He Dumped Me at Our Rehearsal Dinner, So a Man Twice My Age Took Me Home novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: Fourteen Twelve

In the suite over the river, Brendan takes her at the window and in the bed, and she says out loud what she wants for the first time; at dawn he asks for the week and she names her rules.

The door of fourteen twelve shut behind us, and for a long moment he didn't touch me.

He stood with his back against the wood and his hands at his sides, and he looked.

I was barefoot on a cream carpet in a wet blue dress, with his suit coat hanging off my shoulders.

Water ran out of my hair and down the back of my neck.

"Come here," he said. "My name's Brendan."

"Belle," I said.

"I heard."

I went.

He took the coat off me with his left hand and dropped it on the floor.

Then he turned me by the shoulders to face the window and stood behind me.

The suite was on the river side.

Below us the Savannah River ran black and wide.

A container ship slid along it with every deck light burning, huge and slow, under the long lit arc of the bridge.

"Put your hands on the glass," he said.

I put them on the glass.

It was cold against my palms.

I could see us both in it, the shape of me and the shape of him over me.

The city and the ship showed through us.

He drew my zipper down, all the way, in one steady pull.

The wet dress fell to my feet.

I stood at the window in my good lace underwear, which I had bought for a wedding night that wasn't going to happen.

I didn't feel sorry about it.

I felt hot all over.

"Look at yourself," he said against my ear.

"I'd rather look at you."

"You will."

His hands came around my waist, rough and warm, and spread across my stomach.

Then they moved up, and he cupped my breasts through the lace and drew his thumbs across my nipples until they ached.

I pushed back against him and felt how hard he was through his trousers.

"Oh," I said.

"There she is," he said.

He unhooked my bra and let it fall.

He turned me round and lifted me onto the deep wooden sill with my back against the glass and my feet hanging.

The cold of the window went right through me, and I gasped, and he put his mouth on my throat.

He kissed down my chest, slow, and took a nipple between his lips and sucked until I was holding his head with both hands.

"Brendan," I said, because he had given me his name at the door, and I had never said it like that to anyone.

He lifted his face and looked at me with those dark blue eyes.

"Say it again."

"Brendan."

"Good girl," he said.

My whole body jumped.

I don't know why it hit me where it did.

Maybe it was that for fourteen months nobody had told me I was doing anything right.

He went down on his knees on the carpet in front of me.

He hooked his fingers into my underwear and drew it down my legs and off, and he set my heels on his shoulders.

I was open to him on the sill, with the glass at my back and a ship's lights moving behind my head.

"I'll look at you first," he said.

"Please don't."

"Yes," he said. "I will."

He looked, and I felt it everywhere.

Then he put his mouth on me.

The first slow lick went from my entrance all the way up to my clit.

I made a sound I had never made in front of another person.

He did it again, flat and unhurried, and then he found my clit with the tip of his tongue and circled it.

My head went back against the window.

"Don't hold it in," he said, and he went on, his stubble rough on the insides of my thighs.

I was wet, so wet that I could hear it.

He slid two fingers inside me, thick and sure.

He curled them forward against the spot that made my vision go white at the edges.

At the same time he sucked my clit into his mouth.

"Oh God, there," I said. "Right there. Don't stop."

"I'm not stopping," he said.

"Brendan," I said.

"That's it. Let me hear you."

I put my hand in his hair and held on, and I rode his mouth.

I didn't think about Whit or the dinner or the check.

I thought about his tongue and his fingers and the low hum in his chest.

Then the whole length of me pulled tight and broke.

I came with a cry that echoed off the glass, my thighs shaking around his head, and he didn't let up.

He licked me through it, slower, until I begged him to stop and then begged him not to.

"That's my good girl," he said, and he kissed the inside of my knee.

I couldn't breathe right.

He stood and picked me up off the sill, and I wrapped my legs around his waist and found his mouth with mine.

I tasted myself on him.

I pulled at his shirt until the buttons gave, and I pushed it off his shoulders.

He was broad and brown and scarred, with gray hair across his chest and a long white mark under his ribs.

"What is that?" I asked, with my hand on it.

"A hook, when I was seventeen."

"I want to kiss it."

