Brooklyn Flame (A Bridge & Tunnel Romance #1) by Mira Gibson Page A

mentioned, “I’ve never seen a guy touch himself. I thought you looked good.”
    “Yeah?” He asked through a crooked smile. “You want to watch me for a minute?”
    She nodded demurely, playing with the lacy strips of her panties where they hugged her hips.
    He seemed to struggle getting his tight jeans off his ankles, but soon he popped up to his feet, wearing nothing but white boxer-briefs and a thick erection beneath. He made a point to touch eyes with her before stripping out of them and when he did, standing, muscles ripped with definition and his penis hard and arching up his stomach thanks to the way he was holding it in his left hand, Greer thought she might faint, her knees were weak enough at the sight of him. She heard moaning and realized it was her.
    Glancing down at himself, he began stroking his erection.
    Damned if he wasn’t the hottest thing she had ever seen.
    When he sat on the bed again, leaning back and pleasuring himself, while touching eyes with her, he groaned like an invitation for her to join him, saying, “Ride me like you did the other day.”
    Hearing the passion in his tone, the evidence of his lust for her, she felt a sudden rush of tingles building then swirling between her legs, and the sensation quickly swelled into an ache that only Hunter could sooth.
    But as she neared him, craving his body so strongly she could practically feel him penetrating her, the studio buzzer blared and they both jumped, whipping their gazes towards the front door.
    “Not fucking possible,” she said, her eyes widening in disbelief at the door.
    The intercom blared again.
    Quickly, she grabbed a thin robe that was hanging on a rack near her closet, pulled it on in a hurry, and told him, “I’m so sorry. I called a few people. Just give me a minute.”
    When she crossed through the studio, it hit her hard who was downstairs, and realizing it caused her to double back for the bottle of whiskey on the coffee table. She chugged as much as she could as fast as she could, set it down again, and pressed the Talk button as soon as she reached the door.
    “Who is it?”
    His voice came soft and deep through the intercom.
    “Seriously?”
    Greer was beside herself that he was here, that he had listened to her message and felt compelled to take the subway from the Upper East Side - a forty-five minute train ride at this hour of the night. Snapping out of it, she pushed the Door button, allowing Brandon into the building, and prayed to God, as she waited a tense minute for him to climb the stairs, that this wouldn’t go as badly as she was sure it would.             
    He was tall and lean and everything she had ever wanted during the past year when she didn't have him. As he neared her apartment door, Greer spied him through the door-jam.
    Brandon had been the first person to give her an orgasm, and the last person was lying naked as sin in her bed right now.
    She swallowed hard, forcing herself to meet his gaze and preparing to keep this brief and send him on his way.
    But what flew out of his mouth the moment he stopped in front of her flushed the resolve right out of her.
    “I fucking missed you.
     

 
    Chapter Eight
     
    Three torturous days elapsed.
    He worked on his sculpture, shaping thin strips of clay around the female form he had been building.
    But Greer didn’t call him.
    He spent his nights drinking whiskey, lounging on the couch and staring vacantly at his work-in-progress, which looked ethereal and not at all grotesque like his signature pieces. He tried to find imperfections in the sculpture, areas he could improve, but there weren’t any. The clay woman perched across from him was flawless, just like Greer.
    But she didn’t text, not to reach out and worst of all, not to respond to the many text messages he had sent, hoping to see her.
    She had said she needed him to pose for her. She wasn’t giving up on the Phoenix and the glint of determination in her eye had told him