Not My Brute (Angels of War Series #2)

Chapter Twenty-three*

I expect Bret to push away, but he does the exact opposite. Reaching for me, he secures my body to his chest, urging my legs to slip around his waist, so my core comes directly onto his arousal. My breath stutters in my chest at the feel of him, my lips tingling when he politely forces his mouth to join mine.

The moan escaping my mouth is long and low, our lips sliding together in a fevered pattern. I inch back to whisper his name, but Bret doesn't give me a chance for his kissing. I open my mouth when he slides his tongue over my bottom lip, begging for entrance.

The chair creaks under our weight at the force of Bret's thrust, the barrier of our clothes frustrating to me. A slice of pleasure cuts through my belly at the movement, and it's extraordinary. Bret groans in retaliation, feeling up and down my waist, digging his fingers in now and then.

My body jumps to the side when he finds a particularly sensitive spot. Edging back enough for me to speak. "I'm sometimes ticklish."

"Yeah?" he growls, clearing his throat afterwards, eyes soft on my face.

I nod, pressing my lips to the bit of skin that separates his nose to his cheek, moving further up his body when he collects me in his arms. "Your mouth is okay to kiss me?"

I get a growl in response.

Using the tips of my fingers to outline his cheekbone, I bend forward to smooch him once more. It's wet and quick, but none the less arousing.

Bret starts to unzip my tracksuit jacket, my nipple peeking when he traces around it, my lace bra the only thing keeping him from going all in. "God, the things I want to do to you," he growls, lowering his head to spread addictive kisses over my collarbones.

"Bret," I whisper.

"Diana," he murmurs, suddenly squeezing my boob. "I'm going to make you come so fucking hard."

All air evaporates from my lungs. "Oh, my god."

The warmth of his chuckle vibrates over my skin, and a moan escapes me at the sensation. "I reckon we should get a little more comfortable."

I go to slide off his knee, but he restricts me from moving with his lovely hands securing on my waist. Bret pushes back on the chair, so it slides on the floor, going to stand up with me in his arms.

A squeal slips out of my lips when he seems to struggle for a few seconds. "Can you manage my weight?"

Bret doesn't answer with words, choosing to smash his mouth down on mine instead. Our mouths open, teeth clashing together just before he strides across the room, dropping me on to the bed.

"I need to be real for a moment," Bret says, staring down at me.

I nod, reaching out to squeeze his forearm, thrown by his spooked voice. "Of course."

He clears his throat. "I haven't been intimate with anyone since losing my leg. Doing this here with you is a big step for me. Be patient, yeah?"

I scrambled up to collect his face in my hands, fingers smoothing over his cheeks. "Take all the time you need."

Bret moves closer to kiss my lips, encouraging me to let go of his face so he can sit on the edge of the bed. "I'm gonna take off the prosthetic."

I watch him in fascination as he wraps his entire hand around the knee part and presses a button, wriggling his leg back and forth to release the stump. Placing the prosthetic on the floor next to the bed, he shifts to crawl closer to me.

"You okay?" he asks, almost wary of my answer.

I nod, letting out a deep sigh when he grabs hold of my ankles and pulls my legs to separate. "Yeah."