Breaking Brent Part 15

He watched Peyton watch him as he moved into the kitchen area. He stood close-too close. He blocked her exit whichever way she wanted to go. There was no way for her not to look at him, not to 90 notice him. Ignoring him wouldn't do her any good. He was here and he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.

"Peyton..." he started, but she stopped him. Her hands landed on his chest and he thought she would push him away as she had before, but she didn't. She simply stood there with her palms resting on him. His breathing was slow and even. His heartbeat was anything but. He wondered if she could feel the heavy quakes erupting beneath his sternum. "Peyton?" he whispered as her eyes met his. He saw her take a deep breath, drop her gaze from his and then let every detail of what had happened after she'd left the wedding, after she'd left him, fall from her mouth. She was talking so fast he had a hard time keeping up with the flow of information, but he caught enough of it and he wasn't happy. Not by a long shot.

"Murphy's wife did that to you?"

She nodded, but had yet to lift her head and look at him.

"Did you hit her back?" It was a reasonable question. He knew Peyton. Generally she gave as good as she got.

h.e.l.l, she had been bouncing people out of Big Jack's since she was old enough to be there, probably even before that. He also knew another little tidbit about Ms. Peyton James that few others did-she was too little to fight fair, and on more than one occasion had become downright dirty when the situation called for it. Most men wouldn't hit a woman, wouldn't hit Peyton, but some were drunk enough to try. Those few who had tried once had never done so again.

"The last time I saw her she was curled up on the living-room floor in the fetal position."

Brent held in his laughter at what she said and the way she shrugged her shoulders in a nonchalant fashion. As if that sort of thing happened a lot. He wondered if it did.

"Is this the first time something like this has ever happened?"

Slowly, Peyton nodded her head and shrugged her small shoulders once more. "I don't know. I mean, Kathleen's always been a b.i.t.c.h, but I never thought she was violent. Hateful, bitter, jealous as h.e.l.l and a general pain in the a.s.s, yes. Abusive? I never would have thought so. I thought she would be too worried about breaking a nail or something."

She moved around Brent and sluggishly walked back into the living room. He followed. He watched Peyton fall to her back on the couch and then rest her arms over her eyes. There was only a little s.p.a.ce left at the end of the couch, but Brent wasn't about to sit anywhere but with her.

He lifted her small, arched feet from where they were lying crossed on the cushions and sat, bringing them to rest on his lap. To an outsider they would have looked like a couple. Brent liked that. It amazed him how in just a short amount of time she was as comfortable with him as she had been in the past. She didn't mind that he touched her leg, rested his hand on her knee and looked over the length of her body-and what a body it was.

91.

Growing up, Peyton had been more into sports than into anything else. Her partic.i.p.ation in athletics had left her with long, trim and firm legs, arms and everything else in between. She had never been skinny, and Brent was glad of that. Perfectly fit and round and lush was just how he liked his women-how he liked Peyton.

Brent's mind was lost in thought and his hands were lazily toying with her silky smooth skin. He didn't realize that she was watching him.

"What?"

She smiled slightly and shrugged her shoulders at his question. That was when Brent and his body noticed she was totally naked beneath the thin, white sleepwear she had on, except for a slight outline of a pair of panties. When her shoulders lifted in the shrug it brought her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and her nipples against the front of the material. He could see everything.

He repositioned her legs without giving himself and his response to his newfound knowledge away.

He wanted Peyton. Wanted her more than he wanted his next breath, but now wasn't the time. Now was the time to show her that he was here for her-and Carter wasn't.

"Nothing. I was just thinking how messed up the last few days have been."

"How's that?" He had stopped his hands, but when she closed her eyes and scooted down farther into the couch and farther into his lap, he couldn't help but touch her.

"A week ago, everything was normal to the point of boring, and then everything is just turned upside down. You and I-"

"You and I what?" He pressed.

