f**king.”
I was rewarded with a prudish pursing of her lips. “Joss, that’s so unromantic.”
I pulled the door open quietly and winked at her. “But hot.”
Leaving her to make ‘gross’ faces, I headed into the bathroom and got ready for bed. I was out as soon as my head hit the pillow.
The niggling face of consciousness nuzzled against mine, and as I woke, I became aware of a heavy weight across my waist and the fact that I was unusually warm. I realized the heat was what had awoken me. If I was to take cue from the heaviness of my eyes, and their reluctance to open, it was too early for me to be awake and I should probably fall back asleep.
But that heavy weight across my waist felt familiar.
Forcing my eyes open, I looked at the bare chest lying inches from my face.
Wake up! My sleepy, sore eyes travelled up that chest to the face and reality slowly, but surely, sunk in. Braden was in my bed.
It took me a moment—remembering coming home last night and finding him asleep on the couch. I’d talked to Ellie, cleaned up in the bathroom and then hit the hay.
Clearly, sometime during the night, Braden had crawled into bed with me.
That was so not the deal.
With a huff of annoyance I pushed against his chest with all my might. And by all my might, I mean I rolled him right off the bed.
His large body hit the floor with a painful-sounding dull thud, and I leaned over to see his eyes fly open, bleary and confused as to why he was looking up at me from his sprawled position on the floor. Did I mention he was completely na**d? “Jesus Christ, Jocelyn,” he complained, his voice hoarse from sleep. “What the hell was that?”
I smirked down at him. “That was me reminding you that this is just sex.”
He pushed up onto his elbows looking sexy as hell with his mussed hair and belligerent expression. “So you thought you’d deposit me from your bed?”
“With style.” I nodded, smiling sweetly.
Braden nodded slowly as if accepting I was in the right. “Okay…” he sighed…
… and then I strangled a squeal of fright as he lunged upwards, his strong hands gripping my upper arms as he dragged me down onto the floor with him. “Braden!” I yelled, as he rolled me onto my back. And then he did his worst.
He started to tickle me.
I squealed like a girl, wriggling and laughing as I tried to evade his attack. “Stop it!”
His grin was wicked and determined, and he was fast and strong, dodging my kicking legs and still managing to pin me to the floor and tickle me. “Braden, stop!” I could barely breathe from laughing so hard and from exerting so much energy to get away from him.
“Can I trust that I can lie next to you in the future without fearing stealth attacks while I’m sleeping?” he asked loudly over the noise my breathless half-choking, half-giggling self was making.
“Yes!” I promised, my ribs starting to hurt now.
He stopped and I took a deep breath, relaxing into the floor beneath him. I winced. “This floor is hard.”
His eyes narrowed. “Yeah, tell that to my arse.”
I bit my lip so I wouldn’t laugh. I failed. “Sorry.”
“Oh you look sorry.” His mouth quirked up at the corner as he placed his hands on either side of my head and braced himself above me, nudging his knee between my legs. “I think maybe I should punish you anyway.”
My body responded immediately to the look in his eyes, the tone of his voice. My ni**les pebbled, and as I bent my legs, spreading them open for him, I felt the pulse of my sex telling me I was ready for him. I ran my fingers over his six-pack before sliding my hands around to clutch his lower back. “You want me to kiss your tushy all better?”
Braden had just been about to kiss me but he pulled back. “That’s such a weird word.”
“So is ‘knickers’. What the hell are knickers?” I pushed away a memory of a similar conversation with my mom—many similar conversations in fact where I’d tease her about some of the weird words she used. I focused on Braden’s eyes to push her out.
He grinned down at me. “Okay, admittedly ‘panties’ is a sexier word than knickers. But you’ve got to admit ‘pants’ is a terrible word for trousers.”
I scrunched my nose up. “’Trousers’ is such a fussy word. Like ‘whilst’. You all say whilst a lot.”
Braden made a face. “What Scottish people have you been talking to?” his voice deepened as his melodic accent got upper crusty and kind of English sounding. “My woman was arguing pedantically about British words whilst I was trying to f**k her.”
