Release (13 page)

Sitting close to each other on the sofa, I split my
attention between the comedy that came on TV and observing Brooklyn watching
it. She’s interactive; switching from laughing to verbal disapproval of the
rising tension between the characters. I’m crazy about the way she laughs.
Sometimes it’s a soft feminine snicker, other times it’s uninhibited,
full-blown, loud and hard.

“That was so funny. I love
Owen Wilson,” she says, as the movie credits roll. Relaxed, she’s molding into
the sofa.

It’s been a while since I
just hung out with a lady like this. It has been done, quite a few times some
may be surprised to know, but I don’t recall it being so damn satisfying.

The movie instigates a
conversation about other actors we like, during which Brooklyn grumbles about
the “excess American commercials” and her disliking for them. Apparently in the
UK they know how to do those things better. The ads aren’t quite so “annoyingly
frequent” she clarifies as she turns the TV off from the remote. The only
source of light now is coming from the tall, free-standing lamp in the corner
of the room.

I’m not sure if she was
aware of her shifting during our talk, but now Brooklyn’s facing me with her
feet up, flat on the sofa, and her folded forearms resting on her knees.

I glance down. “You have
pretty feet.”

She quickly covers them with
her hands. “Yuck! I hate feet, all feet, including my own. Thankfully, I wasn’t
ballet mad. You wouldn’t believe what years of dancing
en pointe
can
do,” she says with a quick demonstration of pointing her toes in that typical
ballerina way. She hides them again.

Altering my position, I face
her with my right leg bent on the sofa so we’re full frontal. Brooklyn resists
at first, but it doesn’t take long for her to give up, allowing me to move her
hands. I hold her ankles and check out said body parts again. They look perfect
to me; they’re clean, small, but right for her size and height, her toes are a
nice shape and her nails are well kept and painted crimson. I’d probably be in
heaven if I had a foot fetish.

I can feel a thin, slightly
raised scar at the back of one, from her heel up a few inches, which I can
conclude for myself is from her surgery, but I won’t say anything in case it’s
something she’s sensitive about. I couldn’t even see it when I checked out her
legs last night.

“I can’t see your problem,”
I tell her, but I know how women work. I know that no matter what I say right
now, Brooklyn will go with what she thinks, and as it stands she hates her
feet.

Smiling to myself at her
paranoia, I raise my gaze to her face. Reaching to the back of her head, I pull
out the band that’s securing her ponytail. “I like your hair down.” 

“Thank you,” she says with a
soft smile, as she finger combs the glossy tresses, which descend down her back
and drape over her shoulders.

She tucks it behind her
ears, and now I can smell her shampoo as it infuses with the atmosphere, a
pleasant scent that I don’t recognize. I can imagine her long strands spread
across my pillows while she sleeps.

“I’d like to see yours
down.” She switches from her seated position to kneel in front of me, still in
the same place on the sofa, my leg remaining bent between us and my other foot
on the floor. Brooklyn leans toward me and rests her forearms on my shoulders.

I’m aware of a gentle
tugging at the two locks wrapped around and securing the others.

I’m even more aware of my
cock reacting to the fact that my face is now level with, and within inches of,
her chest.

I don’t know what I want to
do more; cup those beyond tempting tits and caress them or place my mouth over
the location I guess her nipple to be at and apply light suction. Even with the
tank top getting in the way of direct contact I’d still find it satisfying.
Dammit, from here, I could so easily slide my hand up her inner thigh until I
reach her pussy and with the right amount of pressure stroke her from outside
those tight fitting pants.

After last night, when she
pulled away from me, I’m not so sure she’d welcome me doing any of those
things.

Forcing myself to look up, I
catch Brooklyn’s fascinated expression as she explores my hair with her fingers
and her gaze. Now I can feel her exploration and that’s doing nothing to rid me
of this hard-on.

Allowing my focus to fall to
her lips isn’t going to help matters either, but I still do it. I’m remembering
the way they felt – soft, slender and so damn nice. The way she tasted – fresh
with a hint of red wine. She’s been drinking red grape juice throughout the
movie, so I’m imagining the same fresh taste and the sweetness of red grape.

