Reveal (A Wild Nights Novel) (7 page)

He grinned, big and bold, and I found myself wanting nothing more than to lick the sexy crinkle near his left eye. It was so fucking adorable.

“Open your legs,” I said, lowering my voice.

He swallowed heavily and scissored his thighs without protest.

“Thank you.” I slowly shuffled in between them so that I could get closer to his chest, and during my shuffle, I grazed his cock with my knee.

Brad’s traps tensed, as did the muscles in his neck.

“Oops,” I said, adding a faux apologetic shrug when we both knew my knee graze was anything but accidental.

He scooted forward ever so slightly,               so that my graze was more of a resting caress. “No sweat.”

A sharp intake of air met my lungs, and it burned. It burned with need and desire, and it burned because the air surrounding us was pretty fucking hot in the first place, not to mention that I could now feel his more than noticeable erection.
Water. I need water.

Leaning to my side, I reached for my drink bottle and unscrewed the lid, straightening again before skolling the contents while watching him intently. A level of hunger I’d never seen before swirled like a storm in his eyes—thunderous lust, crackling need, and a spark of agonizing restraint. It was mesmerising, anticipatory, and oh so freakin’ sexy.

A desired urge to heighten his brewing storm clawed at my body, so I allowed a drip of water to escape my mouth and fall to my chest. His gazed followed its descent and he licked his lips.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. And for the fucking hell of it … faaaaaark!

Those lips! I wanted them on mine. And his tongue. I wanted that in my mouth, on my neck, down my chest, up my thigh, along my clit, in my pussy, and circling my arse. I wanted it
all.
Everything.

Removing the bottle from my mouth with an exaggerated
pop
, I dipped my finger between my breasts to wipe the water’s trail. I then squeezed some lotion into my hands and pressed them to his chest, drawing his attention from my tits to my eyes.

“You know,” I said, clearing my husky throat. “I’ve never surfed before, and I want to learn how.” I smoothed my hands onto his shoulders and up his neck, moving away strands of his dirty blond hair. “I noticed you brought your surfboard with you and was wondering if you might want to teach me.”

Brad’s arms rose like a scarecrow’s so that I could rub them down as well, his gaze not leaving mine for a second. “You want to ride my board?”

I bit back a warranted smile. “Yes, I do. But I want to learn to ride it properly.”

“I can definitely help you with that.”

Shuffling out from between his legs, I dropped to my hands and knees and crawled to the back of him, smiling satisfactorily when he adjusted his boardshorts. “Excellent! So can I ride your board today?”

“Sure. As soon as you’re done rubbing me, I’ll introduce you to my sled.”

I hummed my appreciation as my hands explored more of his physique. “Mmm … perfect.”

***

“Okay, first things first … warm-up time.” Brad bear-hugged himself and rocked from side to side, stretching his shoulders. He lifted his arms over his head and grabbed his elbows, pulling them one at a time down toward his back. I followed suit, but laced my hands together and pushed toward the sky before bending forward and touching the sand between my feet.

“You’re very flexible,” he choked out.

Upside-down, I looked at him from between my parted legs. His eyes were fixed to my arse, and his ravenous stare flexed my insides. “I’m a stage performer, Brad; of course I’m flexible. Part of my job is dancing, and dancing requires agility.”

“That’s good. It’ll makes things easier.”

I grabbed my ankles and bounced gently. “What things?”

“Balance, control … positioning,” he said, his targeted sight unwavering.

“Perfect.” I winked and placed my hands on the ground, shifting my weight onto them and locking my elbows tight, then pushing off the ground with my feet, I slowly spread my legs and raised them into a handstand position.

“Fuck me,” he ground out, running his hand through his hair and resting it on his head.

“Is that an invitation?” My voice was slightly strained as I focussed on keeping my balance.

“You don’t need one, Em. It’s me who needs one from you.”

Lowering my legs to the ground again, I stood up and pivoted to face him, stepping closer and resting my pointer finger on the edge of the tribal tattoo traversing his bicep. “Is that so?”

The distance between us vanished when Brad’s hand settled on the small of my back, pulling me flush with his chest. “Just say the word.”

Pounding.
It wasn’t ‘the word’ in question. Although it was something I wouldn’t mind him doing to me right about now. Instead, it was what my heart was doing in my chest. Pound. Pound. Pound.

Never had anyone had such a physical effect on me. Well, with the exception of H. But he and I had never met, never been in each other’s presence. Hell, we’d never even seen each other’s faces, yet he was the only other man who’d set my body alight solely with his need. H had a way with words, and words penetrated layers that touch could not.

