Our fingers slide together as she reaches for it. I feel a jolt of energy pulse under my skin.
Brooke’s eyes widen, lowering to my mouth.
With a quick jerk, she leans forward and hovers an inch from my face, her lungs straining for breath. The movement is so abrupt and clearly so startling for her, given her staggered expression, it’s as if she is being pushed into me and held there.
“Brooke,” I murmur, looking all over her face. I bring my arm behind her and rest it on the bench, angling us together.
She blinks up at me. “Mm?”
“Do you want to kiss me?”
She doesn’t answer, but her eyes, those beautiful fucking eyes drop to my mouth and stay there, flickering open a little wider when I wet my lips.
A heaviness gathers in my limbs as I wait, and wait, and fuck, wait for her to make a move. A decision.
This is a first.
Every kiss, every sort of affection we’ve shared has been instigated and carried out by me. Sure, she’s been an active participant, minus a few of the times I’ve tried to hold her hand, but she’s never reached for me. She’s never forced the seal of our mouths together and shocked the hell out of me.
I inch closer, just the smallest shift, enough to feel her breath on my face. It’s warm and smells like fruit, something berry.
“Come on,” I whisper.
It sounds like I’m begging. I feel like I am.
Her pink tongue darts out and slides across her lips.
I can see the wild hammering of her pulse beneath her ear. I can practically hear her thoughts and the argument she wages with herself over this monumental affirmation.
Come on, Brooke.
I keep reminding myself to breathe and to not move and to just fucking wait another second. Then another. Time becomes a double-edged sword. The longer she considers this, the more shattering or satisfying the end result will become.
I’ll look back on this moment and think it was torture and damaging in the end. She wasn’t ready. She might not ever be. Or, I’ll only remember the feel of her lips and the taste of her warm breath and I’ll think, ‘I would’ve waited hours for that’.
A hand touches my thigh. My blood turns to lava, scorching and slow-moving.
Then with a gasping breath she leans in and presses the softest kiss to my mouth.
FUCK.
I’ve shared a lot of kisses with Brooke. Hot, hungry ones where it feels like I’ve captured her after a long-winded chase. Ones that seem imperative and essential to my survival. But this kiss, even though it’s fleeting and painstakingly faint, feels superior to every other kiss she has or will ever give me.
And in that moment, my life becomes profoundly simple, consisting of only one person.
Brooke.
With a quiet laugh, she pulls away and opens her cutlery. She lifts a brow when our eyes lock. “You are crazy. Did you promise to rock Rosie’s world? Is that why she made this for you?”
It takes me a minute to process her question. I’m still reeling from the ghost of a kiss that just knocked me on my arse.
I run a quick hand through my hair, gathering my wits about me. “No. I never saw Rosie, although I’m sure she’s lovely and a minx in the sack.”
Brooke laughs, reaching up and tucking some hair behind her ear.
“I asked a waitress if they could make an exception and help a poor bloke out. There was some gentle begging. I may have mentioned how badly I fucked up this morning and that I was declaring my adoration for this one particular woman through the weekly meals she’s giving me, which I’m hoping will soon convert to days.” I take a bite of my sandwich, shrugging when she turns her head. “If you think about it, I’m already creeping in on lunches. Next it will be routine dinners. Minutes in between. I’ll claim a day from you soon enough.”
“Are you talking about once a week? Like every Tuesday is Brooke and Mason day?”
I smile. “Yeah.”
“Oh, okay. In this fantasy world, do either one of us have jobs? Because I need to work.” She licks some powdered sugar off her lip. “How am I supposed to give you a day if I’m working?”
“Weekends, obviously. Or I’ll forgo your time in between meals and have you after work.” I lower my voice, leaning closer as I set my sandwich on the paper wrapping. “Although, fair warning. I might not be so willing to give you up after the sun goes down. I’ve imagined how perfect you are waking up to and if I have a chance to entertain that idea, I’m taking it.”
She stares at me for a moment, her mouth slowly lifting into a mischievous grin. “And what exactly have you imagined? Anything particularly tight and wet?”
My cock stirs beneath my shorts.
I lower my eyes to the white lace peeking out of her blouse. “Mm. And soft. I wake up with my face buried between your spectacular tits and we go from there.”
She lowers the box to her lap and shifts closer, her chest pressing against my side. “Tell me,” she murmurs.
I lift my gaze to hers.
She wants me to go into detail about what I’ve imagined more times than I can count? Now? Here?
With heavy eyes, she slowly nods as if she’s heard my internal thoughts. Her hand moves back to my thigh.
I swallow, my heart pounding in my chest, my cock quickly lengthening as pornographic thoughts run rampant in my mind. I turn my body more and hold the sandwich bag strategically in my lap, concealing my unwelcome erection.
This is a crowded park. There’s bloody kids running around. I can’t will my prick not to react to this woman, but I can at least keep it hidden.