by T L Swan
He closes his eyes and tips his head back, the sound of our skin slapping echoing around us.
“Fuck.” He grimaces. “Every fucking time.” He slams in.
“What?” I pant as I run my hands up and over his shoulders.
He drives home hard and holds himself deep, and my body convulses around his. I feel his orgasm through his cock shuddering deep inside of me.
He falls to me and our lips crash together. I glance over at the clock and burst out laughing.
“What?” he pants.
“You’ve been here for twelve minutes.”
He chuckles, drops his head to my shoulder, and he kisses it softly. “You shouldn’t be so fucking hot. You’re cooking my balls, they’re exploding on impact.”
I giggle. “How am I cooking them?”
He smiles against my lips. “Hard boiled.”
We lay in a state of bliss on the sofa. Brock is behind me with his arms around my body as we watch television together. All we have is a blanket over us. It’s 11:00 p.m. and we have made love five times since he arrived. I just can’t get enough of him It feels different tonight. I feel close to him. But then…
Is that just because I’ve orgasmed so many times that my body is releasing that stupid clingy hormone? I don’t even know anymore.
He kisses me on the side of my face. I close my eyes and smile. I can’t remember the last time I was this relaxed.
“Brock,” I whisper.
“Hmm,” he mumbles against my face. His hand cups my breast, and then he trails his finger down to my sex and circles it through my swollen flesh.
“Why don’t you have girlfriends?” I ask.
“I don’t know.” He continues to circle his finger, and it’s not in a sexual way. It’s more of an ownership thing. He’s doing it because he can. My body is completely open for him and he knows it. “I guess I never met anyone that I wanted to go down that route with.” He eventually replies.
I frown. “You know how we said that this between us was a short-term thing?” I say quietly.
He turns my head and kisses me softly, and sliding his finger into my sex, my legs instinctively opening for him.
“Hmm,” he murmurs, distracted by my sex. His tongue slides through my open mouth as my body releases another rush of cream.
He moans as he feels it with his finger.
“The thing is…” I whisper.
He pumps me with two fingers and my eyes close. He begins to rock his fingers deeply, and my mouth falls open.
“The thing is, what?” he whispers into my mouth.
“The thing is…”
He pumps me again and my head falls back. I can feel his erection up against my behind again.
“We have a time limit on how long we can do this.” I’m totally distracted by how good he feels.
“Why?”
My eyes hold his over my shoulder, his fingers still deep inside my sex.
“I’m getting back with my ex.”
He stills. “What?”
“Him and I on a break at the moment.”
“What?” He snaps, tearing his hand out of me and sitting up in a rush.
“No. No, it’s okay, because you and I said this was just a short-term thing all along, didn’t we?” I stammer. Oh God, I didn’t expect this reaction.
He stands in a rush. “You have a fucking boyfriend?” He growls.
“Ex, technically,” I whisper.
“If he’s an ex, why are you getting back with him?”
“Because we made a deal.”
His face creases in confusion. “A deal?”
“Yeah. We were together since we were fifteen and we wanted to try other things.”
“Other things? As in me?” He growls.
My face falls. “I didn’t think you’d care.”
“Don’t worry. I don’t.” He storms into the bedroom.
I run after him. “What are you doing?”
“Leaving.”
“Why?” I try to grab his arm but he pushes me away.
“Don’t fucking touch me.”
“What’s wrong?” I frown.
“Nothing.” He pulls up his shorts and throws his T-shirt over his head.
“Where are you going? Don’t leave.” I try to grab him again. “Why are you angry with me?”
He glares at me and clenches his jaw, as if stopping himself from speaking.
“This doesn’t change anything between us,” I say, clinging on to that last bit of hope, but I already know it’s changed everything.
“Whatever.” He grabs his overnight bag.
“Brock, stay and talk to me.” I try to grab his hand. “What is it? What’s wrong.”
He turns on me like he’s the devil himself. “You made me feel like fucking shit for six weeks because I made you feel dirty.” He fakes a smile and shakes his head in disgust.
“Brock,” I cry.
“Don’t fucking Brock me!” he yells.
My face falls.
He curls his lip in disgust. “Say hi to your boyfriend for me.”
He turns and storms from the apartment, slamming the door behind him.
I stare at it for a long time. I’m hurt that he left but also weirdly relieved that he left, too.
Brock Marx isn’t the kind of man you can do just to pass the time.
He is all consuming, and damn it, I wanted another full night with him already.
