by J. Lynn
I pulled my hand away and stretched up, looping an arm around his neck so I didn’t fall over as I kissed him.
I was pretty clumsy at it, the whole initiating a kiss thing, but Brock didn’t seem to mind or even notice. The arm at my waist tightened, and the entire length of my body was pressed against his.
The kiss between us had started off gentle, a slow exploration of his lips and mine. We could kiss for a hundred years, but I would never grow tired of it. Never. And when the kiss deepened, my entire body roared awake and tingled. His tongue flicked over mine, and I felt him across my stomach, growing harder and thicker.
Deep in my core, an intense throbbing picked up as I drew back and looked him in the eyes. I could feel my cheeks heating, because I thought about his hand between my thighs and that wonderful, wonderful tongue of his.
The ache intensified.
His eyes darkened as he stared down at me. His throat worked on a swallow. He let go of my waist and slipped a hand down my side to the hem of the shirt I wore. “May I?”
Heart leaping into my throat, I nodded.
That half-grin was back, curling up at the corners of his lips as he gripped the ends of my shirt and tugged it up over my head. I didn’t know what he did with the shirt, because I was too conscious of the fact I was standing in front of him in a plain black bra and jeans.
His gaze moved over me, lingering along the swell of my breasts. Heat traveled down my throat and my nipples hardened, straining against the cups of my bra. “I want to see you. All of you.”
I let out a shaky breath. “I’m . . . I’m yours.”
“Fuck,” he growled, and then his mouth swooped down, claiming mine in a head-spinning kiss that left me breathless and wanting. I was barely aware of his quick fingers behind my back, making short work of the tiny clasps. The bra snapped loose, and as he tilted his head, taking the kiss to a whole new level, he slid the straps down my arms and then the bra fell to the floor. He was still kissing me as his fingers moved to the front of my jeans and unhooked the button. He tugged down the zipper and then his hands were on my hips urging down the jeans. They slipped a few inches before getting hung up on my thighs.
Brock lifted his head and stepped back only far enough for him to look down. His gaze roamed over my breasts in such an intense way it was almost like a physical caress. He knelt, dragging my jeans down with him.
My shaking hands landed on his shoulders. I steadied myself as I lifted a leg and then the other so he could remove the jeans. His calloused palms slid back up the outside of my legs. His fingers reached the band of my panties. I didn’t even want to look down to see what I was wearing. I was pretty sure they were striped boy shorts. I could’ve worn something sexier.
He pressed a kiss just below the band of my panties as he slid a hand between my thighs. Then he tipped his head back and those lashes of his lifted. “This,” he said, cupping me. I gasped, and I started to flush, because I knew he could feel how turned on I was. I was drenched. “This is also beautiful.”
I wanted to laugh, but I couldn’t make a sound as he dragged his thumb up the center of my core, circling the center of nerves. A wicked grin appeared on his lip as he leaned in, replacing his thumb with his mouth.
“Brock,” I cried out as he sucked—sucked deep and hard, drawing me in through the thin material. “Holy . . .”
He chuckled against me, and the rumble stole my breath. “You liked that, right?” He inched his fingers around the band. “I bet you will love it without these in the way.”
Oh God.
I didn’t have to respond, because we both knew the answer to that question.
My breath caught as he brought his hands down, taking the flimsy panties along with them, baring every inch of my skin. Brock rocked back on his haunches and looked up at me.
I fought the urge to cover myself.
He’d seen a lot of me, but not all of me, and this was my first with him, with anyone. Ben and I never really got fully naked. A bra stayed on, or a shirt. It was always dark, and he never, never looked at me like Brock was.
Like he wanted to eat me up.
I was soft in all the places he was hard, a lot softer. When I sat, there were most definitely rolls in places you really didn’t want to think about, but as he slid his hands down my arms and over my waist to my hips, he didn’t seem to notice or care.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, and he spoke the words like he meant them. “Fuck, I could come just looking at you.”
