by J. Lynn
“How do you keep Rhage from not destroying this?” he asked, untangling the string of golden lights.
“He kind of does his own thing with the tree.” I glanced over at where the cat sat. He was already within a few feet of the tree, his eyes wide and I imagined, full of anticipation. “That’s why I don’t use bulbs. Even the kind that don’t shatter would be pointless. He’d knock them off in seconds.”
“He’ll leave the tinsel and lights alone?”
“Yeah, he kind of only climbs about halfway up the tree and just sits in it, staring at you like some kind of wannabe jungle cat.”
Brock chuckled as he plugged the strand in. I handed him the one I’d been working on.
Watching him wrap the tree with the lights, I couldn’t stop the smile from forming on my lips. We did this a lot growing up, but this was our tree, and there was something incredibly magical about that.
“I’m surprised you didn’t have this up before Thanksgiving,” he commented, readjusting the lights on one of the lower branches.
I laughed. “I’ve calmed down a bit in the decorating department.”
“Still kind of early.”
“It is not early,” I argued, digging out the silver tinsel from the bin. “It’s December.”
“It’s December twelfth,” he replied dryly.
“Whatever.” I looked down as Rhage eyed the dangling tinsel. I grabbed the end so I didn’t tempt him to prove me a liar. “Are you getting a tree?”
One shoulder rose as he picked up the star. “You know, we never did the Christmas tree thing.”
“You . . . you and Kristen?”
He nodded. “We spent the holidays at her family since . . .”
“Since the last time you came to my parents?” It had been the night I’d lost my shit with him.
“Yeah.” He glanced over at me. “Figured it was better that way. Didn’t want to ruin your holidays.”
Half of me felt bad, because Brock was a part of our family, and I felt like I might’ve robbed him of that. The other half didn’t feel bad at all. I wasn’t sure what that said about me.
“Anyway, we never really did a lot of the Christmas stuff at our place or even when we lived separately.” He easily secured the star to the top while it would’ve taken me well over an hour and would’ve involved a lot of F-bombs. “We never did this. Not once.”
“Really?” Surprise flickered through me. “That sounds . . . I don’t even know how that sounds.”
A wry grin appeared on his lips. “Doesn’t matter how it sounds.”
I stood there for a moment and realized he was right. Hanging the tinsel, I was careful not to step on Rhage’s tail.
“You going to miss me when I leave on Wednesday?” he asked, stepping back to allow me to get the tinsel wrapped around the tree.
“Maybe,” I said, tucking the edge of the tinsel back into the branch. Brock was going to be at the Philly branch with some new recruits my father wanted him to look at. He was supposed to come back Saturday afternoon. Straightening, I took a step back and admired the tree—our tree. “It’s so pretty.”
“I think I’ve found something prettier.” He wrapped his arm around my waist, drawing me back against his chest. “And I’m also kind of offended that you said maybe.”
Resting my hands on his forearms, I laughed. “Didn’t realize you were so sensitive.”
“I am.” He shifted his head, causing me to gasp as his rough jaw dragged along my neck. He nuzzled the skin there. “I need my ego stroked.”
Emboldened by his touch, I lowered a hand and reached behind me. My fingers roamed over the line of his zipper. My cheeks heated as I said, “Something else need to be stroked too?”
Brock’s deep, husky chuckle sent shivers down my spine. “That always needs stroking.”
“Is that so?” I bit down on my lip as I felt him harden against my hand.
He pushed his hips against me. “Mmm.”
Hiding a grin, I slipped free and turned around, facing him. The way he stared at me, his jaw clenched and his eyes so dark they were nearly black, made me weak in the knees. My heart started pounding in my chest. I took another step back.
“Now where do you think you’re going?” he asked.
I raised a shoulder. “I think I might get a piece of that pumpkin pie in the fridge.”
Brock held my gaze as he slowly shook his head. “I’m thinking I want to have dessert now.”
“You want a slice, too?”
“Yeah. I want a slice.”
He moved so incredibly fast and was standing in front of me within a heartbeat. Before I could even process what he was doing, he dipped and had an arm under my legs. In a blink of an eye, I was up in the air and my stomach was coming down on his shoulder.
A wild-sounding laugh escaped me as he turned and started walking back toward the bedroom, leaving the softness of the twinkling Christmas lights. “This was not the kind of slice I was talking about.”
“You sure about that?” His hand came down on my behind, causing me to shriek. “You liked that.”
I did.
I really did.
Hair swinging in my face, I barely caught my breath by the time he placed me on my feet. Then his hands were all over me, stripping my sweater and leggings off at record-breaking speeds. Then the bra was gone, along with the undies, and I was completely nude, standing in front of him. Desire swirled inside me as I stared at him, leaving me feeling out of control and dazed. Thick tendrils of lust mingled with the raw heat as he reached behind him and curled his fingers along the collar of his thermal, tugging it over his head and off.
His body . . .
I could seriously drool over it.
Brock stepped into me, thrusting his muscled thigh between mine, and I lifted my hands, placing them on his chest. I marveled at the hard planes, over the abs that dipped and rippled.
He didn’t kiss me.
His mouth went much lower, closing around the tip of my breast. His tongue rasped over my nipple. All thought fled as he tugged on my breast. My head fell back as raw, exquisite sensations zipped through my veins.
“This is the kind of dessert I want every night,” he said in a smoky, thick voice as he lowered his hand to my hip, urging me to move.
My lips parted on a sharp inhale and then I cried out as his teeth caught my nipple in a delicious little bite. He didn’t need to guide me. My hips rolled and rocked against his thigh. Tension quickly built, and I wondered if I’d come this way. It was quite possible.