"If you had told me a few days ago that you would be sitting on my couch tonight, acting all concerned and interested in my wellbeing, I would have called you a liar and slammed the door in your face."

"And today?" As he asked, his fingers traveled past her knee, up her thigh and grazed the hand resting on the flat of her stomach. He smiled to himself when he felt her muscles flex and jump under his own.

"You're here, aren't you?" She never moved her hand from under his touch, but she didn't return it either. That little fact gave Brent hope and took it away at the same time.

"I'm here, but do you want me here? I can leave if it will make you feel better."

"Do you want to leave?" she questioned, but spoke to her hands instead of him directly.

"No."

Her eyes remained downcast as she posed her next question. "Do you want to stay?"

"Do you want me to stay?" It was a true game of cat and mouse, but Brent wanted to know that she wanted him here. He wanted to be here, the proof was in his presence. He just needed to hear her say the words. He hoped she would pick the right ones.

"Yes."

92.

"Then I'll stay."

Those few words seemed to comfort her more than any he had said previously. Once again the two sat in silence-him watching her, her watching him. He wanted nothing more than to pull her from her position and huddle her in his arms, but he held back.

Days from now, when her world was all right as rain and everything was back in place, he didn't want her to be able to say or think that he had made the decisions concerning their current relationship solely on his own. This was a joint effort.

After what felt like hours had pa.s.sed, she finally spoke. "What are we doing?"

He narrowed his eyes as he watched her and turned her question forty directions in his mind before replying. "What do you mean?"

"I mean you and me, me and you. Sitting here having a civil conversation with each other, you trying to comfort me, you trying your best to care for me whether you want to or not. What are we doing?"

"I want to make sure you're okay. You've been through h.e.l.l and back the last few days, and if I'm right you walked most of the way by yourself. There's no sense in you walking back all alone if I can help.

Is there?"

"So you feel sorry for me? Pity is the reason you're sitting here? I don't want your pity." Her back was starting to get up and Brent had to do whatever he could to unruffle her feathers. He didn't pity her, not by a long shot and he told her so.

"Pity for you is the furthest thing from my mind and the furthest reason from the truth as to why I'm here." Brent very rarely felt lost in his life, but this conversation had him turned in different directions and none of them pointed in the right way.

"What do you feel then? What do you feel for me?"

His entire life and its new direction depended on his next few words so he knew he best choose them wisely. "I know it's not pity."

"What is it then?" She pressed him. His instincts made him reach across her body and stop her fingers and their idle movements.

"What do you think the reason is?"

"I need to know that you don't pity me. I need you to tell me what comes next? What comes next for me? For you? For us?"

"I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because however this ends up, this thing between you and me, I want you to be able to say that you made up your own mind without any persuasion from me. I don't want you to ever wonder 'what if' about which way you decide to go. If you decide to kick me out in the next minute, I want it to be your decision

93.

and your decision only. If you decide you want me here tonight, in whatever fashion, I want it to be of your own free will."

There. He'd said it. Whatever happened next was totally up to her. No ifs, ands or buts about it. He just hoped her decision involved him and her wrapped around each other in the near future.

"If I asked you to do something for me, would you?" Again, she spoke to her hands and not to him.

"I'll do what I can." Which was the truth. He didn't know what she wanted, but he was determined to make her see that any wish or wishes she had he would attempt to grant.

"Would you hold me?" Timid was far from what Peyton was, but the words that fell from her mouth were wrapped in shyness.

"Scoot over." He caught the flash of surprise in her eyes just before she rolled to her side and gave him her back. Maneuvering gracefully was a difficult feat, but he managed as best he could. When his chest touched her back her body formed to his own without pause. He used one arm as a makeshift pillow and wrapped the other one around her stomach. It took all the strength and willpower he could conjure not to touch her anywhere else. It was f.u.c.king difficult to have Peyton in his arms again and not get hard, but he was proud of himself and his d.i.c.k at the current moment.

"Just until I fall asleep," she whispered into the room.

