Fix It Up Page 16

  And I wanted to let her know before she worked at reinforcing hers again that I was in. All in. If that was the route she wanted to take.

  I knew she wanted it, actually.

  So that phrasing was wrong.

  If she would allow herself to have it.

  I saw no reason why not. We got along when we weren't arguing over work. We liked many of the same things. We respected each other. We had chemistry the likes of which I hadn't experienced before, and given what sounded like a less than stellar dating history, she hadn't either.

  And it worked.

  For the show, especially, since we would no longer have to be faking anything. We simply would be together. We wouldn't have to fake the intimacy, the touching, the lingering looks. It would all come naturally.

  "Ugh," Brin growled, wiggling her shoulders, shaking her arms like she was preparing for a race.

  "Nervous?"

  "It's live," she answered, giving me a grimace. "What if I say something stupid? Or forget to speak as a whole?"

  "You? Forgetting to speak?" I teased, smiling when she slitted her eyes at me. "You'll be fine. And if you put down the slack, I'll pick it up. No big deal," I assured her, reaching to put an arm around her, giving her hip a squeeze. And it wasn't wishful thinking when her body curled into mine for a moment, like she was trying to draw strength from me, before we were called out onto the stage.

  "Of course," Maria, the morning host with perfectly coiffed, unmoving dark brown hair and lined, deep eyes, said, nodding at Brin's explanation about how tempers always flare on worksites, and how hers had a short fuse to begin with, so of course we butted heads. "And we were looking around your Instagram posts," she went on, waving a hand to the screen behind her as my hand found Brin's knee, giving it a squeeze under the table, something the audience - and the cameras - surely didn't miss.

  Our faces popped up on the screen, Brin standing in front of me, her head on my chest, with a giant smile, all white teeth on display as she held out the camera for a selfie, me, well, I was looking at her. It was the first time I had ever seen how I did it. With almost... wonder. Awe. It was almost shocking to see it so plainly, the thing I had been fighting for so long that, clearly, I had made absolutely no progress in fighting it.

  The slide slid to a side-by-side, the one I took of Brin in the craft store paired with one she had taken of me when I clearly wasn't paying attention, running my hand over an intricately carved wooden bench we had passed by.

  It slid again, showing the mirror shot we had taken before the restaurant.

  There was a collective sighing aw from the audience, and Brin's hand covered mine on her knee, giving it a squeeze. Because we knew we had it. We did it. They believed us.

  I mean, at this point, there wasn't much to believe.

  It was all real.

  "I don't know about all of you," Maria said, looking at the audience, "but I'm seeing a couple madly in love."

  We got up five minutes later, walking back toward makeup where we were both dying to scrub our faces with handy wipes we'd learned all makeup artists carried in their toolkit.

  "Rachel is going to flip," Brin informed me, shoulders less tense, eyes brighter. "That was... oh, speak of the devil," she said as her phone started buzzing in her pocket. "Hey, Rachel. Did you see, I know!" she said, smiling. Light. That was what she was right then. I guess I hadn't noticed how much the situation had been weighing on her too, so wrapped up in my own discomforts.

  "Were we fantastic?" I mouthed to her, making her smile, and whack me in the stomach.

  "I know. Yes, absolutely. We needed the break. Totally," she agreed, putting her phone between her ear and shoulder to reach up and fix her hair. "Tomorrow? Sure. Ah, yeah. Where?"

  "What's tomorrow?" I asked as we moved out of the studio, stepping into the warm early fall air.

  "Meeting with the couple. Rachel is worried that we are falling behind schedule. She wants to do the walk-through tomorrow at noon, then have us go back to the first house to do the finishing shots."

  "Long day," I observed, disappointed. I wanted another couple of days with her, to talk, to explore each other and the city, to just be a man and a woman getting to know each other without the stress of work.

  But, well, work was inevitable.

  We'd have to learn how to navigate that.

  Sooner rather than later.

