by Nikki Chase
I break off the kiss for a moment. “Give me a second, Brock, unless you want do it right here in the hallway.”
He pulls away a little, but the naughty gleam in his eyes tells me my words didn’t have the effect I was hoping for. “That sounds like it could be kind of fun.”
“I shouldn’t have given you any ideas.” I laugh and turn around to give the door my full attention—how is this so hard? Then Brock kisses the back of my neck, and my laughter ends with a sharp gasp.
I fumble for my keys with trembling hands and eventually succeed in getting the door open. Brock pounces on me with all he’s got as soon as we’re inside, slamming the front door shut behind him with one foot as he lifts me off my feet and into another passionate embrace.
Without even bothering to turn on any lights, he carries me over to a wall and spreads my legs apart, grinding his already hard cock against me, growling with desire as his lips roam over the sensitive flesh of my neck and upper chest.
In an impressive display of contortionism, he manages to somehow shrug his shirt off as he kisses me. I feast my eyes on his hard, sculpted body, still somehow scarcely able to believe that a guy who looks like this wants little old me.
Less thinking. More fucking.
I take off my blouse and manage to get my bra off, my nipples already pert. Brock’s eyes are drawn to them. He dips his head and hungrily takes them between his lips, nibbling and suckling, gently at first but then more insistent.
He makes deep appreciative noises in the back of his throat as he enjoys my body, and the sound of it spurs me on; I can feel the wetness of my need between my legs.
He sets me down on the floor and pulls off the rest of his clothes, shrugging them off and throwing them to one side in a pile.
I follow his lead, my eyes never leaving his body, drawn to his big, hard cock. In just a little while, I’ll get to have it again, have him again.
He stalks up to me again, both of us naked this time. His ravenous eyes devour me alive. I shiver under the intensity of that gaze, the pure need in his eyes.
He reaches me and pushes me back against the wall again, his insistent fingers reaching downwards, seeking and finding my slick folds.
My eyes roll back, and I whimper as his fingers arrive at my slick, swollen clit.
“Does that feel good?” he asks as his skillful fingers dance between my legs.
“Oh, yes,” I pant. “Don’t stop. Please.”
He rubs me in tiny circles, building me up and up until I’m a quivering, gasping mass of jelly, completely under his control. Every brush of his fingertips sends crackles of electric ecstasy through me.
While his fingers work their magic, his tongue and lips explore the rest of my body. His strong body is pressed against me, the heat of him, the sensation of his hard flesh rubbing against mine . . . I’m overwhelmed by this sensory overload, and all I can do is lean back against the wall and try not to fall into a heap on the floor.
Higher and higher he brings me, up toward my peak. My eyes are closed, and my mouth moves silently, only the occasional whimper escaping from between my lips. At every step of the way, he seems to know exactly what to do, exactly how to keep me just where he wants me.
I can feel my climax building, like a coiled spring low in my belly. I lean my head forward and rest it on his shoulder, panting and gasping, but then he suddenly stops, bringing his hand away from my desperate clit.
“Don’t stop,” I gasp. “I’m so close.”
“Oh, don’t worry.” Brock smirks, desire written all over his gorgeous face. “I’m going to make you come . . . but not yet.”
I whimper in frustration, but that quickly turns into a yelp as he sweeps me up off my feet again in a thrilling display of strength. He carries me effortlessly over to the couch and places me on it, reaching over to one side and flicking on the lamp.
“I need to see you,” he says, his eyes heavy with lust. “All of you. It was so dark last night, I couldn’t enjoy you like I wanted to.”
He spreads my legs and looks down at me with those intense, ravenous eyes of his.
“Touch yourself for me,” he rumbles. “Rub that wet pussy for me.”
I obey his command, dipping my hand between my thighs, building myself back up to where he so cruelly left me moments before. He watches, a look of satisfaction on his face as my fingers get busy.
It doesn’t feel as good as when he does it, but I still get a thrill from having him watch me. He wraps his hand around his thick, pulsing cock, stroking himself up and down as he enjoys the show I’m putting on for him. He does it slowly at first, just massaging himself, but then faster and faster, like he can’t help himself.
“Am I doing it right?” I whimper, arching my hips toward him. “Is this what you wanted?”
“Oh God, yes,” he breathes. “You’re so fucking sexy.”
He grips the length of his erection with both hands, working his shaft as his eyes never leave my fluttering fingers. I arch my back again, desperate to have him, eager to have him slide that gorgeous cock into me. I want every last inch of him.
The thought of it almost pushes me over the edge, my climax building once more, and Brock notices. He grabs my wrists and pins my arms above my head.
“Not yet, gorgeous. Not until I say.” He grips his cock and slides into me, making me scream out. No need to be quiet here.
It’s a release of emotion as I wrap my legs around his waist. I want him even deeper inside, as deep as he can go.
He never lets go of my wrists, pinning me down, controlling me, claiming me as his own. Our lips are locked together as we move as one, our bodies and minds coming together. He’s all that exists for me in that moment—nothing else matters. Just his body and mine, and our passion for one another.
