Deleted scene for Brooklynaire by Sarina Bowen

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Sunday morning I’m facedown in Nate’s giant bed, naked against the million thread count sheets. My eyes are closed, but I hear him bumping around somewhere nearby. I should get up and say good morning. But it’s Sunday, Mrs. Gray isn’t working, and even Nate doesn’t have anywhere he has to be.

The coffee scent get stronger. “Wakey wakey,” he says. “There are fresh bagels. And bacon cream cheese.”

“Really?” I open one eye. “I love a man who will run out for bagels and bacon cream cheese.”

Nate winces.  “Then I guess you’ll have to confess your love for Ramesh.  Because I sent him out.”

I laugh into the pillow. “Oh Nate. Of course you did.”

“He’s on duty right now, though. And I’m not dressed.”

I look up as he sheds the bathrobe he was wearing. And it’s true. I watch his perfect, naked body walk around to his side of the bed. He sets a bakery bag and a tray holding two cups of coffee onto the nightstand, and then slips back into place between the sheets. A warm hand lands on my bare back. “Breakfast in bed? I know it’s been a long time since I needed to know this, but that’s what couples do on Sunday, right?”

“That’s part of it,” I say slowly, my gaze lazily taking in his perfect chest. He’s leaning against the headboard, his hair rumpled. God, the view around here is spectacular. 

He smiles at me, and his hand wanders into my hair. “What’s the rest of it? Refresh my memory.”

Stretching out an arm, I run my hand down his perfect abs. Looking at this man, you would never know he has an office job. It’s all the hot yoga he does, and the fact that he takes conference calls on his treadmill. 

Crawling forward on my elbows, I move until I can kiss that tummy. His skin is soft against my lips, and he lets out a sigh of pleasure. 

Touching Nate is a constant reminder that life really isn’t fair. Some people are gifted with a superior intellect, money and also abs. Nate is rich in ways that aren’t tallied up by Forbes and Fortune

“There’s coffee, too,” he says, stroking my hair. “That’s a big part of Sunday. No—of every day.”

I trace his happy trail with my tongue. The hand in my hair goes still. As I nose my way lower, his erection bumps my chin. It’s taken him about sixty seconds to get hard for me, and that’s a huge turn on. Flicking the sheet away, I lick the entire length of him, root to tip.

“Sweetheart,” he groans, his hand tightening in my hair.

“Mmm,” I reply. And then I open my mouth and take the tip inside. He shivers. I take more, and then give a nice, hard suck. 

“Jesus.” He pushes back against the pillows and takes a deep breath, but then his stomach tenses as I work him over. He strokes my hair and groans. 

I raise my eyes to his and suck, so that my cheeks hollow out. And his eyes darken as his mouth falls open on a moan.

This is powerful stuff, and I love taking him apart. His free hand is grasping the edge of the comforter. Mr. Bossy Boss loses his grip on the world. Brought to you by Rebecca Rowley

I bring my A-game, sucking and licking and teasing him until his thighs clench. “Sweetheart,” he says, nudging me. “Come here.”

Two other times this week I’ve gone down on him, but he never lets me finish him off. Right about now he always flips me over and climbs on top of me.

I like that a whole lot. But sometimes a girl wants to see things through to the end. So I don’t stop, even as he tugs my hair. “Bec, I’m close.”

As if I didn’t notice. 

He growls as I suck him harder. And I love that sound. Nate and I have had a lot of good sex in the past ten days. But I still get the feeling that he’s treating me like a delicate flower. Even though I’ve never been one in my life.

Reaching a hand between his legs, I cup his balls and stroke them with my thumb. 

“Becca…” he groans.

I finger his taint, and he comes down my throat on a shout, his abs locked and rippling, his thighs like steel beneath me.

And I bury my smile in the juncture of his hip and thigh.

“Jesus christ,” he pants as he finally relaxes against the bed. 

Biting my lip, I lift my face. “Did you say something about coffee?”

With a snort, he puts a heavy hand on my head, pushing my face back down onto his body. Then we both laugh.

* * *

As it happens, bagels with bacon cream cheese in bed are divine. I am living out some kind of fantasy Sunday in bed with Nate. I’m reading his copy of the New York Times Magazine, while he scans his giant phone for technology news.

Then it rings in his hand. “Fuck, I’m sorry. Have to take this.”

“Go ahead.” Nate runs a global business empire. Calls on a Sunday are the price he pays.

When he answers, I can hear the other guy’s voice. It’s some guy named Mitchell, and I gather that he’s an investment banker. He’s called with a bid on Nate’s router division.

I’m pretty sure this is good news.

“Tell me about the long term contract,” Nate says, though. I have known him so long that I can tell it will be a hiccup. He has a way of zeroing in immediately on the relevant facts. 

The guy starts yammering in his ear, facts and figures. I drop my newspaper and look around. There’s a legal pad and a pen on the nightstand next to me, so I grab these and hand them across to him.

He gives me a startled, grateful smile and starts jotting down numbers.

The call lasted only a few minutes longer, with Nate agreeing to meet the bankers first thing in the morning. Then he hangs up with a sigh.

“There goes your Sunday?” I guess.

He shakes his head. “Not really. But there goes my Monday.”

“Ah.” And our boys are playing game one of the third round in Detroit tomorrow night. The playoffs wait for no man.

“I need to make some changes to my week.”

He hits another button on his phone, and I realized he’s called Hugh Major, the general manager of the Bruisers, and my direct boss. Self-consciousness makes me pull up the sheet. As if that makes it any less weird that Nate is talking to my boss while we’re both naked in his bed...

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