  "Want to drive down in the morning? If we hit the road around nine, we'll get there at noon."

  She chanced a look my way, lips curving up so tentatively that I would almost consider it shy, even though that was generally not a word I would use to describe her. "That sounds good," she agreed, jumping to the side to get out of the way of someone who was barreling down between us.

  "Lunch?" I asked, wondering why the hell I was the one who was carrying the conversation, what was going on in her head that kept her so quiet.

  "Only if we can go food cart hopping," she declared, livening up.

  "Like I'd deny you greasy kabobs and hot dogs."

  I kept trying.

  To talk to her.

  To open up that dialogue.

  But she seemed to sense it every time, hear something in my tone I hadn't meant to insert there, and bring up something else suddenly, gushing about the food, about the stores, about the shows she felt like she was supposed to see in life, whether she was genuinely interested or not.

  "Brin..."

  "Let's not," she suggested, the words bursting out of her to try to cover up my own.

  "Let's not what?"

  "Have the talk that is making your voice do that serious thing," she told me, bouncing a bit on the heels of her feet, too anxious to even stand still to have this conversation. "Can we just... be?" she asked.

  "Be?"

  "Yeah. Just... do whatever. Don't dissect it. Good things tend to crumble under too much analysis."

  "Good thing, huh?" I asked, feeling my pride swell a bit.

  She ignored that. "What do you think? Just let things happen?"

  My hands slipped into my front pockets, rocking back on my heels much like she had before because a part of me knew this was a bad idea, that what we needed to do was talk, even if that was uncomfortable for her.

  But I found myself agreeing despite my reservations.

  "Yeah, we can let things happen," I agreed, reaching out, snagging her chin, and dragging her up onto her tiptoes so I could claim her lips.

  I'd been keeping my hands - and everything else - to myself out of uncertainty, and wanting to straighten things out first.

  But if we were okay with letting things happen, well, then this needed to happen.

  Right here on the street, people curving around us like waves around rocks. I heard a whistle as my head tilted to deepen the kiss, my tongue moving forward to claim hers.

  It wasn't until I felt her sway into me, her hands curling into my arms, holding on for support, that I slowly eased away, reminding my body that wanted more right then that we could have whatever we wanted once we got to the hotel room.

  Which would happen three more carts later.

  "Ugh, don't let me eat that much," she declared, pressing a hand into her stomach as she took a deep breath. "I think I went up a pant size in one afternoon."

  "No one forced that breakfast food monstrosity on you," I reminded her, smiling at her obvious food regrets.

  "It was scrambled eggs and sausage wrapped in a French toast taco, Warren. A French toast taco. I couldn't not eat that."

  "Maybe having that follow Cheetos-Dusted fried chicken wasn't the best combination."

  "Don't remind me," she grumbled as we went into the room.

  "Here," I said, going for the fridge to grab a soda. "Take this and shake the bubbles out. Take a bath."

  "I need to take a ten-mile run on the treadmill in the gym downstairs," she said, both of us knowing she wasn't the type to voluntarily run for any reason. "But I'll settle for a bath," she agreed, going into the bathroom.


  I heard the water running.

  Then the ripples as she lowered herself inside.

  I tortured myself with the image of her in there, naked in the water, her hair floating around her, her nipples peaked, skin soft from the bomb she undoubtedly tossed in from the bowl of them on the counter.

  My cock hardened as I sat off the end of the bed, reminding myself that once she came back out, she'd feel refreshed again. And I could finish what I started on that street.

  "Ah... Warren?"

  I hadn't expected her to call me, making my body stiffen as my head looked over in the direction of the door. "Yeah?" I asked, tone as tentative as hers had sounded.

  "I'm an idiot."

  "Okay..." I said, the sound dragging at the end as I moved to stand, getting closer to the door. When she didn't go on, I stopped right outside of it. "What's up, baby?"