By the time I end my
thoughts, and raise my gaze, I see I’m not the only one watching lips.
Brooklyn’s attention is locked on mine. Even though the most natural thing for
me to do now is clasp her waist and encourage her to get closer, so I can kiss
those lips of hers, I’m going to let her call the shots. I wait.

With one easy move, Brooklyn
closes the distance.

The softness is just as I
recalled and, as she opens up to let me in, the sweet taste of her tongue is
everything I expected. My hands going to her waist, I urge her closer until
she’s straddling my thighs. I command my arms to do nothing more than curl
around her midsection, and I’ve left enough space so that she’s not pressed
against my erection – I’m not sure who that part is for the most, her or me.
   

When I feel the palms
resting on my shoulders suddenly close into fists, grasping my T-shirt, I can
only question if Brooklyn’s finding this as hard as I am. Maybe it’s just
wishful thinking on my part, but I don’t particularly like not knowing.

Moving, I kiss across her
cheek to her ear, trying not to mess with the flow. “Are we both holding back
here?”

“Yes,” she says, in a
breathless whisper.

And hell if that gentle,
aroused sound doesn’t taunt me into throwing her onto her back, yanking down
her clothes and thrusting into her so damn hard that breathless tease becomes a
scream of extreme pleasure.

“Do what you want to do,” I
encourage.

“I don’t know if I should
... my attraction to you scares me, Dane. Maybe I’m putting myself at a
disadvantage by telling you this, but I think I want you too much. You might
give me the night of my life, but when it’s all over, I’d still be disappointed
in myself for giving in.”

I figure Brooklyn and I
pretty even now because, for the first time, I don’t know what the hell I’m
doing. I feel like I’m being pulled along in this thing with her, and I have no
clue where the fuck I’m headed and I have no way of stopping it.

“Brooklyn, you should’ve
figured out by now that if anything happens between us it won’t only be about
sex. If you spend the night with me it’ll be the first of many and they won’t
only be about sex, either. You don’t need to be scared and nothing has to
happen tonight if you’re not ready yet. That’s not even why I asked you here.”

She says nothing, but nods.
I start to kiss her neck and feel her relax, the lightest sigh sounding and the
grip on my shirt eases. Adjusting my position, I move to sit properly at the
edge of the sofa with Brooklyn still straddling me.  

She pushes my knees farther
apart and flexes her upper body back from the hips until her shoulder blades
and head lay on the coffee table. She lengthens her arms up over her head,
resting them on the rustic oak, and closes her eyes. The black clothing hides
most of her skin, but the tight fit reveals every curve and line. She looks
supple and strong.

Stretched out in front of me
is my idea of perfection. And not just in the physical sense.

Brooklyn opens her eyes and
looks directly into mine.

All I see is certainty,
confidence and desire.

She grasps the thin straps
of her tank top and slides them down over her shoulders. I don’t focus on
anything but the beautiful mossy greens of her irises with enlarged pupils. My
vision still picks up her movement. Slowly, she lowers the top and continues
until the material gathers around her hips, presenting her entire upper body.
Extending her arms up over her head again, she closes her eyes.

She’s giving me permission
to touch.

There isn’t a single part of
her that I don’t want to feel. It’s not the most popular place to start,
definitely not for me, but the first thing I make contact with is her
bellybutton with the tip of my forefinger. She’s pierced there with a bar,
which has a sparkly pink heart at the bottom, fitting nicely into the dip of
her navel.

I trace my finger tips over
the flesh of her midsection, soft flesh suddenly stabbed by goose bumps. She’s
still relaxed, eyes closed, a small curve to her lips, hair fanned out, and the
rise and fall of her chest steady. Nothing but silence surrounds us, and I want
to keep it that way for now.

Slowly, I skim up the sides,
across her ribs and up to her breasts, slightly flattened from the way she’s
stretched out. Her nipples tighten under the stroke of my thumbs, her chest
rising higher with a deeper inhale. What I really want is to take one in my
mouth, but I don’t want to move her from this position. Not yet. Cupping her
soft flesh, I caress. Brooklyn arches into my touch, a sensual curling of her
body. Her tongue peeps out and glides between her lips.  

