Can’t Get Enough

by Showalter, Gena

  Can’t think. Not now.

  “Just…kiss me, and don’t stop,” she said. “Please.”

  As she pulled at his clothing, their mouths pressed together. Hello, kiss. Bye-bye, jacket…vest…shirt. Good riddance. Finally his chest was deliciously bare, the hard cuts of his strength on spectacular display. And oh, mercy, she had to have more of him. His taste intoxicated her, like a darkly spiced wine. His big body surrounded her, making her feel helpless and safe all at once.

  She trusted this man with every fiber of her being. Brock, who wanted to give her everything. Who’d never made her decisions for her. Who’d only ever asked. Who’d never lied to her or hurt her.

  He rucked up her dress before he lifted her off her feet and set her on the corner of the desk. The kiss never paused. The width of his hips pushed her legs apart. As he stepped closer, he tunneled his fingers underneath her soaked panties and thrust a finger deep, deep inside her.

  She gasped. The pleasure! Her inner walls clenched around him, as if to hold him captive.

  Her nails dug into his shoulders. Brock was fully engaged with her, desire making him ferocious—making her wet. Her breasts ached. Her nipples throbbed for his hands, his mouth. For Brock, only ever Brock. Her belly quivered. Every beat of her heart reminded her of a lightning strike, electrifying her. Heat spread, searing her from head to toe. Tingles erupted, and goose bumps arose as if summoned by black magic.

  Lyndie ripped at the waist of Brock’s pants. “Get rid of these.” As soon as the button popped open, the fly lowered, aided by the weight of his shaft. She reached past his underwear to wrap her hand around the base. Hard—as—a—rock. Long and thick. Perfect.

  He sucked in a sharp breath. “Yes.” A growl as well as a command. “Touch me. Please.”

  The fact that she had reduced this mighty man to pleading for a caress…her caress…

  As she stroked his length up, down, up, he thrust a second finger inside her. Then a third. Her body stretched to accommodate him, welcoming him, eager for more. With him, she always wanted more.

  Panting, he lifted his head. “Told you I can’t get enough of you, yes? Did I also mention I want to have you in every position imaginable? One of the many reasons I need a lifetime with you.”

  Lifetime…

  The juxtaposition of her pale hand on his bronzed chest—her delicacy against his hard-won strength—mesmerized her. Light versus dark. Fragile versus stalwart. As she traced his tattoos, the five-carat diamond he’d given her glittered in the light. Such a beautiful ring, given her by a beautiful man.

  The ache inside her intensified, pressure building…building…

  Rather than give her more—more, please!—he pulled his fingers from her sheath. A moan and groan mingled in her throat before escaping past her lips.

  “Brock!”

  He backed away. With his fly gaping open and his underwear anchored beneath his testicles, his shaft had free rein, straining toward her as if reaching for her. But Brock continued to back away.

  “Come back.” Maybe she should repeat her command—while looking in his eyes, not between his legs.

  Impossible.

  He continued moving backward, and oh wow, he must have memorized the layout of the office because he had no problem maneuvering around chairs and a filing cabinet. When he reached the couch, he eased down, spread one arm over the top of the couch, and used the other to beckon her over. “Come here.”

  How decadent he looked, a man awaiting his woman.

  Lyndie stood on unsteady legs. Must get to him. Only need and sheer stubborn grit kept her upright as she moved forward, almost in a trance.

  “Take off the dress,” he commanded softly.

  She remembered what he’d told her earlier. Lyndie would be naked, he would be dressed—at least partially—and pleasure would be unimaginable.

  Once, she would have balked at being ordered around. Heck, she had balked before. But Brock wasn’t trying to assert himself as commander and chief of her life. No, he offered an exquisite give-and-take of passion.

  Tremors rocked her as she obeyed. Cool air brushed against her heated skin, driving her need ever higher.

  “Panties,” he said next. A croak.

  Nearly agonized by the ferocity of her need, she shimmied out of the small scrap of lace, then tossed the garment.

  “Scottie, sweetheart,” he said. “I’m undone.”