Tilting my head back, I searched Brad’s heavy, darkened eyes. “What word are you waiting for?”

His lips parted, and—

“You gonna teach her to surf or what?” Noah barked, flicking water on the both of us as he walked by.

Brad’s grip released, and he turned toward his brother, glaring furiously. The victorious smirk Noah wore as be bent down and grabbed his water bottle from within his backpack was unmissable. It was incendiary, goading, and I all of a sudden worried what irate exchange it would surely stir.
Shit!
I didn’t want them to fight; they were brothers—twin brothers—and part of a professional group. And even though being in the centre of two broad, sculpted, and overly confident guys, embroiled in a battle of the cock was a delicious thought, I didn’t want animosity between them … animosity caused as a result of me.

“Come on. Teach me your moves,” I coaxed, finding Brad’s hand and threading my fingers with his.

Grabbing his hand worked to secure his attention, and he turned back to face me, staring momentarily at our entwined hands before looking up and smiling, amusement twinkling in his eyes. “With fucking pleasure.”

Suddenly, I was elevated and tossed over his shoulder, resting in his hold with a bird’s eye view of his arse and striding legs. “Put me down, barbarian,” I shrieked, giggling as I bounced atop him with each step he took.

He slapped my arse, hard. “Shush, woman.”

The sharp sting his hand left on my skin was electrifying—harsh, but sensually intoxicating. It silenced my fight and dampened my swimsuit, and I wondered what type of kinky bedroom antics he’d be into. But now wasn’t the time for fantasising about bondage, especially when Brad stopped by the side of his surfboard, which was lying on the ground, ready for my lesson.

Lowering me to my feet, the amusement he’d shown moments ago now amplified as he pointed to ground beside us. “Hands and knees beside the board, pixie.”

I went to comply, dropping to my knees, but then stopped abruptly when the word ‘pixie’ registered. “What?”

“Please,” he answered, confidently.

“Screw your manners. But Pixie? Really?” My hand found my hip, a show of disapproval.

“Yeah. You’re a hot-as-fuck, sexy little pixie.”

My lips arched into a smile, and I couldn’t help but comply. I liked his nickname for me and his reason behind it. It was kinda … cute. And I could deal with cute, although I much preferred provocative. But for Brad, cute was definitely something I could work with. Just not now. Now, I was working with
tease
.

Positioning myself on all fours as he’d requested, I waited for his next instruction, which didn’t come.

Silence.

I waited some more.

What the fuck?

Confused, I turned my head to look up at him and was blinded by the sun’s brilliance, the bright light remaining in my vision even after my eyes had closed.

“What next?” I asked, squinting and raising my hand to my forehead, the shade it provided allowing me to see through the shadows hiding his face.

Brad was as still as a statue, his jaw clicking from side to side, his hooded eyes fixated on my arse. I furrowed my brow and followed his stare, and that was when I noticed what captivated his attention—a rosy handprint on my skin.

“You’ve branded me, you naughty man.”

His head tilted just slightly and his hand dropped to cup his cock.
Oh. My. Seasoned vagina! No, I mean really, season my snatch … because it’s medium to well-fucking-done right now.

“Brad,” I said calmly, fighting my own searing need and facing forward again. “Stop admiring your handiwork and teach me to surf, or that will be the one and only time you’ll leave your mark on my body.”

His feet moved over the sand before his legs filled my vision when he stepped in front of me and squatted, the softness of his finger tilting my chin up. “I plan on leaving more than my mark on your body, sexy pixie, don’t you worry.”

Yep. Well-done snatch is now char-fucking-grilled.

It had taken a while for my brain to focus less on snatch cooking, cock grabs and arse slaps, and more on what it was supposed to be focussed on, like sequence of motion, centre of gravity, and balance. But I’d gotten there eventually, and after much practise on the sand now tried my luck at surfing in the water … on an actual wave.

“Remember, toes touching the very back of the board, and when the wave hits, put your hands in front of your tits, fingers facing forward, and push all the way up—”

“Yeah yeah,” I interrupted, continuing the steps he’d taught me while lying on the board facing the shore, ready for my first wave. “Pussy off the board—your words, not mine—arch your back, arse in the air, and balance on your toes.”

“Good. Then all you have to do is slide your back foot up a little, bring your front foot forward, and stand up, keeping your knees bent and arms spread out like a fucking plane.”

“Got it! Okay, where’s my wave?”

He laughed. “Eager little beaver, aren’t you?”

“You have no idea how eager my beaver is.”

“Trust me, I’m getting one,” he murmured, treading water as he held my board still. “Okay, here comes your wave. Get ready.”

“Shit! Shit! Shit! I’ve forgotten which foot goes first. Brad, which fucking foot goes first?”

