Italian Tongue
“Who is that?” Brooke asks, leaning close to see my screen as I set the phone back down. She studies it for a moment. “Tessa?” Our eyes lock. Hers narrow. “Mm.”
I turn my head, smiling as she rights herself on her stool and shrugs indifferently.
“She’s a mate from Alabama. I’ve told her about you.”
Brooke lifts her glass to her mouth. “Oh, really? And have you seen her vagina? Because I’ve never seen any of my mates’ vaginas. Just saying. Or their penises, before you ask. No penises or vaginas between mates.”
I rub at my neck, watching her, uncontrollably smiling at this development.
Now this is quite interesting.
“Are you jealous, Brooke?”
Her head snaps in my direction, eyes heavy with disagreement. She lowers her glass to the marble. “Jealous? Me? Of who? That ugly bitch who just texted you? Why would I be jealous of her if you’ve never seen her vagina, which you have yet to confirm. Please confirm that before I toss my drink in your face.”
I take another swig of my beer, letting her stew a bit next to me before I respond.
“Tell Theresa to find her own Australian.”
I nearly choke.
Wiping at my mouth after my coughing fit, I turn to Brooke and set my beer down, reaching for her hand. She fights my hold for a good three seconds before letting me have it, but keeps her gaze fixed behind the bar.
“Tessa, not Theresa, and I went out on one date months ago. I never even kissed her, Brooke. She’s just a really good mate.”
“You don’t need to explain your relationship or whatever with her. I really don’t care.”
“No?”
She shakes her head.
I lean forward to see her face. “Because I would really fucking care if you were texting some bloke and I didn’t know who he was to you. I’m not a jealous guy, but I think for you I would be. It’s staggering how you make me feel.”
She turns her head, watching me press a kiss to her palm.
“And I rather like thinking you might be right there with me, willing to be jealous and crazy for only one person.”
Her face relaxes the longer she stares at me. She wets her lips. “You never even kissed her?”
“No.”
“Did you want to?”
“Not like I want to kiss you.”
Slowly, like she’s fighting it, a gentle smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, then pulls across the rest of it. She shakes her head through a quick exhale, giggles quietly, then slides her warm body into my lap, squeezing my neck and pressing soft kisses to my jaw.
“Tell me something in Italian again,” she whispers as her fingers slide through my hair. “I liked it so much before.”
I drop my head beside hers. My arms tightly coil around her back. “You like not knowing what I’m saying?”
“Mm.” She nods and kisses my neck.
“I could say anything, you know? Maybe something you aren’t ready to hear.”
“I know.” She moves back and stares at my mouth. Her eyes darken, liquid desire swirling in those wild green and brown irises. She wets her lips and grabs my face. “I think I’m drunk.”
“Yeah?”
Nodding, she leans in. “Definitely.”
Her lips press against mine. I open my mouth and take her tongue, sucking off the bitterness from the alcohol. Letting her taste saturate my soul.
God, what this woman does to me.
She moans and presses her chest closer, kissing me hard and unhurried, stroking her tongue against mine, sucking on my lips and wiggling in my lap.
I both hate and love how Brooke’s being with me tonight, so unashamed with her affection. Abandoning all her doubts. Exactly how I want her to be with me all the time. Exactly how I am with her, all the time.
It’s bloody torture, knowing why she’s acting so free with me, but fuck, it’s hard to pull away from.
This is what it can be like. And this, goddamn, this is what I’m missing.
“Mason,” she groans, digging her nails into my neck, rocking her hips against my erection.
I snap out of my haze and slow us down, moving my lips to her cheek and kissing her dimple.
“Voglio che questo non finisca mai,” I whisper against her skin.
I won’t ever want this to be over.