That sounded doubtful, but I liked hearing that. No, I loved hearing that.
Brock rose fluidly, dragging his hands up my legs and then over my waist. “Stay here.”
I did as he ordered and watched him back up. He never took his gaze from me as he reached into the nightstand and pulled out a small foil package. He tossed it on the bed. Still holding my gaze, he undid his pants and stripped down until he was as naked as me, and . . .
Oh my God.
I felt a little dizzy.
His body was beautiful, an artwork of color and designs, of dips and planes. I’d felt him before, knew that he was very well-endowed, but I still marveled on how he was that thick and that large. It was rather impressive. His cock twitched as I stared.
“I like that,” Brock said in a deep, husky voice. “I like you looking at me.”
The breath I took didn’t go very far as I forced my gaze to his. “You say I’m beautiful, but you . . .”
“I’m what?”
There were no words.
Walking to where I stood, he placed his hands on my hips. There was a glint to his deep brown eyes and a tilt to his sensual lips. The tips of my breasts grazed his chest. He lowered his mouth to my left ear and said, “I cannot wait to be inside you.”
I shivered as my eyes drifted shut. “Don’t wait.”
His cock jumped against my belly as he drew his thumbs along my jaw, tilting my head back. Fueled by his response, I said, “I don’t want to wait another minute.”
He made the sexiest sound ever as his hands clenched my hips. “Damn . . .”
Brock kissed me, slow and deep, drawing out a pulsing ache between my thighs as he turned me. He walked me backward until my legs touched the bed. With controlled pressure, he guided me down so I was sitting. I opened my eyes as his mouth left mine.
I stared up at him, breathless.
Smiling, he cupped one breast and smoothed his thumb over the rosy nipple. My heart was racing as he placed one knee on the bed. I reached out, wrapping my hand around the base of his cock. He was like hot steel covered in silk. I explored him from base to tip, marveling at the feel of him.
Brock groaned as he picked up the condom. I stroked him until he caught my wrist, pulling my hand away so he could slide the condom on. I scooted away from the edge, leaning back on my elbows in the bed.
His gaze flicked up, meeting mine as he rose over me. He stopped at my thighs, kissing me as he nudged my legs further apart with his shoulders. His mouth crept and I felt his tongue along the seam of my thigh.
Pulse pounding, my head fell back as my hand floated toward him. I sunk my fingers into his hair as his breath moved closer and closer. I tensed, letting out a low moan as his tongue dragged up the very center of me.
“I can never get enough of your taste,” he said, moving upward, nipping at the skin below my navel. “I could eat you for lunch and dinner.”
“I don’t think I . . . I would complain about that.”
“No.” His breath danced over the sensitized skin of my breast. “No, you would not.”
The head of his cock prodded at my entrance as his mouth closed over one breast and he palmed the other. I lost all ability to breathe as my body arched and I pressed against him. His tongue, his teeth, and those fingers sent stinging jolts of pure pleasure through me.
My grip on his hair increased as I curled one leg over his. “Brock,” I panted, impatient.
He lifted his head, bringing his mouth to mine. He
kissed me, and when he drew back, he caught my bottom lip between his teeth. The edge of the medallion he wore slipped between my breasts.
I lifted my hips. “Please, Brock.”
“I love hearing you beg.” His hand slipped between us. “But you don’t need to beg me for this.”
I jerked as he finally, finally pushed in, and I couldn’t let myself think about how long I had wanted this from him, how long I had waited. There was such little room for thought as I had to see this, experience only this. I opened my eyes and watched as he entered me. There was something wholly sensual about doing so.
His lashes lifted and his gaze pierced mine. I was unprepared for the feral, possessive stare. “Keep watching,” he rasped out. “Fuck. You’re tight.”
“I told you,” I gasped. “It’s been a really, really long time.”