He fucks me harder and faster, and I’m trying to hold it back, but I can’t. I can’t. He’s too much, too fast, too big.
With one final thrust, he roars, and I feel his hot seed spray into me in great spurts.
That’s it. That’s the final straw. The last thing that pushes me inexorably over the edge.
He continues to pin me down as my body convulses and pulses, wracked by spasms again and again until I have nothing left to give.
I lay under him, gasping, feeling him grow soft, still inside me. He pulls out and collapses next to me with an exhausted grin.
“Did you enjoy me like you wanted to?” I ask him, sleepily.
“Oh yeah,” he says between gasps. “Fuck yeah.”
He kisses me gently on the forehead and pulls me into a tender embrace, and that’s where we stay, on the couch. I fall asleep, soothed by the rise and fall of his chest.
The rest of the week passes by in a blur of happiness.
We split our time between his place and mine. He takes me out on dates every evening—sometimes for dinner, sometimes for drinks or a show, but we’re always together.
On the days that we don’t eat out, he cooks for me—and it turns out he’s a great cook.
“I learned from my mom,” he says. “She couldn’t live with herself if her children couldn’t cook. She made sure I knew how to make a few basic dishes before I left for college, and I just sort of built up my repertoire from there.”
My own attempts mostly end in disaster, but he still politely eats whatever I make him. I laugh one evening as he makes a face tasting my bolognese, before quickly rearranging his features and smiling with a thumbs up.
“Stop it!” I laugh. “It’s horrible. I know it’s horrible; you know it’s horrible.”
He concedes defeat after another mouthful. “It’s uh . . . well, it could use some work.”
“How very diplomatic of you,” I tease. “I have some take-out menus here. What do you want? Thai?”
“Sounds great,” he says. “How long does it take them to deliver?”
I check my watch. “Around a half hour?”
“Perfect,” he murmurs, kissing me on the neck as I order over
the phone, desperately trying to keep my voice level as his exploring hands roam over my body.
Things are . . . interesting at work, too. He’s still got his authoritarian streak, is still a massive pain in the ass with how particular he is about how some things need to be done, but there’s a whole new element to it now.
I feel a little thrill as he orders me to do this or that, forcing myself to resist the urge to turn around and kiss him. Luckily I manage to succeed because while fucking your boss at home is one thing, doing it in the office is quite another . . .
But Brock doesn’t have the same scruples as me.
He drags me into the supply closet one afternoon. And when we emerge a short while later, I spend the rest of the day thinking everyone is going to be able to smell the sex on me. Brock doesn’t help by winking at me every time he catches my eyes for the rest of the afternoon.
All of my previous reservations about him melt away. Being with him isn’t like I had imagined . . . it’s even better. I had wanted to protect myself from him, protect myself from being hurt by him, but that doesn’t even seem like a vague possibility.
I’m blissfully, deliriously happy, and it seems like he is too.
I can’t quite believe how lucky I am.
Brock
“Nina, could you come in here for a moment, please?” I shout toward the open door of my office. “I need you to . . . uh . . . file some stuff for me. Right away.”
It’s the flimsiest of pretexts for getting her in here, but I just can’t help myself. The past week has been intoxicating. I can’t be without her. I feel like I need to be near her.
She pokes her head around the door, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “What was that, boss? I didn’t quite hear you.”
I roll my eyes at her. “I’ve got all this important filing I need done,” I say. “It’s very urgent stuff.”
She comes in and closes the door behind her, a small smile on her full, kissable lips.
“Very urgent, huh?” She whistles, looking at my conspicuously uncluttered desk. “This is the third set of ‘filing’ you’ve asked me to do today, Brock. Can’t you come up with something a bit more imaginative? People are going to start getting suspicious.”
“I can’t help it,” I say. “My brain just doesn’t seem to work right when you’re around. You’re the most distracting assistant I’ve ever had. I thought assistants were supposed to make your life easier, not more complicated.”
She sits on the edge of my desk, and my eyes are drawn to her shapely legs.
“You hired me. Maybe you should learn how to be a little more professional at work?” She’s teasing me.
“Hmm . . . Maybe. But it’s going to be learning process. You can’t expect me to get it in one day.”
I stand and step around to her side of the desk, and she watches my every movement. I can see the desire in her eyes—she wants this just as much as I do. She’s having just as much trouble focusing at work as I am. I know it.
I sweep the papers off my desk, and they flutter satisfyingly to the ground. “I always wanted to do that,” I say with a chuckle.
She giggles as I lay her down on the desk. “Ooooh, big bossy boss. Doing boss things. I love it.”
I hike up her skirt, exposing her black, lacy panties, and my breath catches in my throat.
“Fuck, you look sexy today,” I growl. “I’ve definitely got a lot of filing I’ll need done.”
“File away,” she says.
I lean down and kiss her, growing hard as I press myself into her. She groans and arches her back, rubbing herself against me. I run my hands through her hair and nibble on her upper lip—I know that it drives her wild, and I’m not disappointed.
Nina shudders with pleasure, her hands pulling me down and fumbling with my zipper. I reach down to help her, desperate to feel her hands wrapped around my eager cock.