“You’re a natural-footer, so left. Okay, go! Paddle.”

Shiiiiit! Tits, toes, bum, stand, knees, plane!

The wave hit as I recited my sequence of motion, so I paddled like a duck on crack and moved forward with the bubbling break of water.
Tits
: I placed my hands under my tits.
Toes:
Pushed up on my toes.
Bum:
Arched my back and pointed my bum in the air.
Stand:
Moved my feet into position and stood slowly.
Knees:
Nope. I didn’t quite get to those. Instead, I got super excited by everyone cheering me on and turned to wave at Brad, which was when everything went to shit; my legs went one way, my arms went another, and before I knew it, I was underwater, scrambling through the force of the wave.

Talk about feeling as if you were in a giant salty washing machine.
My God!
I didn’t know which way was up or down, but I kicked anyway. I kicked toward the direction of what I hoped was the surface, strong arms soon capturing my waist and pulling me free of the water.

“You alright?” Brad asked, wiping water from my face.

I coughed, blinking through the salty-sting coating my eyes. “I did it! Well, kinda.”

“Yeah, you did, until you decided to be a show-off and forgot to bend your knees.”

At some point, I’d wrapped my legs around Brad’s hips and placed my hands on his shoulders, and it wasn’t until his cock hardened and pressed against me that I realised what I’d done.

“A show-off, huh?” I asked, my giggling dying off when I noticed his fixation on my lips.

A wave passed and it lifted us as we hit its peak, my stomach fluttering at the sensation of going up and then down. Mind you, I think the tummy-tickle was also a result of being in Brad’s arms and the object of his heated eye-fuck.

Swallowing heavily, I watched him draw closer as my breathing hitched, but instead of meeting him halfway, I freaked out and opened my big mouth to speak. “Again. I want to try again.”

What the actual fuck, Em?

Brad paused and his eye twitched with confusion. Rejection washed over his face like the passing waves. “Sure. Let’s get you up on the board then.”

Suddenly, his hand splayed underneath my arse, and he boosted me up and out of the water. I landed on the board with a light thud and wiggled into position.

“Remember, bend your knees this time.”

“I will,” I said, half-smiling, feeling a little regretful and slightly confused.

Why didn’t you let those luscious lips kiss yours, you stupid bitch?
It was a damn good question, because I wasn’t exactly sure why. There was absolutely no good reason as to why Brad and I shouldn’t have a bit of fun. He was single—I was single. He was sexy as hell—I worked sexy and often resided in hell. So what was the problem?

There wasn’t one.

Perhaps it’s the fact he’s not long been with Cori?
Nah, strangely enough, that didn’t bother me anymore. She and Josh seemed tight in a crazy loose way, and I could tell Brad saw her as a friend and nothing more.

Thoughts of H swam across my mind, shining a dull light on the question of ‘why not?’ Surely I wasn’t holding back because of him. That just didn’t make sense. H and I didn’t owe each other anything. There was no claim there. No ownership. No rights. It was just lust, sexts, taboo, and ego building—all H and I had was words.

Or is it?

Ugh!
Every time I told myself that it never rang true. And it should’ve, because when all was said and done, that was exactly what we were …
just words.
We’d never met, never touched, never breathed one another in nor tasted each other’s skin. We’d never really been and would never really be.

H and I were the dead end on a never-ending road.

I sighed. Maybe we didn’t have to be more. Maybe there were just some things in life that did not require tangibility to be as real as the ground you walked on, and maybe the truest of connections floated in space around you.
Maybe I’m holding back because of H.
Crap. I needed my diary. I needed to jot this shit down and sort it all out.

“Right. Go! Paddle,” Brad yelled, giving the surfboard a push forward.

I did what I was told and paddled, feeling the wave carry me from below, and just like before, I was on my feet in no time, knees bent, arms out—surfing.

“Go, Em!” Cori shouted, followed by a loud whistle.

More whistles sounded together with applause, and I couldn’t help but smile and internally squeal.
I’m doing it. I’m totally fucking surfing. I rock.

“Keep going, Pixie.”
What?

The proximity of Brad’s voice startled me, and I twisted my body to the left, finding him body-surfing the same wave. “Whoa!” I screamed, losing my balance and butt-planting in the water.
Wipe-out.

After moments of feeling as if I were once again in a giant washing machine, I broke the water’s surface and was just about to take in a breath of air when another wave hit, shocking me and sending me underneath the water again. The force was incredible, and there was little I could do to fight the push and pull.
Just stay calm and let the wave pass.