His body shook as he held still, and then he thrust in until his hips were flush with mine, and I cried out, nearly overwhelmed by the burning feel of him. It was almost too much—the stretching and the fullness. I lingered somewhere between intense pleasure and pain, and it spun me around.
“I love that sound.” His lips moved over mine. “I’m going to make sure you’re hoarse and can barely talk by the time I’m done.”
And he did.
Brock started to move, and although it had been forever and it took a few moments to catch a rhythm, I pushed up with my hips as he pushed down. Our bodies moved in perfect sync. He caught my mouth as he planted one elbow beside my head. His hips swung and plunged, delving deeper and deeper, and the thrusts of his tongue matched his cock.
It started.
This deep tightening, a clenching of all the muscles in my body, and I was like a coil wound too tight. I whimpered as I lost the rhythm, my hips writhing against his and my nails digging into the taut skin of his back. I was close, so close I thought I’d die.
“Jillian,” he growled, his large and powerful body trembling.
I knew in that moment he was holding back and I said words I never thought I’d ever utter, and later, when everything was done, I would probably be mortified, but in that moment, I didn’t care.
“Fuck me,” I whispered against his lips.
It was like a cage was unlocked. Brock got an arm under my waist as he rose up, planting one hand on my belly, holding me in place as his hips slammed into me, lifting me up with each plunge. He went deeper and deeper, and I couldn’t move. He held me, and he . . . he fucked.
And I loved it.
My whole body shuddered as I wrapped an arm around his and fisted the blanket with the other. “Yes. Oh, my God . . .” I couldn’t breathe. The tension spun and spun, and I became someone else. I tossed my head back, eyes wide and unseeing as words tumbled out of my mouth. “Faster. Please. Brock, please—”
Brock cursed as he thrust hard and deep, and I shattered, coming so hard I screamed his name. Red-hot pleasure swept over me like a fire burning out of control. My back arched as he came down on me, pushing me into the bed. His hips ground into mine as he said my name over and over like a prayer and a curse. I felt him tremble as he stilled deep inside me, his body finally spasming and mingling with the aftershocks still rocking my body.
Neither of us moved for several long minutes.
I couldn’t.
My legs were jelly and my arms boneless.
Brock pressed a kiss to my shoulder and then my neck. I turned my head toward his and our lips met. The kiss was slow and heartbreakingly sweet.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I think I’m dead,” I told him, sliding my hand along his back. “Dead in a good way.”
Brock chuckled, but the laugh sounded shaky. He kissed my forehead and then eased out of me. There was a slight burn. “Be right back.”
I rolled onto my side as he walked away from the bed, toward the bathroom, and I had a very nice view. Once he disposed of the condom, he came back to the bed.
“Do you need anything?” he asked. “Water?”
I shook my head. “I’m fine.”
He stood there for a moment, simply staring at me and then he got to tugging the blankets down, which was a feat since I was practically dead weight on them and not very helpful, but he managed. He climbed in, pulled them over us as he slipped one arm under me. He hugged me closer so I was resting against his side.
Several moments passed in silence and then he said, “This is going to sound corny as hell, but I have to say it.” He paused. “It’s never been like that for me. Usually it’s just about coming, you know? Getting off. I didn’t want to let go. Wanted it to last. Never wanted that before.”
Pleased and feeling so warm, I bit my lip and then admitted, “I never asked someone to fuck me before, so it’s a first for both of us.”
Brock’s entire body shook as he laughed. “Got to tell you, when you said that, I almost lost it right there. Fun would’ve been over before we got to the good part.”
“The whole thing was a good part.”
“Yeah,” he murmured. “Yeah, it was.”
We fell into silence again, and my eyelids drooped. Just as I was dozing off, Brock said to me, “I lied.”
“Lied about what?” I whispered, sliding my hand over the tight dips and planes of his stomach.
There was a pause and then he said, “The night I ruined your date with that guy wasn’t a coincidence.”
A small grin tugged at my lips and I turned my face into the side of his chest. “I figured that.”