This is almost unbelievable;
here she is, laid out, ready and willing to be taken by me.

Changing direction, I slide
my hands up her firm thighs. When I reach the top, I place my palm between her
legs. She feels warm, full, yielding and– fuck! If anything is going to
challenge my patience this will. I want to know how wet she is underneath her
panties.

I don’t think my dick has
ever
been this hard before.

“Are you going to let me
make you come this time?” I ask, fighting the urge to rip off these clothes and
taste her right now. I’m salivating at the thought alone.

I look up in time to catch
her smile before it disappears, making way for, “Try me and see.”

With his hands tucked behind my waist, Dane raises my
upper body from the table. The moment I’m upright, and wrapping my arms around
his shoulders, he captures my nipple in his mouth. I gasp at the unexpected
urgency of his claim. The teasing of his tongue around my nipple creates an
internal tingling trail that leads directly to my pussy, making me pulse with
intensified desire. When he sucks, my nails press into the material preventing
the flesh-to-flesh contact of our bodies. Reaching down, I grab the hem of his
T-shirt and lift it up. Dane leans back enough to enable me to take it off.
Dropping his clothing on the sofa, I pause, unable to tear my gaze away from
his torso.

Tight, defined muscles and
the softest looking skin covered in amazing artwork.

He’s absolutely flawless.

“Wow! to you,” I say, not
caring if the awe I feel shows.

He shakes his head, a
display of firm disagreement. “No. Wow! to you.” He places a single kiss
between my breasts.

I press my lips to his
forehead. “I want to look at you.”

“You can have anything you
want, sweetheart.”

I shivered when he called me
sweetheart. The fondness wrapped in that simple word and the sexy tone of his
voice held it apart from the hundreds of times anyone else has called me that.
“There’s a lot more I want to do than look at you, but for starters that’s what
I really want.”

I feel the pressure of his
breath against my chest as he laughs lightly, with surprise.

I’m far from reluctant now.
I want this man and there’s no denying that. 

I climb off Dane’s lap and
we move to the side of the sofa and coffee table, giving us space. During the
movie I asked him about his tattoos. He has sixteen and they all carry meaning,
significance.

I stand taking them in, my
finger tips tracing some of the designs. I can’t look anywhere other than at
the pictures and writing covering his entire upper body; chest, midsection,
arms – the detail and the effect of the shading are extraordinary – but I’m
conscious of the fact that, even though I’m bare from the hips up, Dane is
watching my face intently.

Over the center of his beautifully
defined abs is an empty crucifix with ‘Love Is Christ’ inscribed across it. A
poem is written down the right side of his torso, meaningful words about life
and love that cause my breathing to halt as I read them. The initials S.S.W –
Saffron Sinclair-Williams – tell me whose wonderful mind created it. I can’t
help but chuckle at Spider-Man climbing up to his left shoulder. It’s so
effective it looks as though the actions are actually happening. “Favorite
childhood superhero?”  

An incline of his head is
the answer I get, accompanied by a half-smile.

“These must have hurt.”

“Only physically. There are
other types of pain that go deeper and last longer, right?”

He said that as though it
meant nothing, but my pulse quickens from the intensity of his eyes. His gaze
holds mine prisoner for a moment that feels like an eternity.

To break the connection, I
move behind him. Dane pulls his loose hanging locks forward over his left
shoulder. He’s covered in ink here as well. Every single tattoo belongs, nothing
looks out of place. The only image that has additional colors, other than
black, is a panther, tearing its way out of the left side of his lower back. It
really does look like it’s used its claws and teeth to slash its way free from
the inside out. The menacing eyes are yellow and the exposed flesh beneath the
torn skin is crimson.

It’s strange for me, looking
at this particular tattoo, because this time last year I was desperate to claw
my way out of the life I was living.

I trace the outline of the menacing
cat. “How long ago did you get this one?”

A silent moment passes.
“About ten years.”

“I like it. What were you
trying to get away from?” I take the risk of asking, given that this isn’t here
without purpose, and that’s what I’ve concluded.

