by Brandi Evans
She shook her head. Her voice had stopped working.
“Then how do you know you most certainly do not want me to?”
Because the idea of giving myself to you both thrills and terrifies me. But how did she put her feelings into a coherent explanation?
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “It’s been a long time since sex was enjoyable, let alone an adventure. As I’m sure you might imagine, Eugene wasn’t—”
“Don’t say that rat bastard’s name while you’re naked in my damn bed.” His sentence came out as a growl, the primal ferocity forcing her spine fully erect and her instincts to leap to red alert.
He shot from the bed and stalked across the room. She’d known tension existed between the brothers—a blind, drunken idiot could see that—but this seemed like something…what was the right word?
Raw. Yes, raw.
She crossed her arms instinctively across her chest. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“I know.” Stopping at the dresser, he jammed his fists down on the hard surface, and then leaned forward, as if resting his weight on the sturdy piece of furniture. His head dropped forward. Shame? Despair? She didn’t know but she was sure as hell gonna find out.
Tugging the bed sheet around her nakedness as she moved, she pushed to her feet and went to him. She slipped an arm around his waist and pressed a kiss between his shoulder blades. “I’m sorry,” she said again. She didn’t know what else to say.
“It’s not your fault. It’s just…” He rubbed her forearm where it wrapped his middle.
For a long while, he said nothing else. Each silent second ramped up the heat of the nervousness boiling in her gut. She’d had no idea the mention of someone’s name could create such a visceral response, especially between brothers. Or had it been something else she’d said?
“Brock, please talk to me. I get nervous when you’re silent.”
At first, he didn’t respond, but eventually, he extricated himself from her arms and moved back to the bed—but it wasn’t for any sexy reason.
He was dressing.
And just like that, her heart dropped.
“Things are happening too fast, Viv. I think maybe it’s best if we slow things down, keep things professional and civil while we work on the contract and then reevaluate where we are after our emotions have come back down to earth.”
“Excuse me? You want to what?” Where the hell was this coming from?
Her head was shaking before any words managed to actually spill out. His statement was the verbal equivalent of a backhand, not to mention they made no damn sense. There’d always been a lot of resentment between Brock and his brother. That hadn’t stopped him from taking her earlier.
Why would it now?
“It’s complicated, Viv. There’s a lot of resentment between me and Eugene, and now, with your divorce, this just might not be the best time to start something.”
“That’s a bullshit reason if I ever heard one. Now tell me what the hell is going on inside that shaved head of yours or I’m walking out. And I won’t come back.”
What was going on inside his shaved head? Too much to fucking get his mind around.
Brock yanked his jeans on. The last thing he fucking wanted was to pull the brakes on the runaway fury that was his and Viv’s hormones, but everything felt so damn raw. He couldn’t think straight. When he’d joked about subduing her—at least he’d said it so she’d think he was joking—to his great surprise some genuine arousal had crossed her face, reddened her cheeks, even if her words denied it. She seemed both thrilled and terrified at the same time, and for a split second, he thought maybe, just maybe, Viv had some submissive inside her.
But then she’d mentioned his brother’s name.
And he’d seen red.
A bright, furious fireball of pain, hatred, love and betrayal crashed right into the center of his chest. With that one word—Eugene—she’d released the dark torrent of feelings he’d been downright refusing to face for years. What if that reaction had happened while they’d been in a Dom/sub situation? What if, in his fury, he went too far, pushed her too hard? He’d never be able to forgive himself if he hurt her, which was why he needed to push her away. Just for a little while.
He needed some time to quell the fire raging inside him.
Her voice was so soft when she finally spoke again. “Do you honestly think, for one second, I’m buying your ‘resentment between you and Eugene’ line? If so, baby, you’re an idiot. I know you two don’t particularly like each other, but that’s not what this is about, is it?”
He shook his head.
“Then fucking tell me what’s going on.”
“I don’t want to hurt you, that’s what’s going on.” The words tumbled out before he could stop them. He spoke quickly, hoping she wouldn’t have enough time to really think about them. “There’s just so much going on. I think it would be best if we simply give our hormones a chance to cool down before we take things any further.”
“Bullshit.”
It amazed him how much credulousness she could fit into just one word.
She continued berating him. “You want to slow things down? Where was this notion a couple of hours ago, when you were banging me back into the Stone Age?”
He scrubbed his hands over his head. It was a damn good question and one he had no answer to, at least not an honest one. Because he didn’t want to slow things down. He wanted to take her to his club, show her his world. He wanted to offer himself to her fully. He wanted to strip away everything between them.
But not until he knew he was in control of himself—but being in control was only the first step.
His control wouldn’t matter in the damndest if drove her away before he had a chance to tell her the complete truth about him and his lifestyle. Slowing things down, putting a wedge between them so he could regain himself would only serve to interfere with his ability to ease her into his BDSM secret.
Fuck.
Talk about being stuck between a rock and a hard place.
Before he could figure anything out, Viv spoke. “Okay, fine, be a jerk.” A forced-sounding laugh echoed through the room. “And here I was thinking we actually had something real. Stupid me.”