Chapter 12
All is fair in love and war. But, is it really? Because it sure doesn’t feel that way at the moment. I thought I was doing the right thing by being honest with Brock. And by being honest with Simon. So why did everything turn to hell?
Brock’s the one who said we had no future. He’s the one who said we were too different to spend any amount of extended time together, and I thought he really meant it. Why wouldn’t I think that? He never once indicated that this was something more to him—that I meant more.
But after his reaction last night, I have this sinking feeling that he was just saying that to protect himself. He doesn’t even know how to feel for a woman. This is all so new to him. He’s saying one thing but feeling another. I close my eyes in disgust at myself. Last night, before I told him, things were so good between us.
Perfect.
And then he has to go and ruin it by being all demanding. I put my head into my hands and star at the computer screen in front of me.
I can’t read the words. I couldn’t care less about the stupid report I’m meant to be working on. I want to run to Brock and make everything better. I hate that he’s angry with me. I want to tell him that it was just a bad joke and that I didn’t mean any of it, because I can’t stand the thought of not seeing him again tonight.
And that in itself is a big fucking problem. What does that mean for my future with Simon? Why am I sitting here sad and depressed over a man I apparently had no future with, anyway? Fuck!
This is my worst fucking nightmare. Who was I kidding thinking that I could sleep with him and not get stupidly attached?
And Brock…
What was his problem? He set the rules here. The terms of our relationship. He never once asked me in the gym if I had a boyfriend. He wouldn’t have cared if I did anyway. He was focused on one thing and one thing only.
Sex.
Hard, beautiful, carnal sex. The kind that curls your toes and makes you thank God you’re a woman.
I get an image of Brock last night when I opened my front door to him, looking all naughty and mischievous with his black cap on. I smile as I remember the way he walked me backward into my apartment with his lips locked on mine.
I exhale heavily, and I know I’m not going to be able to relax until I speak to him. I just can’t stand it for one moment longer. I have to call him.
“I’m going to go to the bathroom, back in a moment,” I announce suddenly.
“Yeah, sure,” Rourke replies as he stares at the computer analysis in front of him.
&nbs
p; I slip my phone into my pocket and go out into the corridor, looking around guiltily. Nobody is around, the coast is clear. I dial Brock’s number and I wait.
Ring, ring… ring, ring… ring, ring. It goes to voicemail.
This is Brock Marx.
Leave a message.
I close my eyes. Damn it. I dial again. I know he has his phone in his pocket at all times. He’s not answering on purpose. Stubborn prick.
This is Brock Marx
Leave a message.
I wait for the tone. “I know you’re ignoring my calls. I’m going to keep calling until you pick up.” I hang up, wait five minutes and call back again.
Ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring.
“What?” he answers angrily.
A stupid smile crosses my face. “Hi.”
“What the fuck do you want, Tully?”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “I just wanted to talk.”
“Yeah, I got nothing to say.”
“I have.”
“I don’t care.”
“Brock.” My shoulders drop. “Can’t we be adults and talk about this?” I plead.
“We did that last night. You’re going back to your boyfriend. I got the gist of that conversation loud and clear.”
“There is more of a conversation to be had.” I sigh.
“Not from me.”
“Can I see you tonight?” I ask.
“No.”
My face falls. “Why not?”
“Because I have a date.”
I frown and glance up the corridor. “What?” I whisper. “You’re going on a date with someone else? But you promised you wouldn’t do that while we were seeing each other.”
He stays silent.
“Please, don’t,” I whisper. “I can’t stand the thought of it. We can work this out.” I’m in a panic now and not afraid to show it. What if he sees someone else?
Silence again.
“Brock,.” I whisper.
“Go back to your boyfriend, Pocket.” He sighs sadly.
Confusion takes me over and I grab a handful of my hair in frustration. “What if I don’t want to?” I whisper.
“Do you?”
I drop my head and stare at the floor. I don’t even fucking know. “Can I see you tonight, please?” I shake my head. “Please.”
He stays silent for a moment, and I know he’s waiting for me to answer his last question.
“Please, Brock. Will you come over?”
“If you can’t answer that question then I don’t want to see you.”
I close my eyes. “What time will you be here?”
“I told you I’m not coming.”
I look up and stare up the corridor. “So, I’ll see you at eight?” I ask hopefully.
“Bye, Tully.” The line goes dead.
I drop my head and close my eyes. A lump forms in my throat as I try to hold back my tears.
He’s done with me.
I walk up one side of the living room and back down the other, glancing at the clock over and over again. 8:05 p.m.
He’ll come, I know he’ll come.