During one of our phone
chats I asked him what animal he’d be if he were to be one. He said a panther,
so I know the relevance of that part, but not the actions. I said a bird,
because I’d love the freedom to fly.

“Myself, I guess. Don’t we
all at some point?”

“I suppose we do.”  

From the center of his upper
back and spread across his right shoulder blade is a portrait of two women and
two men. “Your parents, Elizabeth and her husband,” I state.

I notice his dad had
dreadlocks, too. Dane said he’s had his for as long as he can remember. He and
Saffron look a lot like their mother, though I can see the similarities with
their father as well.

“That’s them,” he replies.

Nathaniel,
Martha, Elizabeth and Ray,
all important
people in his life, the people who’ve contributed to making Dane the man he is
today.

“Your friends are incredibly
talented.”

I return to the front and
push his hair back over. Standing so close that my breasts press against his
chest and my temple touches the side of his jaw, I place my hands on the front
of his shoulders and slowly slide down his arms, over his biceps and the
prominent veins in his forearms. Pushing the tip of my finger into the
waistband of his tracksuit bottoms, which are untied, I pull on the elastic and
slip my other hand in. He’s going commando.

“Wow!” I whisper playfully,
in response to the very ready and very impressive cock I’ve just taken hold of.

Dane laughs at me. “Brooklyn
Scott,” he whispers, the softly spoken words entwining with a sigh.

It feels fantastic, and it’s
a personal pleasure of mine to discover he’s hair free there. I hadn’t thought
there was room for me to want him more, but holding on to what he has to offer
has proved me wrong. The ache within me, for him to fill me, just became
excruciating.

I push his clothes down and
he steps out of them. This shit hot, fuck-me-all-night hot, every kind of hot
there is, man is now completely naked, and I can’t resist pressing up against
him, my breasts, my stomach, my thighs, which are still clothed, all connecting.
Warm, smooth and hard is how he feels. And that provocative erection makes me
want to ravish him.

I’m going to.

Before I get to contemplate
my next move, Dane’s fingers thread through my hair at the nape, tightening
into a fist. As I wrap my arms around him, with his other hand he tugs down my
top, leggings, and underwear as one. Once they reach my ankles, I kick them off
to the side.

We’re both fully bare.

Dane speaks directly into my
ear. “Once we do this there’s no turning back. I want you to be sure. I want
you to trust me.” His clasp on my hair gets more demanding, and he’s holding me
so tight, so close, I can’t move.

I know by his hold that his
control is being pushed to the limit.

Yet he’s giving me the
choice.

The blatant evidence of his
restraint speaks volumes to me and confirms my decision – which was already
confirmed, anyway – sealing the deal.

“I am and I do. I want you,
Dane.”

He claims my mouth with
desire so untamed it could almost be considered savage. Fuck if that isn’t
sexy.

When he frees me, I’m
breathless. I can’t remember what I wanted to do to him. I think I wanted to
impress him with the best head I’ve ever given, completely worship his
magnificent cock with my mouth. Yes, that was it. As I try to reestablish
equilibrium, he guides me back a few steps and sits me down on the end of the
coffee table.

“I like the way my coffee
table looks with you on it,” he says, as he sinks to his knees and carefully
lays me along the cool, hard surface.

I gaze down at him as he
raises my feet up onto the edge of the table with my thighs parted. With a
press of his hands to the insides of my knees, he opens my legs wider. His
attention homes in on my pussy. “Brooklyn, baby, you have no idea,” he mutters,
his expression serious.

I try to comprehend his
words, but he cuts my thoughts short with the lowering of his head. I watch his
thumbs part my lips and the slow slide of his tongue across my flesh. He
lingers over my clit with delicate swirls. The contact is both evident and
subtle, too much and too little. The sweeping wet caresses quickly incite
pulsating sparks forcing me to arch my spine and moan. I want to push him away,
to run from the building pleasure, but instead I pull him closer with my hands
to the back of his head; chasing it, riding the waves. Sooo fucking close, too
close, but not close enough as he eases the pressure and speed. Breathing in
deeply through my nose, I take in as much air as I can. As I exhale, I cry a
moan, more desperate than the last, needing to go over now, but he’s keeping me
somewhere between too much and not enough. If
he
wanted it, I’d have
come almost as soon as his oral assault started. 