  Naked, emboldened, she finished her journey and straddled his lap. His gazed hooded as he kneaded her breasts. Flicking his thumbs over her nipples, he made the ache a thousand times worse. Or better. Mmm. Definitely better. And worse. Dang him! Once again he’d fried the circuits in her brain.

  When he pressed his palms against her thighs, just over her knees, waves of heat washed over her, tantalizing her.

  “Tell me something you like about me,” he rasped.

  A lance seared her, but it was different than the others she’d experienced. This one was barbed, causing a ricochet of other aches and twinges.

  Before they’d gotten sick, she’d mentioned how proud she was of him and his efforts to help his employees; he’d looked at her with such astonishment, as if the concept had never entered his mind. Now, even as her body trembled with desire, he struggled to believe she admired him.

  Realization: her opinion mattered to him.

  She alone had the power to tear him down or build him up. He was vulnerable to her.

  Another lance, this one sharper. “You have such a hard exterior, and yet you’re a softie on the inside. I want to eat you up.”

  As if mesmerized, he watched his finger as he traced the tip across the seam of her lips. “You think I’m a softie? While I’m hard as a rock?”

  She leaned toward him, her breasts smashing into his chest. With her lips at his ear, she whispered, “I think you’re kind, smart, honest, strong, and loyal.”

  He stiffened, his gaze darting away from her.

  Did he not believe her? “Proof. You took care of me when I was sick. Proof. You granted me another month of your time, demanding nothing in return. Proof. You look out for me, even when you’re slammed with work.”

  “Are you glad you took a chance on me?”

  “I…am. I’m glad I took a chance on us.” An irrefutable and inescapable truth. A frightening truth.

  Brock clasped her waist, his fingers a white-hot lash against her flesh. “Take me inside, Scottie.”

  Yes. Yes! But she didn’t impale herself on his erection, as he expected. Oh, no.

  She knelt on the floor and sucked him deep into her mouth. He roared as his hips jerked. His hands settled in her hair, fisting the strands.

  “Scottie. Sweetheart.” Both words sounded strained. “Feels so good, love. You’re driving me mad.”

  He was so wide he stretched her jaw, and so long she could only take him halfway down, but she relished the grunts and groans she wrung from him as she devoured his length. Tension emanated from him and only intensified.

  A rush of incomplete sentences spilled from him. “You are so…you have…incredible… I can’t… I’m…”

  When he was nearly incoherent, she crawled up his body, lifted up on her knees, and placed her core at the tip of his erection. Driven by a desire too powerful to resist, she slammed down. More pleasure than she’d ever thought possible flooded her, and she cried out. Brock filled her, consumed her—owned her.

  No, no. Never owned. Can’t go there…just can’t.

  A low rumble erupted from his chest, his grip almost bruising, but wonderfully so. “Incredible. So hot and tight. So mine.”

  “Yours.” But for how long? Could she give him forever?

  Though her body demanded a rapid pace, she rocked her hips in a slow, lazy rhythm. Savoring the feel of her husband. The tactile strength he offered. The sight of him. Strain around his eyes and mouth. A mouth red and swollen from her kiss. Cheeks flushed with heat.

  “Want my cotton candy.” He leaned down to fit his lips
around one of her nipples and sucked.

  A new spear of pleasure shot straight to her core. Beard stubble prickled the underside of her breast, kindling for the fire already raging inside her.

  Must come. Can’t wait. Her speed increased as she chased her climax. So close! But not close enough.

  Lyndie rode him with abandon, losing all inhibition. So good, so good, so good. More, just a little more. He was so…so…

  Deep!

  Brock arched his hips in an upward motion just as she slid down. The action allowed her body to take more—to take every delicious inch of him. An orgasm tore through her. As she cried out and shuddered, her mind spinning and soaring, her thoughts caught up in a satisfaction so complete she would never be the same, he flipped her to her back and loomed over her.

  Passion became fury. Beautiful fury. Deliciously merciless.