  "Well, I forgot clothes," she informed me, making me roll my eyes. There were towels and robes in there. This really was a nonexistent problem. Besides, I didn't plan to let her stay in clothes for long anyway. "And to grab a towel," she added after a moment, making me let out a small chuckle. "I would normally just try to like slosh the water off, but this floor is slippery."

  "Did you lock the door?" I asked, maybe a bit too eagerly, too ready to get in there, to see her bare before me again.

  "Yep. But you're a big, bad, contractor guy. I'm sure doors stand no chance against you."

  "I'm a builder, not the Hulk," I snorted, but checked out the knob, finding a simple pinhole lock. I went into the closet, grabbed a hanger, and poked it into the hole, hearing it pop open.

  "See? Told you," she informed me, trying to sound light, but there was a nervousness in her voice.

  Nervous.

  When I had seen and felt and touched and tasted every inch of her just the night before.

  But that was in the heat of the moment.

  This was a towelless bath emergency.

  "Coming in," I said, pushing in the door slowly, hearing a small slosh as she moved around in the water.

  It took every goddamn bit of self-control I had not to look, to keep my eyes forward to where she had towels stacked on the sink vanity, just a few inches too far out of reach.

  I grabbed the towels, steeling myself to have to face her. And keep this casual.

  But the second I turned, I found her there in the water, thighs pressed together and cocked to the side, hiding her pussy from view, her hand across her breasts.

  And her gaze on me.

  She might have been shielding herself, but she forgot to do that with her eyes. I saw need there, as plain as mine felt.

  I didn't think, didn't analyze the impulse.

  I was across the room to her in a stride and a half, going down on a knee beside the tub, my hand plunging into the warm water, sliding under hers to slip between her thighs. Her breath hitched as her body jolted, surprised by the sudden contact.

  My finger slid up her slick cleft, finding her clit, working it with my thumb until the shock left her face, replaced with something else just as distinctive. Lips parted, eyelids weighted. Needy. Desperate. It was a look she wore beautifully, one I was sure I would never get sick of seeing there. Two of my fingers traveled downward, pressing against the entrance to her body for a long moment before gliding inside, feeling the way her walls shivered and tightened at the invasion.

  Her hands left her breasts, slamming onto the edges of the tub, water dripping as she grabbed the porcelain, trying to hold on as my fingers started to work her, thrusting slowly, twisting, tapping, keeping her guessing, never letting her body have a moment to adjust to the sensations, driving her up harder, faster.

  "Warren..." she whimpered, her breasts rising up and down out of the water with her frantic breath as she tightened around my fingers, getting closer.

  "Come, baby," I demanded, voice rough as I felt her walls start to tremble. "Come," I demanded again.

  The orgasm slammed through her system, making her curl onto her side, voice catching as she cried out my name, curling into herself as the waves kept crashing, as my fingers kept working her clit and G-spot, dragging it out, milking it for all it was worth.

  Spent, I slowly pulled my fingers out of her, giving her thigh a reassuring squeeze as aftershocks started to rack her system.

  It was a long moment before they subsided, and she let out an odd, unexpected snort. "Remind me to forget necessary clothing items more often," she said, rolling onto her back un-self-consciously, smiling up at me as her foot hit the drain, sucking the water down until it was only ankle-deep. Her hand reached out, seeking mine to help her onto her feet where she let me reach out, drying her legs, belly, breasts, arms, hair. "For future reference," she said when she was finally wrapped in the warmth.

  "Yeah?"

  "You have to dry my hair first," she informed me like it was common knowledge. At what must have been a confused look, she turned, showing me her soaked back.

  "You could have told me."

  "It's kind of refreshing when you don't know how to do everything perfectly, you freak."

  "I do everything perfectly, huh?" I asked, pushing her forward into the sink vanity, pressing my hips into her ass, letting her feel my straining cock.

  Her breath stuttered, but her eyes met mine in the mirror. "Well, it has been a while," she said, giving me a pretend confused look. "I might have forgotten if you are perfect at everything," she told me, eyes wicked.