"Just until you don't need me anymore," he whispered into her ear. They lay there silent and snuggled for only a short while before her breaths became level and deep. The rhythm rocked Brent into drowsiness and before he could stop them his eyes fell closed.

All thoughts stopped.

All questions vanished.

The only thing left was him and her-the way it should have been all along.

94.

Chapter Fourteen.

She came awake in a flash. Her body levered away from the couch and away from the warm form wrapped so closely around her. She didn't realize it at the time, but she had brought him awake with her.

"What?" he asked with a little frantic note attached to his tone. "What is it? You okay?"

He was sincere. He was concerned. He was here.

It was now or never. Peyton could either take the bull by the horns or have the bull take her. Turning slowly, she removed her body from his and dropped her feet to the carpet. Her legs were steady as she stood and leaned in the few inches to face him where he sat. His eyes questioned her for a minute, but he didn't speak.

Swallowing the last of her reservations, she brought one knee up and placed it next to his thigh on the couch. He shifted his position just a bit to accommodate her actions. As he moved his body he gave her other knee room to take a place on the outside of his other leg.

Peyton moved her body so that her knees supported her frame. From this angle she looked straight into those eyes she dreamed about.

Moving slowly, her lips brushed over his. He seemed surprised. It made her smile. She did it again, this time adding more pressure. The second time their mouths fused his opened beneath hers. She let her tongue stroke and play over his the way she had always loved to do. She relished in its texture-smooth, strong and s.e.xy. As her mouth and tongue dance as it pleased, her hands found his shoulders and she curled into the bulges of his biceps she felt flexing ever so lightly beneath her fingertips.

Tingles ran through her fingers. Feeling the heat radiating beneath the soft cotton material of his shirt made her yearn for more. She slid her fingers along his shoulders and they grazed the flesh of his neck. She felt the muscles contract and release accordingly. One hand made its way around his neck to glide though his hair while the other feathered his chin and jaw. One thing she didn't allow herself to do was break their kiss. Not yet. Not until all the inhibitions were gone could she look at him.

Peyton deepened their kiss, letting her tongue flirt with his. She teased the tip, stroked the sides and drew it into her mouth, sucking on it ever so slightly. That seemed to be Brent's undoing. His hips arched to meet hers as his hands gripped her waist, bringing her body down completely against the bulge in his denim.

He was hard, so amazingly hard.

The force of his movement caused a jolt of bruising pleasure to course though her body. The gown she wore offered no protection against the ridge his c.o.c.k created. She could feel the length of it growing and moving underneath her. He broke their kiss to ask, "I take it you want me to stay?"

"Yes," she explained, breathless and wanting more. He gave it to her. Brent's hand fisted in her hair before he pulled her mouth back to his. Peyton couldn't have stopped the moan that flowed from her if she wanted to.

It felt too good.

Her hands found his chest and she pushed herself back. Tugging, she pulled the material of his shirt away from his body.

Brent helped.

He moved his back away from the couch so she could remove the shirt with ease. Raising his arms allowed Peyton to view his bare chest for the first time in forever.

His stomach was flat and hard. A light dusting of hair swirled across his chest and feathered into a glorious trial down his stomach that disappeared into his jeans. Peyton licked her lips at the thought of what those jeans held.

With his shirt finally discarded, she trailed her fingertips across his shoulders, down around the flat brown nipples and farther. His breath hitched, or she thought it did, as she toyed with the waist of his jeans and the trail she couldn't take her mind or her eyes off of.

She leaned forward and flattened her tongue against one of his nipples. She lapped once, then twice before moving to the second. It beaded and budded beneath her moving tongue. She heard what sounded like a moan. It encouraged her, and she sucked lightly before easing toward the middle of his chest. Her position on his lap only allowed her to go so far, so she moved. He moaned again. As gracefully and seductively as she could, she let her legs sink to the floor. Her position gave her more room to roam and play like she wanted.