I burst out laughing, smacking his back as he grinned cheekily down at me. “You started it with the whole tushy thing, Mr. Darc-” I sucked in my breath as his hand slid sensually down my waist, around my back and down under my shorts and panties so he was cupping my bare butt. He jerked me upwards, pressing his hard c*ck against me. I gasped as everything tingled—my scalp, my ni**les, my sex. The atmosphere between us changed instantly. We didn’t speak as Braden pulled back onto his knees, his erection throbbing. I sat up, my eyes still on his as I reached out and wrapped my hand around him. The fire in his eyes flared as my grip tightened and I slid my hand down the hot silk of him. His hand wrapped around mine — I thought at first to guide me, show me what he liked — but instead he took my hand in his and forced it behind my back, dragging me up to his mouth. His lips were soft, gentle at first, but I wanted more. I flicked my tongue against his, deepening the kiss into something wild, lush and wet. God, the man could kiss. I could still smell his cologne on him, feel the gentle abrasion of his stubble against my cheek, and I could taste what being with me did to him. I’d never known that someone’s desire for me could be so powerful. But his was. It drove me over the edge and made me forget everything else.
Braden’s lips reluctantly parted from mine, and he let go of my hand, shifting back a little to trail his hands along the waistband of my shorts. I leaned back on my elbows, giving him better purchase, and I watched, my belly a flurry of excited butterflies, as he slowly pulled my shorts and panties off and threw them over his shoulder. Helping him out, I lifted my camisole off and stretched back, na**d for his perusal.
The sex was different than it had been the day before. Braden’s touch was more deliberate, more patient, almost reverent, as he pressed me onto my back using his body, positioning himself between my legs. He cupped my br**sts in his hands, holding them up to his mouth, his lips and tongue taking turns to slowly enflame my body.
“Braden,” I sighed, clutching at the nape of his neck, my own arching, my breath faltering as he drove me towards release with just his mouth wrapped around my nipple.
He lifted his head, his hand gliding between my legs. Pleasure shot through me as two fingers slipped inside me. “So wet,” he murmured, eyes bright. “Tomorrow after family dinner you’re coming back to my place and I’m going to f**k you in every room, in every way I can.”
My eyes flew to his, my chest rising and falling rapidly at his words.
“I’m going to make you scream there since you can’t here,” he promised softly, realizing this was also a reminder to be quiet since Ellie was down the hall. “But right now, I’m going to enjoy watching you bite your lip.”
And I did. He pushed inside of me and I swallowed a cry by biting my lip, holding on for dear life as his earlier, slow gentleness disappeared, his groans and grunts against my neck sexy as hell as he pounded me into orgasm.
I felt a little more relaxed for my bar shift on Saturday night. Braden did me a favor and gave me space—he, Ellie, Jenny, Ed, Adam and a couple more of their friends I didn’t know so well, headed out for dinner and drinks. I was invited to the dinner part of the evening, but I didn’t feel ready to be in a social situation just yet with Braden, and like I said, I wanted some space.
When I got home from work he wasn’t there, and when I woke up, I was alone.
Even Ellie gave me space.
That meant I actually did some writing. In fact, I wrote a whole chapter of my contemporary novel, and I only took one panic attack. But it was so short it barely counted, and once I got past the initial panic, I was able to deal with the memory of my mother telling me how scary it had been to come to the States alone, but how liberating it had felt to do it. Best of it all, I knew that feeling. I could write that feeling well. And I did.
“You know you should have a typewriter.”
I spun around in my computer chair at the familiar voice, gazing up at Braden lounging in my doorway in his jeans and t-shirt. It was raining outside. He should really have a sweater on. Or jumper. Another weird word we’d discussed when he was dressing to leave me yesterday. What the hell was a jumper anyway? My mom had never been able to give me an answer that made sense, and Braden had just smiled at me like he thought I was cute. I was never cute. “A typewriter?”
He nodded, eyeing my laptop. “Just seems more authentic, no?”
“Well, my mom promised to buy me one for Christmas, but she died before she could.”
My heart sped up as my words echoed back at me.
Why did I tell him that?