  He pistoned his hips, slamming into her again and again, prolonging her climax while seeking his own. On instinct, she wound her legs around his waist and locked her ankles. When she lifted her head and kissed him, kissed him with reverence and wonder, not just caught up in the moment but also caught up in the possibilities for their future, he came.

  His breathing as labored as hers, he pulled out and eased to her side. They lay cuddled together for a long while, wrapped up in each other, strength depleted.

  “I need to show you something,” she said when she finally found her voice. She forced herself to untangle from the warmth of his body and swipe up her dress, then dug a piece of paper from the pocket. Then, with Brock watching her every move—and cool air kissing her bare skin—she traipsed to the desk, where she bent over to search for a pen.

  “Whatever you’re looking for,” Brock rasped, “I hope you never find it.”

  Finally! With a triumphant whoop, she marked up the paper and sauntered back to Brock. “This is for you.”

  Brow furrowing, he took the paper and read what she’d written—and howled with laughter. “A ticket for being too sexy and giving my wife too much pleasure. Now I must pay a fine of ten orgasms within the next week, or I’ll be tied to bed and flogged?”

  Grinning, she curled up to his side. “Exactly right.”

  “No wonder I love you.”

  Um—what? He loved her? Lyndie sucked in a breath, only then realizing this wasn’t the first time he’d mentioned the L-word. As she’d sucked him, he’d called her “love.”

  At the time, she’d been too turned on to process. Now…

  A new tide of pleasure unfurled deep inside her. Except, when Brock realized what he’d said, his entire body tensed.

  He needed an out, didn’t he? “Don’t worry,” she said, the slightest crackle in her tone. “I know you didn’t mean you love me love me—”

  “Stop,” he interjected. “Don’t try to explain away the sentiment. Because I do. I love you love you. So much.”

  “You do?” she squeaked.

  “I love you, and I like you, and I’m one hundred percent crazy about you, Scottie.” He kept his arm draped over her middle, his hold tightening. An anchor in case she thought to flee? “I want you with me always. I want our marriage to—I want our marriage.”

  She gulped. Did she love him back?

  She…she must. And oh, she’d feared this would happen. Falling in love with the next man she slept with. To be honest, though, sex had nothing to do with it. The emotion hinged on Brock, and Brock alone.

  But what if he fell out of love with her at some point? This was new to him. A novelty. If she got attached, and he later took off…

  Worth the risk, she decided. No doubt about it. She saw the truth now. Love was worth any risk. But she couldn’t think of herself and only herself. She had to think of her future children.

  “Nothing to say?” he croaked.

  “I’m still afraid, Brock,” she admitted, a tremor in her voice. “Maybe more so now.”

  He released a heavy breath she hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “I’ve been on my best behavior with you, and I will continue to be. I try not to raise my voice. I guard my words. I control my temper when people like Lambert deserve a beating. But I do it because I love you and I want you in my life.”

  “I want you comfortable around me,” she said, “not constantly on guard. That’s no way to live. Trust me. I know.”

  “I remember your reaction to my temper when I almost got in a fight with the drunk. I never want to see such a frightened look on your face again. It kills me.”

  “I wasn’t frightened of you, but what might happen to you if someone pressed charges.”

  He shook his head, as if he couldn’t quite comprehend what she’d just said. “And anyway, I am comfortable with you. I like the man I am for you. The closet gentleman. I think he was always inside me, just waiting to break free. I just… Without you, Scottie, I have no life. I’m asking you to accept me as is. Please.”

  “I—” Wait. Must think before I speak! On the surface, his request sounded reasonable. When she dug deeper, however, she found thorns and brambles and a thousand insects ready to bite. Until he relaxed his guard, fear would rule them both.

  When fear got its claws in you, it fed on your happiness. She was living proof! One day you would wake up and realize you were nothing more than a husk. A shell of your former self.

  If she fought her fears, he would have to fight his, or they wouldn’t last; they couldn’t. “I know you, Brock. I trust you and know you’ll never hurt me. If ever there’s a time you get angry, show it. You can curse. You can drink. I should never have tried to control your behavior after insisting you should never try to control mine. Whatever has happened—whatever happens—I’m not going to look at you differently. The secrets in your past, you don’t have to worry anymore. I’m not afraid of who you were or who you are. I’m afraid of going all in and losing you. What if you get tired of commitment and want out after I’ve given my heart into your keeping?”