I clutch my phone in my hand. I’ve been pacing for an hour and I think I’ve worn a hole in the carpet.
“Please come,” I whisper.
My phone rings and I scramble to answer it. When I see the name Simon lighting up the screen, I instantly push reject in disgust.
I don’t want to speak to you. I want to speak to Brock.
I begin to pace again, deciding to text him.
Are you coming?
I’m waiting.
Do I send it? What’s going on with me? I’m turning into this needy person I don’t even like. My mind is scattered, frantic, and I have no idea what to do. Do I have real feelings for Brock? I mean, I must. I’m in panic over here worrying he is out with someone else right now.
I hate this.
I hit send and I continue pacing.
Midnight arrives, and I lie in bed staring at the ceiling imagining somebody else in Brock’s arms right now.
Is he looking at her the way he looked at me?
Are they having sex? Is he doing to her what he did to me?
Because if he is, she’s going to be crazy about him too tomorrow.
My stomach rolls at the thought and I get a vision of some other woman laughing in his arms.
I have no one to blame but myself. I knew he was dangerous, and deep down I knew he would make me question my relationship with Simon, but like a fool, I jumped into the fire anyway.
This is why you don’t fuck guys in the gym toilets, Tully, you fucking idiot.
I roll over in disgust and punch my pillow. Stop thinking about Brock. It’s a blessing that he doesn’t want to see you. If I spent any more time with him it would only make it harder to leave him when I had to.
I get a vision of myself living with Simon, but always secretly pining for Brock.
I close my eyes in sadness. I don’t want to be that person who is married to one man and thinks about another. I’ve opened an ugly can of worms.
What the fuck have I done?
“I’ll have the chicken salad and a Diet Coke, please?” I smile as I hand the menu back to the waitress.
“Hmm, I’ll have the Beef Wrap,” Rourke tells her.
“And I’ll have the hot chips with gravy,” Callie says flatly as she hands the menu back. “With a chocolate milkshake.”
“Got it.” The waitress smiles before she disappears.
I look at Callie. “What’s wrong with you? Since when do you eat chips and gravy?”
“I feel like shit.”
“Why?” Rourke frowns.
“Where do I start,” she mutters. “I’m horny as fuck, I have PMT, and I have so much inner rage that I want to cut somebody up with a scalpel.”
Rourke grimaces and holds his hands up. “Yikes.”
“I’m just waiting for someone to piss me off so I can let them have it.”
Two minutes later our drinks arrive. “Thank you.”
I sip my Coke as I stare at my two friends. “So, I kind of messed things up with Brock,” I say matter-of-factly.
“Why?” Rourke asks.
“I told him I was getting back with Simon.”
Callie and Rourke exchange glances, and then look back to me.
“And I didn’t think Brock would care.” I shrug. “Until he stormed out of my apartment with the shits. I spent all night pacing and worrying that he was out with someone else.”
Rourke widens his eyes and sips his drink, clearly holding back what he wants to say.
Callie rolls her eyes in disgust.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing,” Callie sighs. “Nothing you want to hear, anyway.”
“If you’ve got something to say, just say it,” I fire back.
“Okay, I will. You’re a fucking idiot.”
“What? Why?” I ask, taken aback.
“Because if you wanted fucking Simon you would be with Simon.” She growls.
“I would not. I just wanted a break.” I pause for a moment. “To… travel and—”
“But you’re not travelling, Tully,” she interrupts.
“I’ve done four trips.”
“That you could have done with Simon.”
“I didn’t want to lose my job.” I frown.
“Bullshit. You didn’t want to be with Simon. You’re just too fucking gutless to admit it to yourself and break up with him.”
My mouth falls open. “I am not.” I glance at Rourke. “Am I, Rourke?”
He winces again. “Having lunch with you two today was a bad idea.” He gestures between Callie and I. “Too much progesterone or some shit going on here. It’s like a fucking Tampax ad.”
“I love Simon,” I declare. “I’ve loved Simon since I was fifteen years old.”
“I’m not saying you don’t. But you’re not in love with him anymore, are you?”
I narrow my eyes. “Don’t tak
e your PMT out on me.”
“You know what?” Callie snaps. “You piss me off. Stop playing the victim here. What did you expect Brock to say when you told him you were going back to another man?”
“He said we were casual,” I say defensively.
“Well, it’s obviously not, is it? Because he would have stayed and had sex with you if he didn’t have feelings with you. The fact that he left angry means that you hurt his feelings.”
Shit.
I sit back in my chair, annoyed as our lunch arrives at the table.