Betty’s POV
The rain poured relentlessly, the sound of it hitting the windows filling the house with a kind of rhythm that matched the frantic thud of my heart. I shivered, my shirt clinging to my body, every curve laid bare under the weight of the water. Brent stood inches from me, his chest rising and falling as if he’d run a marathon.
“You’re soaking wet,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking louder would break the spell.
He didn’t answer right away. His gaze dropped from my face, tracing the lines of my body with an intensity that made my breath hitch. Slowly, he stepped closer, his hand moving deliberately to my waist.
Then his fingers slid beneath the waistband of my leggings—not stopping there but dipping lower, into the soaked fabric of my underwear. The shock of his touch was immediate, a jolt that stole the air from my lungs as his fingers pressed gently against me, discovering the dampness that had nothing to do with the rain.
“So are you,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with a confidence that sent a shiver racing through me.
***
Heat bloomed in my stomach, a slow, insistent ache that spread through me with every teasing stroke of his fingers.
My breath hitched as he pressed against me, testing, exploring, his touch confident in a way that made my knees weak. I reached for him instinctively, my hands gripping his shoulders as I struggled to stay grounded.
“Brent,” I whispered, my voice trembling.
He leaned in, his lips brushing against my ear as he whispered back, “Tell me to stop, Betty. If this isn’t what you want, tell me, and I’ll stop.”
I shook my head, unable to form words, my body arching into his hand.
His lips found mine then, warm and insistent. His hand stayed between my legs, his fingers exploring with a confidence that made my knees weak.I gasped into his mouth as his touch grew bolder, every movement deliberate, every press and stroke igniting sparks that traveled through my entire body.
When I gasped against his mouth, he took it as encouragement, his other hand sliding up my side, his thumb brushing the underside of my breast. Until he got bolder and went for my buds.
I didn’t care that we were leaving a puddle on the floor. I didn’t care about anything except the way he was making me feel—like I was the center of his world.
“Upstairs,” he murmured, his voice low and full of promise.
***
We barely made it to the bedroom.
The door clicked shut behind us, and Brent turned to face me, his gaze steady and full of intent. His hands moved to the hem of my shirt, pausing just long enough to ask, “Okay?”
“Yes,” I breathed, my voice barely audible.
He tugged the wet fabric over my head, letting it fall to the floor with a soft thud. His eyes roamed over me, taking in every inch of my damp skin, and for a moment, I felt exposed. Vulnerable.
But then he stepped closer, his hands sliding to my waist, and the way he looked at me made all the self-consciousness melt away.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice rough with sincerity.
I laughed nervously, shaking my head. “You don’t have to say that.”
“I’m not just saying it,” he replied, his lips brushing against mine. “I mean it.”
His hands moved lower, hooking into the waistband of my leggings and peeling them away slowly, deliberately. He dropped to his knees as he did, his lips trailing soft kisses along the curve of my hips, down to my thighs.
When his mouth found the sensitive spot between my legs, I gasped, my hands flying to his hair.
He didn’t rush. Every flick of his tongue, every gentle press of his lips, was deliberate, calculated to draw out every sound I made. My body responded instinctively, my hips shifting against him as the pleasure built to an almost unbearable intensity.
“Brent,” I gasped, my voice trembling as I gripped his hair tighter.
He groaned softly in response, the vibrations sending a fresh wave of heat through me as I came.