Pain and guilt and something he couldn’t quite get a handle on reverberated around in his chest like the concussive blast of eighteen tons of dynamite. The force of the verbal impact pushed him backward, but before he had time to recover, the sound of footsteps padded on the hardwood floors at a furious clip, moving farther and farther away from him.
She was running.
“Damn it, Viv, wait.” Brock took off after her. He didn’t know what he’d say, but he couldn’t let her walk out angry, thinking he had no feelings for her.
Nothing could be further from the truth.
He caught up with her at the bottom of the staircase. “Viv, sweetheart, I do care about you. Please hear me out before—”
The shrill intro to Ride of the Valkyries sounded from somewhere in the kitchen—and she instantly froze. “Oh no.”
Concern took center stage. “What?”
She covered her mouth and spoke through her hands. “That’s Eugene’s ringtone.”
“Oh.” The weight of her words hit him squarely in the chest, and in that moment, his fears, his confusion, his everything took a backseat to her needs.
Oh god, oh god, oh god.
Viv didn’t need to be clairvoyant to know why her husband was calling. He’d received her petition for divorce.
Guilt made her stomach roll. She thought she’d been prepared for this moment, for the ultimate confrontation—obviously not.
Damn her body’s stupid response.
“It’s okay, love. It’s okay…” Brock cradled her against him, all six-feet-plus of him. Muscled arms closed around her, settling her against an even more muscular chest. He bent close and rested his cheek against the top of her head. He was comforting, reassuring…
&nbs
p; Confusing the hell out of her.
Hadn’t he, just a few damn minutes ago, told her they needed to slow things down?
But she couldn’t bring herself to care about what he’d said, not now, not with his arms wrapped so perfectly around her as her world raged out of control. She clung to him, comfort radiating off him like the warm rays of the sun on a cool autumn afternoon.
Her phone made its customary “voicemail” ding—then almost immediately rang again. “I have to make it stop…” She made a move toward the phone, but Brock held her firm.
“Let me, love.” He brushed his lips against her forehead. “Be right back.”
Determined strides ate up the ground between her and where her satchel sat, strewn out beside the kitchen table, a victim to their passion. In a few seconds, he had her iPhone in hand. “There…” He returned the device to her bag. “No more calls from Señor Asswipe until you’re ready.”
“Th-thank you.”
“Anytime.”
She wanted to leap back into his arms, into the comfort she knew she’d find there, but it still didn’t quite feel right, not after what had happened upstairs. Taking the comfort he offered was one thing, but asking for it was another.
He plucked her dress from the floor, leaving her bra and panties where they’d fallen, then flashed a grin brimming with seduction. “Ya know, guys make a big deal about undressing a woman, but too many often forget the lost art of dressing a woman.” He took a step toward her, outstretched dress in his hands, the proverbial carrot on a stick. “Allow me to show you what I mean?”
God, he was killing her. Did he want her or didn’t he?
Her emotions were like a shoreline community after a hurricane, ravaged and ruined, but damn those beautiful blue eyes of his, that not-so-subtle smile drew her in, comforted her. She was helpless against his charm.
“Okay,” she said finally, letting the sheet she’d wrapped around herself slither to the floor, and stepped close to him. “Show me.”
“With pleasure.” He dropped to his knees, held the dress open. “First your left foot.”
She obeyed. Unlike when he’d removed the garment, he took his time pulling on the dress. His knuckles brushed her sides, the outer edges of her breasts. Each touch of his skin against hers sizzled, and it wasn’t long before the anguish Eugene’s call or Brock’s earlier words had stirred evaporated in the heat of his touch.
“And now my favorite part…zipping it.” His lips kissed a path for the zipper to follow. He lingered over each inch of skin as he kissed her, until she wanted to scream at him to take her all over again.
She pressed backward into him. “You’re right. This is very nice.”
“Yeah.” He kissed the side of her neck. “Makes me want to undress you again.”
Laughter bubbled from her mouth. “This could become a very circular act.”
“Don’t hear me complaining, do ya?” He spun her around to face him and then brushed a quick kiss against her lips. “Now how can I help make this easier for you? I hate seeing you hurting.”
His question shocked her for a moment, which was positively stupid. Wanting to know what he could do to lessen her emotional pain was such a Brock thing to do she almost cried.
“Being in your arms helps,” she whispered, unable to stop herself. “Just being in your arms.”
He nuzzled his nose against the top of her head. “Then it’s a damn good thing I like you being here.”
Then why were you trying to send me away?
She held tighter to him, her life preserver as her emotions raged. She didn’t know what was going on with him or why he’d suggested what he’d suggested. All she knew for sure was she wanted to know. Living the past year without Brock had been almost impossible, and she didn’t want to test what another year—or the rest of her life—would be like without the man she loved at her side.
They moved to the couch, and for a long, long while, they simply sat in silence, Brock’s arms wrapped protectively around her, holding her, just holding her. His hand stroked up and down her back, a continual motion, never stopping. She lost track of the time that passed. Outside, the sky changed from bright to dull. The sun was setting lower and lower on the horizon.
