"Come for me, beautiful," he calls. "Come all over your hand for me."
My back arches, his name tumbling from my lips in a soft cry. I shatter, pulled over the edge by his voice, by the fantasy, by the fact that he knows what I'm doing right now.
I'm still shaking when I hear him groan my name.
My body melts into the bed, boneless at the way he says it—like he's been waiting a lifetime to growl it just like that.
The house falls silent, the only sound the faint hum of the fridge. For a long moment, I lay there, waiting for him to say something, to acknowledge what just happened. When he doesn't, I begin to wonder if maybe he was dreaming after all. Maybe he has no idea that I just got myself off while moaning for him.
And then I hear his voice coming through the vent again.
"Sweet dreams, beautiful."
"Sweet dreams," I whisper back.
I find him in the kitchen in the morning, standing at the stove, fully dressed in the same suit he wore to dinner, cooking breakfast. For a moment, I just stand in the doorway, staring at him.
He moves efficiently, flipping bacon and whisking eggs, whistling to himself. If he's worried about what happened last night, he doesn't show it. He's calm and collected.
I'm anything but. I don't know what to say or how to act. All I know is that I got myself off to his voice last night. I let him hear me doing it.
"Morning, beautiful," he rumbles, glancing at me over his shoulder. His denim eyes are light as they run over me, like he's meticulously checking me from head to toe. "Did you sleep well?"
"I…" I guess we're going to pretend last night didn't happen then. Cool. "Yes." I shuffle into the kitchen, straight to the coffee pot.
I'm halfway through pouring a cup when I feel him behind me, pressing into me, caging me in. His arms come around me, his lips landing against the side of my throat.
The sound that leaves my lips isn't one I've ever made before now. It's not even one I'm sure I knew how to make until now.
I melt against him, my hands shaking as I set my mug on the counter, sloshing coffee over the rim. His erection nestles against the curve of my ass, his scent engulfing me.
"You're lucky you locked your door last night," he rasps against my skin, his stubble scraping. "If you hadn't, I would have been in that bed with you as soon as you moaned my name."
"I…I…" I don't know what to say. I'm not sure I'm ready to acknowledge what happened last night, so I spin instead, crushing my lips to his.
"Fuck," he grunts, catching me by the hips to lift me onto the island. One hand sinks into my hair, craning my head back. The other slips between my legs, his palm pressing against my center.
I cry out, arching up to meet his hand.
"You still wet for me, beautiful?"
"Yes," I gasp.
"Good," he grunts, nudging my sleep shorts aside.
My mind goes blank when I feel the heat of his hand on me, one finger sliding along my slit. I'm so wet, so fucking needy.
"Briggs, please," I sob, practically choking on his name and desperation in the same breath.
"Shh," he murmurs against my lips. "You don't have to beg me, Tia. I'll take care of you."
I nearly sob again when he touches me, his thumb grinding against my clit. I part my legs, trying to give him more room to work, but he's so big, they're already spread wide.
"Fuck," he groans, nipping and sucking at the side of my throat. "I don't know how I'm going to stay out of this perfect little thing, Tia. I'm already so fucking hard for you. So hard."
I reach out blindly, wanting to feel for myself. My hand closes around his dick through his slacks, his hips bucking.
"Keep that up, and I'll be coming in my pants," he growls, his eyes wild.