Dane moves my legs to drape
them over each of his shoulders and, with his hands beneath my bottom, raises
my hips up from the table as he uprights himself. His tongue presses into me,
sliding back and forth. With my shoulder blades on the smooth surface, the
placement of my thighs up either side of his neck and the hold he has on my
hips, I’m securely positioned as he thoroughly fucks me with his tongue and
occasionally teases my clit with strokes he knows will push me close to climax
without taking me all the way.

Even through my hazy vision,
with eyes begging to close, I can’t do anything other than watch him. With his
eyes closed, full focus on me and mild, muffled groans, I’m even more aroused.
There’s nothing sexier than knowing a man enjoys eating your pussy.

When he lowers the base of
my spine back onto the table, kisses work up my stomach. At my navel slick
swirls linger in the dip, behind my bar. A finger pushes into me, sliding back
and forth. Soon after, that one becomes two. As the kisses resume their journey
up, Dane looks predatory in his controlled, stealth-like movement, his loose
locks hanging over his shoulders. Knowing that his hair is always bound, seeing
him like this feels almost as intimate as it was having his face buried in my
folds.

I let my head fall back as
his fingers continue to caress my walls. Our gazes become level. With the
placement of his forearm on the table to the right of my head, his body weight
over me is slight. “What are you doing to me?” I ask. “This feels like
torture.” The sweetest, of course. His breath mingles with my lips when he
laughs lightly. That responding chuckle is a little triumphant. “I don’t think
I like you anymore, Dane,” I tease.

“I’d tell you sorry, but I’m
not. I’ve never wanted to fuck as much as I do right now, but I’ll be damned if
I’m gonna rush this.” His smile lingers, but his gaze is once again serious.
His thumb over my clit, he circles in time with the press of his fingers. “I
hope you don’t expect to sleep anytime soon.”

With a caress that becomes
as determined as his just did, it’s impossible to keep my eyes open. Grasping
at anything I can get hold of, I catch the tense shoulder of the arm working me
and his side. As I vocalize my pleasure, Dane slips his tongue into my mouth,
the taste of me flavoring him. I come with him consuming my moans.

Moving his hand from my
folds, Dane raises his wet fingers to my nipple and circles it, leaving the
slick evidence of my climax. His tongue follows, licking away my juices. His
name escapes me on a whisper as he sucks my hard peak. Greater suction creates
that internal trail, even more heightened than the last time, making my pussy
throb with a strength that could easily have me believe myself capable of
coming from this alone. But it’s not enough. I don’t just want to come – I
need
him inside me.

“Dane?” I say, raising my
voice enough to avoid it sounding like an aroused response to all the wonderful
attention he’s unleashing on my body. His glorious face comes level with mine.
“Fuck me now, please. You can do whatever you want to me after that.”

The subtle tilt to one side
of his mouth snatches my notice. “When you put it like that.” He moves and
lifts me into the cradle of his arms, and carries me through to the bedroom.

The room becomes dark when
the door closes, shutting out the light from the living room. It’s warm in here
and it smells of Dane, the non-artificial scent belonging to him. Unaware of my
alien surroundings, I feel soft, cotton beneath me. A clicking sound. The light
on the bedside table radiates an orange glow. I’m on a king-size bed with a
dark gray cover under me. Dane kneels between my thighs and reaches over,
pulling open the top drawer of his bedside table to retrieve protection.

I’m not sure if I should be
as impressed as I am, but watching the fluid and confident way Dane rolls on
the condom is quite notable, even a turn on. That alone could qualify as
foreplay.

He settles between my legs,
fitting like he belongs there. I inhale sharply at the point of his controlled
entry and the burst of intense sensations. What’s more astounding is that
he
trembles. “Holy fuck,” he says under his breath when the tip of his dick is
surrounded by me. “Damn, Brooklyn, that’s some hold you’ve got on me.”