"Later," he said, and he laid me down in the middle of the huge white bed.

He undressed with his eyes on me.

His belt, his trousers, and then he was naked, and I stared.

He was thick and long and flushed dark, and my mouth went dry and my sex tightened all at once.

"You'll have to be gentle," I said, and heard how stupid it sounded.

"Will I?"

"No," I said. "No. Don't be."

He smiled, and it changed his whole face.

"Open your legs for me, Belle."

I opened them.

He knelt between them and ran the head of his cock through my wetness, up and down, and I lifted my hips toward him.

"Please."

"Tell me what you want."

"I want you inside me," I said. "I want all of it."

"Say it like you mean it."

"Fuck me, Brendan."

He pushed in slowly.

He was so big that I felt every inch, a deep stretch that was almost too much and exactly enough.

I clutched his forearms and breathed through my teeth.

He stopped when he was all the way in and held there, shaking.

"Look at me," he said.

I looked.

"You're taking me so well," he said.

"Move," I said.

"Not yet."

"Move, please, I need you to move."

He drew back and pushed in again, one long thrust that went right through me, and I cried out.

Then he found a rhythm, slow and deep, and every stroke dragged over the place his fingers had found.

I could feel the pressure gathering again low in my belly.

I wrapped my legs around his back and pulled him in harder.

"Harder."

"I decide how hard."

"Then decide," I said, "because I'm going to die."

He laughed, low, and then he gave it to me.

The bed hit the wall.

His hips drove into mine, hard and fast, with a wet sound I'd have been ashamed of at any other time.

I held on to his shoulders and said his name over and over.

"That's it," he said. "Just like that. Show me."

"I'm going to come."

"Then come on my cock, good girl."

I did.

The second one was worse than the first, a deep, wrenching spasm that went through my whole body.

I dug my nails into his back and shouted into his neck.

He swore, a rough Savannah sound, and his rhythm broke.

He thrust twice more, deep, and came with a groan that shook the bed.

He pulsed hot inside me while I clung to him and felt every beat.

We lay there tangled in the sheets while the rain ran down the window.

His weight on me was a good weight.

I had my fingers in his hair, and I realized I was crying a little and smiling at the same time.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked.

"No."

"Then what is it?"

"Nobody ever asked me what I wanted," I said. "Not once. Not in bed and not out of it. I just fit myself to whoever I was with."

He propped himself on his elbow and looked at me.

His eyes were very steady.

"What do you want, Belle?"

I thought about it, which I had never been allowed to do before.

"More of this," I said. "Tonight. Tomorrow. Whatever you'll give me."

"I'll give you whatever you ask for."

"Then ask me to stay," I said.

He ran his thumb along my bottom lip.

"Stay," he said.

Around three I woke, alone in the big bed.

He was standing at the window with his back to me, naked, looking down at the river.

"Come back to bed," I said.

"I don't sleep much."

"I didn't say sleep."

He turned his head, and I pushed the sheet off and sat up on my knees.

He came back to the bed, and I pushed him down on his back in the middle of it.

Then I straddled his hips.

He was already hard against my thigh.

"Belle."

"Hush. Good girls get to ask for things."

I took him in my hand, rose up and sank onto him in one slow, wet slide, and we both groaned.

I had never been on top for anyone I wanted to look at.

I put my palms on his chest and rode him, slowly at first, rolling my hips, finding where it hit me best.

His hands came up to my waist and stayed there, not guiding, just holding.

The lights of the passing ships slid across the ceiling.

"Look at you," he said.

"Don't look at me. Touch me."

He found my clit with his thumb and I leaned back, bracing a hand on his knee, and moved faster.

"That's it," he said. "Use me. Take what you want."

I took it.

I came on top of him with my head thrown back and a long shaking cry.

He followed, lifting his hips off the mattress and pulling me down onto him, groaning my name into the dark.

Afterwards I fell on his chest, and he held me, and we lay there until the window began to gray.

Toward dawn, with the first light on the river and the cranes standing up against it, he asked me for the week.

"A week," I said.

"Just this one."

I pulled the sheet up over my breasts and looked at the ceiling.

"Then I have rules," I said.

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