I’m so wrapped up in her that I’ve completely forgotten we’re in my office, at work. So when the door suddenly opens behind me, I whirl around in a panic.
Nina yelps in shock and hurriedly sits up, pulling her skirt down.
My heart sinks.
It’s Dean.
Fuck.
He’s looking at the two of us, eyes flicking from one to the other, and his expression is inscrutable.
“Hi,” he says. “I was looking for you Nina, and someone outside said you’d be in here.”
“Hi, Dean,” she says, trying to keep her voice level.
He stands there, stone-faced, while his sister and I smooth down our clothes and try to look presentable. She appears vaguely panicked, and I just feel . . . well, I don’t know what I feel. It’s all going to depend on how he reacts.
“I thought I would pay you a surprise visit,” Dean says. “Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea.”
“No, don’t be stupid,” I tell him. “I’ve got a spare hour. Do you want to go grab some lunch with me?”
He shoots me a glare.
Fuck, he’s pissed. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised.
“Actually, I think I need a little private time with my sister, Brock. I’m sure you won’t mind if I borrow her for the rest of the day?”
His expression tells me that ‘no’ is not going to be an acceptable answer. And besides, I can hardly turn him down. He’s just seen us making out on my desk, so I can’t exactly claim we’ve got some pressing deadline to meet.
“Sure, Dean, that’s cool,” I say as calmly as I can. “I’ll, uh, leave you guys to it. Nina, you can take the rest of the day off. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Nina throws me an apologetic glance and then a wink as I turn to leave. I close the door to my office behind me and let out a deep breath.
I’ve been wondering how to broach the topic of mine and Nina’s relationship with Dean for a while, but I really didn’t want him to find out like this.
I guess things are just going to be awkward as fuck between Dean and me for a little while. I can deal with that as long as he doesn’t turn into some sort of protector over his little sister.
The trouble with Dean is he’s always been a little old-fashioned. And when their parents died, he moved easily into the father-figure role. He’s never really gotten out of that mindset.
I’ll have to tread carefully going forward, or I could risk losing one of my oldest friends.
I make my way to the break room and start to brew some coffee, deep in thought. As I stand there thinking, my phone vibrates. My heart sinks as I see who the text is from.
Rosa.
Hey, Brock. I heard you took your girlfriend away to the lake house with your parents. Moving a little fast there, don’t you think? Anyway, I hope you had a lovely time. Rosa x x x
I put the phone back into my pocket with disgust. I do not have time for Rosa’s bullshit right now.
Nina
Dean marches down the hallway so fast I struggle to follow behind him. I can’t help but notice his tense, angry shoulders. He stops before the row of elevator and jabs at the down button.
I chance a glance at his face. He’s glaring at the closed elevator doors as if they’ve done some unforgivable sin against him.
Is he angry at me? At Brock? At both of us?
I remember Dean’s phone call when I was in my New York hotel room, right after I kicked Brock out. He warned me about Brock. He told me to stay away, and I didn’t. He’s probably disappointed in me.
But he doesn’t know all the facts. Maybe if I can somehow make him understand that this is a real relationship, that Brock and I genuinely care about each other . . .
“Dean, I—”
“Not now.” Dean holds a hand up, cutting me off. Obviously, he’s not in the mood to talk.
The elevator doors open, and he steps inside, still stewing. I can practically see the angry steam rising from the top of his head.
We make our way to the Italian restaurant in the building and take our seats in silence. After we place our orders, I’ve had it with t
he silence. I can’t bottle everything up anymore.
“Dean, I can explain,” I tell him as the waiter walks away.
He shoots me a glare. “Fine. Try me.”
Okay, so obviously he’s angry at me too. Not just at Brock.
I swallow my nerves. “It’s not what you think. We’re not just—”
“‘It’s not what you think?’ Really? That’s how you want to start? With that cliché?” Dean asks. “I saw what happened with my own eyes, Nina, and it didn’t look good.”
“I know. I know how it looked, and—”
“Do you? Do you know anybody in the office could’ve walked in and seen you doing—” he squirms in discomfort “—whatever it is you were doing with Brock? Do you know what that could’ve done to your reputation? Do you care at all?”
“Dean, please let me talk, and I’ll answer everything, every question you have,” I say, putting my palms together.
“Okay. I’m listening.” He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. He challenges me with his eyes—they’re the same dark brown color as our late dad’s.
Dean has always played the parental role for me, which makes it difficult sometimes for me to remember that he’s my brother, and he’s only five years older than me.
The dynamics of our relationship worked well when we were younger, but I’m a grown-up now, and I’m free to make my own decisions. I don’t even have to explain anything to Dean.
For a split second, I consider just walking away. I hate conflicts.
But no. No, I can’t walk away from this one.
This is important to me. Brock is important to me, and I need Dean to accept our relationship.
“Okay, I know what you want to say,” I start. “You want to tell me Brock is a player, and I should stay away from him, especially now that he’s my boss.”
“And I know what you want to say,” Dean replies. “You want to tell me you’re an adult, and you can do whatever you like.”
My brother does know me. But that’s not all I have to say.