“The first night—the first time I saw you at the restaurant wasn’t a coincidence either.” His fingers stilled along my upper arm. “Your mom had mentioned where you’d be. It was in passing. She probably doesn’t even remember. I went there knowing you would be there. I hadn’t planned on saying anything to you. I just wanted . . . I just wanted to see you, and I didn’t want to wait until Monday.”
I opened my eyes.
His chest rose with a deep breath. “And when I saw you, I had to talk to you. I was there because you were there.”
I should’ve probably been irritated at Mom and him for that, but I decided I didn’t care. “Creeper,” I murmured.
Brock’s arm tightened around me. “No regrets.”
In the flickering light of the candle, I smiled and closed my eyes.
Chapter 30
Everything and nothing changed between Brock and me in the days and weeks following Thanksgiving and the night at his place.
As corny as it sounded, it was like a fairytale come true, but my girlish fantasies of Brock and me being together was nothing like the real thing. Back then I had no experience in, well, anything, and what limited knowledge I’d gained from Ben had been repeatedly and amazingly blown out of the water each time Brock touched me—kissed me and took me to bed . . . or on the couch, the kitchen counter—against the wall. Brock was never sated, and neither was I. I’d never been like that before, where I spent a good portion of the day lost in thoughts about our time spent alone. My heart was in the clouds and my head was quickly following.
He spent many nights at my apartment, because I had a functioning kitchen, and I think he was growing attached to Rhage, even if he didn’t necessarily admit it. Over the weekends, I’d gather up Rhage and we’d end up at Brock’s, eating carryout and helping him the best I could with stripping the cabinets, which involved a whole lot of elbow grease and sanding off the old finish.
We exchanged keys and he knew I was on the pill even, but we still used condoms. At work he made it pretty obvious we were involved. He made no move to hide it whenever he kissed me before leaving for out of office meetings or whenever he would give me that smug, secretive smile during a conference if a quickie was stolen during our lunch break. The staff seemed to have no problem with it. Well, all except Paul. Unsurprisingly, his smirky face got even more smirky once he realized Brock and I were seeing each other. During one of the meetings when we announced that my father was considering converting the two rooms on the second floor i
nto dance studios, his eyes rolled so far back I feared they’d roll out of his head. Whatever.
Things went beyond the physical with Brock—how everything changed.
I relaxed around him. When I smiled, I didn’t think about how it looked and I worried less about what people thought. Instead of hoping people ended up on my left side during important meetings, I made sure that they were.
I added to the books I’d brought back with me, and it wouldn’t be too long before I needed a new bookcase. I hoped Brock would offer to put that one together and I hoped it ended the way it had last time.
Everything had changed, but still, things remained the same in little ways. We didn’t dwell on the night our lives changed. It wasn’t exactly laid to rest. I think both of us acknowledged it was there, that it would always be there. It was a part of us, but it would no longer be between us, and Brock still didn’t talk about his relationship with Kristen, not even when I poked around the subject. I couldn’t help it. I was curious about why they stayed together. Why they really broke up.
Brock was skilled at evading all conversations that started to veer into territory about her, and I wasn’t sure exactly why. Obviously, I had a feeling there was something there he wasn’t fond of discussing. I didn’t like it, but I did like the way he veered those conversations. It usually involved those talented hands and mouth.
With each passing day, the wiggle of doubt that this wasn’t going to last, that what we had wasn’t real, faded. It didn’t haunt the time I spent with him or keep me awake like the nightmares used to. It was fading, but it lingered like the acidic scent of scorched wood.
The doubt remained the same, lessened and almost gone, but it was still there.
* * *One Monday night, Brock helped me set up and decorate my artificial Christmas tree. We set it up in front of the window that overlooked the parking lot below.
It wasn’t a huge tree, only about six feet tall and not very full, but it had the frosted tips that reminded me of snow and came with twigs and berries already attached.