I tried to relax. Strong arms once again grasped my waist, and I was drawn to the surface, my chest burning from the water I’d swallowed. I couldn’t stop coughing.

“You okay?” Brad asked.

Cough.

“Em?”

Cough.

Cough.

I put up my hand up to indicate I couldn’t talk and needed a moment, knowing I’d be fine when I found my breath again.

“Hang on. I’ll get you to the shore.” He lifted me onto the board, which was still attached to my foot by an ankle strap, and paddled us back to the beach. When we reached shallow waters, he slid off the board and lifted me into his arms, and at that point I could voice some words again.

“Brad.
Cough.
Stop.
Cough.
I can walk.
Cough, cough.”

“I’ve got you, sexy pixie.”

Hearing him say that warmed my heart. Yeah, I liked it. Not to mention I’d always been a fan of Tinkerbell. Then again, the warmth I felt was more than likely the water I’d swallowed, which burned my lungs.

“I’m fine,” I choked out, as he carried me up the beach toward our stuff.

He knelt down beside my towel and laid me on top of it. “What can I get you? Water? Tell me what you need.”

The sun highlighted his frame as he leaned over me, illuminating him like a goddamn angel. His eyebrows were pulled taut, his eyes full of concern, darting back and forth as they scanned my face. He looked so beautiful and worried, and I really wanted to kiss him.

Just do it.

“I need mouth-to-mouth,” I said, raising my hand and resting it on his arm.

He smiled. “I know how to do that.”

“You do?
Cough.
Oh thank God,” I exclaimed dramatically.

My fingers flexed against his skin, letting him know there was no falsity to my request. I wanted his mouth on my mouth and I wanted it now.

Leaning down, Brad placed his hands on either side of my face and brushed his lips against mine. They were soft, warm and exquisite, and I was just about to close my eyes and sink into their perfection when he pinched my nostrils and blew into my mouth.
What the hell?

My hands found his chest and pushed him back, but he captured them with his own and held them above my head.

“What are you doing, Brad?” I protested, angrily.

“I was giving you mouth-to-mouth.”

“Very funny, smartarse.”

“It’s what you asked you for.”

I stared at him in disbelief.
Is he for fucking real?
“You knew what I was asking for.”

An arrogant but playful smile crept across his face. “Then ask me properly.”

“No.” I glared at him.

Swallowing the space between us, he stared intently into my eyes before feathering the tip of his tongue along my bottom lip. It was divine and sent a thousand tiny tingles exploding at various locations of my body.

Stomach …
boom!

Itty-bitty titties …
fizzle!

Pussy …
pop, fizzle, boom!

“Ask me to kiss you,” he whispered, before circling my nose with the tip of his.

I fell into his trance and whispered back, “Just do it.”

“Do what?”

“Fucking kiss me.”

His lips crashed onto mine, and his tongue stopped its feathering tease. It massaged and stroked, licked and lathed. It tasted me, and I tasted back.

My body magnetised toward him, tilting in his direction, my knee slowly rising. He grunted and deepened our kiss, releasing my hands and returning his fingertips to the sides of my face before trailing one hand down my neck, down my side, and stopping it to rest on my hip.

I squirmed underneath his touch and reached for his head, threading my fingers through his hair and gripping tightly. My God, he tasted good—salty and minty, warm and yummy … like a salted-caramel, minty, hot chocolate
.

“Yeah, she’s alive,” Cori said.

“You sure about that? Something or someone is blocking her air-supply,” Josh responded.

I raised my hand and flipped them the bird, all the while continuing to enjoy Brad’s mouth. Suddenly, a spray of water flicked over my head together with the sound of a loud whack. Fits of laughter and praise followed, and Brad shot up, leaving me a little dazed and confused.

“Motherfuckers,” he cursed, jumping to his feet and searching the ground around us. His eyes landed on something and retribution blared from them as be bent down and picked it up. “Which arsehole threw this?” he shouted to Dimps, Chief and Noah, holding up the ball they’d all skimmed to each other earlier.

I elevated to my elbows and watched him jog to the water’s edge, my eyes tracing the shape of his back and the rise and fall of his arse underneath the hem of his boardshorts.
Wow!
Yeah, that was all I had … the
W
the
O
and the other
W
, those three letters pretty much summing up what had just happened in my mouth and between my legs.

“You alright there, Em?” Cori asked with a sing-song voice.

Turning my head in her direction, I found her sitting on her towel and resting between Josh’s legs, her lips pursed, amusement dancing across her face.

“Yes. I’m perfectly fine.”

“Oh good. You just look a little … lightheaded.”

Her smartarse, prissy tone had continued, so I gave it back as best I could. “Lightheaded, you say? I must be pregnant.”