Without warning, her stomach let loose a growl so loud she couldn’t help but giggle. “Apparently, I’m hungry.”
“Apparently,” he agreed with a chuckle.
She lifted her head from his massive shoulder. His eyes whirled with the same kind of conflicted emotions swirling inside her too. At least they were on somewhat of an equal footing.
He drew a knuckle along her jaw. “What do you say I whip us up a quick dinner?”
She raised her left eyebrow. “You cook?”
“Not really. But I can make a mean sandwich.”
She laughed. “That sounds good.”
“You stay right here, sweetheart. I’ll be right back.” He pressed a quick kiss to her lips and then left her alone, further confusing her.
She wanted him, no doubt about it, and despite his bedroom bombshell, he wanted her too. At least she wanted to believe he did. If he truly wanted to slow things down, he wouldn’t have been able to slip so easily back into the role of her savior when Eugene’s call had pulled the trapdoor on her emotional stability, would he?
No, no way. None of it made any flippin’ sense. What he’d said in the bedroom and what he’d done since that phone call starkly contradicted each other. He had her so damn confused she could scream. Or maybe cry. She wasn’t really sure.
Would she ever understand this man?
Yes. One day.
If she had to, she’d plant herself on this couch—or in his bed—until he came clean. She’d set her plan into motion and she’d be damned if she let their intense connection fizzle out and die. She’d waited too damn long to let the man she loved get away from her.
Chapter Four
Brock dished out the last scoop of double-chocolate-chip ice cream he was making for him and Viv and tried like hell to figure out how to tell her about his sexual lifestyle, a realization he’d come to during their deafly silent dinner. He wanted her. And pushing her away wasn’t an option anymore. He couldn’t do that to her. She needed him more.
Maybe the direct approach would be best.
I’m a Dom…
No, no. That was too direct. He needed to ease into his confession a bit. No sense just bitch-slapping her with the truth.
I practice the BDSM lifestyle…
Practice? Shit no. He wasn’t a doctor—or a magical practitioner for that matter. He tried again.
I own a popular BDSM club and BDSM-themed restaurant, but I’m not just the owner. I’m also an active participant in the lifestyle…
No, no and hell no. He slammed the empty ice-cream container in the trash can with all the finesse of a five-hundred-pound ballerina. That line sounded as if he were giving the BDSM equivalent of the Hair Club for Men shtick. I’m not only the Hair Club President, but I’m also a client.
“Damn it.” Admitting who he was shouldn’t be this damn difficult. This was Viv for fuck’s sake, a woman who had always accepted him for who he was. She was the kindest, most accepting person he’d ever met. So why in god’s name was telling her the truth turning out to be so difficult?
Easy. Viv meant more to him than any woman ever had.
He collapsed forward on the counter beside their dessert. Viv wasn’t a one-night sub. He loved her. He had since those seemingly endless days when she’d been battling cancer. For months and months, he’d sat by her side, falling in love with her zest, her zeal. Her. Too bad it had been under such horrific circumstances. And he wasn’t just talking about the cancer but about what his brother had asked him to—
“You okay in here?”
He spun toward Viv’s voice. She still wore the same dress she had when she’d first walked back into his life, but now, her appearance had a different allure to it. She no longer looked sleek and stylish—she looke
d used and owned. Barefoot, her dress showing off wrinkles from being in a pile on the floor, her hair a wild mess from his hands, his bed, his pillows, she looked like a woman who had been well, well-loved. It’d be a hard-on-inducing sight if it wasn’t for the uncertainty scrunching her beautiful face.
He wanted to yank her into his arms and kiss her until that uncertainty evaporated. Wanted to throw her into his bed and stroke deep into her sweet body until she couldn’t think of anything else, but only once he came clean. He owed her nothing less.
“Yeah, I’m good.” He turned back to the desserts. Maybe after a sugar rush he’d be able to come up with the right words. “I was just wondering if I wanted to add some syrup to our ice cream. What do you think?”
She didn’t answer, but he knew she was still there. He’d heard no footsteps, nothing to indicate she’d moved in the slightest. “I think you need to tell me the truth. Why do you really want to slow things down? And don’t you dare think about lying to me.”
Christ. He wasn’t fucking ready for this conversation. He was still formulating his strategy. “Well, considering your upcoming divorce and the fact the man you’re leaving is my older brother, I just think it would be best—”
“Bullshit.” In a flash, she crossed the room then yanked on the sleeve of his t-shirt until they stood face-to-face. “You and I are fantastic together. You can’t honestly tell me you really want to pull the brakes on what we had…what we could have.”
No, he didn’t want to slow things down. “It’s…complicated, Viv,” he finally said.
“Then uncomplicate it.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Bull. Shit.” She stepped into him until they were toe-to-toe.
The soft aroma of vanilla and sex teased his senses, and despite his good intentions, lust rocketed straight to his groin. His cock lengthened, hardened in a matter of nanoseconds. His hands fisted at his side and it took all his strength to keep from grabbing her and throwing her down on the kitchen table and pushing deep into her pussy until he created enough heat to bind reality and fantasy together.