  His grip on her tightened, almost bruising, but she welcomed his fervency. “I will never tire of you. I know it with every fiber of my being. I will guard your heart as the treasure it is.”

  “I’m willing to try, if you are. I’ll trust you, and you’ll trust me. You’ll tell me about your past. Whatever secret you’re keeping.”

  “I don’t need to share my secrets to know I’ll want you always.”

  “You can’t have me always if you don’t.” She lifted her head to meet his gaze. What she saw—two pale green eyes stripped of any mask, revealing the soul of a wounded warrior—sent her reeling. “You don’t trust me.”

  “And you don’t trust me. Otherwise you’d let this go, right?”

  Ugh! She didn’t know up from down, left from right anymore. All she knew was that something about their situation niggled at her, as if her heart knew something her mind hadn’t yet perceived.

  Self-preservation instincts said: Don’t let up. See this through to the end.

  “Scottie—”

  “Tell me a secret. Just one. Go ahead. Do it. Trust me with a single dark moment from your past.”

  Silence filled the room.

  He dropped an F-bomb and sighed, and she almost—almost—smiled. “You said you were proud of me,” he rasped. “Well, I’m proud of you too. You walked through flames and finally exited hell. Now I want to be a source of heaven for you. Let’s forget the past and concentrate on the present. On the future. Nothing else matters.”

  Her chest clenched, temptation almost too heady to resist. “I want to be a source of heaven for you too, Brock. I think I love you back,” she admitted. “So give me a chance to know all of you. To love all of you. Share with me what you’ve never shared with another. Something. Anything!”

  If he stopped holding back, she could stop holding on to her fears and grab her future.

  Rigid, he stood and righted his silly Christmas pants. Then he stalked to the desk and rested his hands on the edge, his back to her, his head bowed. A position of defeat.

&
nbsp; Earlier, she’d loved the idea of being naked while Brock was partially clothed. Now? Not so much. She was far too vulnerable.

  Lyndie stood and dressed, then hesitantly closed the distance. Wrapping her arms around him, resting her cheek between his shoulder blades, she said, “Tell me a single bad thing young Brock did.” Because that was the source of his fear, wasn’t it?

  Fear tormented. That she knew firsthand.

  If he guarded his words and actions so diligently around her, to ensure she remained calm and safe in his presence, then he must hide his past for the same reason. He must think she would learn something that would make her panic or compare him to James and her father.

  “Why are you pushing this?” he demanded. “The past is over, done.”

  “The past made us who we are,” she whispered.

  “I agree, in part. But you helped make me who I am, and you are not my past. I am not my past. I’m a husband, and you are my present. You are my future.”

  “Tell me,” she insisted, fighting for him. For them! “Please.”

  He hammered his fist against the surface of the desk before turning to face her. A bitter laugh escaped him as he scrubbed a hand down his face. “I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t.”

  “Trust me, Brock.” If he couldn’t trust her, she couldn’t reassure him, allowing him to beat fear. If he couldn’t beat fear, they had no chance.

  Silence. Such tormented silence. In his eyes, she saw more than a wounded warrior; she saw a man stripped of his humanity and without hope. Lyndie swallowed the lump growing in her throat and fought the urge to simply throw herself in his arms and take what he offered. A temporary fix. But she wanted forever.

  She wanted forever!

  From the beginning, he’d chipped away at her desire to remain alone, to live life on her own terms with no help from anyone else. He’d taught her she could be independent—be Lyndie—with a man at her side.

  This man.

  All or nothing.

  “I was wrong before,” she said, lifting her chin. “I don’t think I love you. I know I do.” She’d only wanted to shield herself from possible hurt, she realized. But she’d told him she trusted him, and so she would trust him with her most valuable possession Her heart. “I’m begging you to give me chance to prove it. Nothing you tell me will send me fleeing.”