  "Well, maybe you need a refresher," I suggested, grinding into her, feeling a white-hot spark of need when her ass wiggled against it, begged for more. Greedy pussy. A man could get used to that.

  "I think that might be wise," she agreed, voice airy as my hand slid up her belly, finding the tuck of her towel, slipping my finger in, and baring her again.

  She turned suddenly, hands snagging my shirt, dragging it upward, her fingers moving over my chest and stomach like she was trying to memorize it, like she couldn't get enough of it. I seemed to suffer from a similar affliction, so I understood the urge completely.

  Her fingers traveled down the trail of hair that disappeared into my jeans before snagging my button and zip with restless hands, dragging my pants and boxer briefs roughly down, lowering herself until she was on her knees in front of me, her hand closing around the head, sliding it down to the hilt before her tongue traced up the sensitive underside of my cock, finding the head, and lapping up the bead of pre-cum there.

  "Fuck," I hissed, my hand curling into the hair at the nape of her neck as her lips closed around me, sucked me deep, worked me with the same kind of determination as my fingers and tongue worked her, like there was nothing else in the world but the pleasure of bringing someone else pleasure.

  She was doing that too.

  Too much.

  Too fast.

  "Enough," I rumbled to her when she fought me when I tried to pull her backward gently by her hair. "I'm going to come down that throat, Brin," I promised her, my balls aching with the idea. "But tonight, I want to be inside you again," I told her, pulling her back onto her feet, turning her, and pressing her downward until her hands planted on the sink vanity as my hand went for my wallet to find a condom, protecting us, then moving in behind her.

  My hands moved up her belly, closing over her breasts, squeezing and tweaking her nipples until her ass was moving in circles against me, thrusting backward, demanding I take what was offered.

  One hand slid back down her belly, slipping between her thighs, pressing into her clit as my cock found the entrance to her pussy, thrusting deep, hard enough to make her hips slam into the vanity with the pressure.

  "Fuck," I growled when that didn't even give her pause as her hips started moving in circles.

  I yanked her back, using my free hand to grab her hip, using it both to prevent her from face-planting the mirror, and to guide her, dragging her backward as I slammed forward, making her body take every inch of her with each thrust.

  Unti
l her moans became cries that echoed back off the walls, until the sound of our bodies crashing together somehow even managed to muffle her cries for release.

  Until I felt her walls tighten hard once, then spasm endlessly as I fucked her harder, my own release becoming impossible to ignore.

  I slammed deep, cursing out her name as I came, my legs almost fucking giving out with the intensity, making me have to slam my hand into the mirror right above her head.

  Her gaze shot up, cloudy with her own pleasure, but understanding, and a swell of feminine pride met her lips as she smiled at me while she struggled for breath.

  We both moved away a long moment later, climbing into bed without ever having bothered to slip clothes on.

  I pulled her onto my chest, feeling her fingers trace the outlines of my muscles and scars until her body slowly went weighted with sleep.

  We didn't talk.

  We didn't analyze.

  We just let it happen.

  Maybe she was right.

  Maybe it would be alright.

  I guess time would tell.

  ELEVEN

  Brinley

  I was being superstitious about it.

  Like if we talked about it, we might ruin it.

  In the morning, I woke up before him, the sun casting the room in dreamy yellow beams. I had no idea what time it was, refused to move to look at the clock in case I'd wake him up, and we would both have to decide it was time to get up, to get ready, to pack our stuff, to get back to the life we had been on a lovely vacation from.

  If I were being honest, I'd say I was nervous.

  About going back into that environment where we so easily sniped at each other.

  Would we still do that?

  If we did, would there be resentment after we left the site? Or would we be able to leave work at work?

  Soon, we would be able to see for ourselves.

  So I figured it was useless to think about that.

  Hopefully, we'd find a rhythm.

  Because, well, I liked this.