But then we were moving. One arm circled my waist and he lifted me up, placing me down on the bed. His lips were hot against my neck and I wanted those lips on mine. My fingers sunk deep into his hair and I tugged his head up to mine. The kiss was deep and consuming. I curled a leg around his and lifted my hips, grinding against him. The friction of his jeans did crazy things to my senses, but it wasn’t enough.
“I want you in me,” I whispered in the darkness of my bedroom, surprised by my own aggressiveness. “Now.”
Brock made this deeply masculine sound against my lips. “You’re going to have to be patient.”
“No,” I whimpered.
I felt his lips curve. “Do I need to teach you to be patient?”
My lips curled at the sensual warning in his voice. “Maybe?”
Suddenly, without any warning, he gripped my wrists, capturing them in one hand. He held my wrists pinned to my stomach as he moved down and down, kissing and licking his way from my mouth to my breast and lower, over my navel.
“Open up for me,” he ordered, and I did, spreading my legs as my fingers curling helplessly around air.
I held my breath, drowning in pure sensation as I waited for him, for his mouth and for his tongue. I waited until I was straining against his grip, and then his mouth was on me, sucking deep as he slipped one long finger inside. I cried out as he worked my body until I was stretched to the breaking point, teetering on the edge, and then he stoppe
d.
“Brock,” I gasped, eyes flying open.
He said nothing as he rose, and with one hand, he undid his pants, shoving them down his thighs and freeing himself. Even in the darkness, I could feel his stare piercing me. My hands itched to touch him, but he still held them together as he came over me. A heartbeat passed, and I realized I wanted him like this, bare and raw. We’d talked about birth control and using condoms. He knew I was on the pill, but we still used one every time.
Except now.
I felt his tip against my heat, the hard and hot length of him pressing into me as he lifted my hands, pressing them down into the bed behind my head. The position arched my back, thrusting my breast into his waiting mouth. I felt the cool metal of the medallion hit my skin.
“Oh God,” I whispered.
He lifted his head and his free hand traced over my jaw and then down the center of my chest. I could barely catch my breath as his hand coasted over my belly and then my hip. “I think I would love to tie you up. What do you think?”
I squirmed, breathless. “I think . . . I think I’d like that.”
“Oh, babe, you would definitely love it.” His hand curled around the base of his cock, and I moaned as he started to enter me.
“But I want to touch you,” I said.
“I know.” He pushed in slowly, tortuously. The stretch was there, so was the burn, and I reveled in it, wanting more and more. “Damn,” Brock groaned, his body shaking as he controlled every inch he gained. “This is perfection.”
Brock punched his hips forward, and my gasp of pleasure was lost in his heated groan. His presence, like before, was tremendous, almost too much, and when he started moving, I thought I would die.
I yearned to touch him, but I couldn’t break his hold, so I gave in to him, to the almost painful pressure around my wrist, to this sublime torture. Fully seated in me, Brock held still for several moments and then he began to move, pulling back until just the tip of him remained, and then thrusting forward until there wasn’t even a breath between us. The tug and pull of each thrust was building a cyclone deep inside me.
A fine sheen of sweat broke out all over my body as his rhythm increased. His hand went to my hip. “Wrap your legs around me.”
Not needing to be told twice, I did just that, and it seemed impossible, but he went deeper. “You’re killing me.”
“Not yet.”
And then he did.
Brock drove into me over and over, stopping to grind against me, and each time he did, he hit that spot. My head rolled from side to side as the knot of tension tightened and tightened, and then I broke. Release whipped through me, stealing my breath and my voice. I couldn’t even say his name. I was thrown up to the heavens and he followed, his head burying into my neck as his body shuddered in a powerful rush.
It took a while before the storm passed, before he lifted his head and kissed the side of my neck, before he peeled his fingers from my wrists, and before he said, “Now I could really go for a slice of that pumpkin pie.”
Laughing, I turned my head to his and kissed him. “With whipped cream?”
He stilled and then pushed up on his elbow. “You have whipped cream?”
“Of course,” I murmured.
“Do not move. Not even an inch.” He eased out of me and then rolled off the bed, popping to his feet. He was gone only a few minutes and when he returned, he had the pie and the Cool Whip.
The Cool Whip didn’t go on the pie, though.
Brock spent the night proving there were much, much better uses for it.
Chapter 31
My office phone rang early Thursday morning.
I’d just finished scanning the news headlines, not prepared for anything that required critical thinking skills until I finished my first work cup of coffee.
Seeing that it was an outside call from the Academy in Philly, I figured it was either my dad or Brock.
“Hello?”
“Hey, hon.” It was Dad. “I got you on speaker. Brock’s here.”
“Miss me?” That was Brock.
I rolled my eyes as my cheeks turned pink. This whole relationship thing all open in front of my parents made me want to giggle like I was thirteen. “Not particularly,” I responded, grinning.
“Ouch,” he replied, laughing. “We’re going to have to see about that when I get home.”
My eyes widened. Did he just suggest what I think he suggested in front of my dad? I wanted to crawl under the desk, but I was also locked in place, because I could almost feel his hands around my wrists, pinning me in place as he . . .
Goodness.
I placed my forehead in my hand and cleared my throat, deciding to ignore him. “So, what’s going on?”
“We thought we’d call you with some news,” my father said.
I immediately straightened, my gaze swinging around my empty office and settling on the tiny three-foot Christmas tree I’d brought in that morning. I’d picked it up last night at Target. It was pre-lit and I’d splurged on another timer, hooking it up so it stayed on while I was in the office.
The only news I was waiting on was about converting space into a dance studio.
“Good news?” I asked, hopeful.
Brock chuckled. “If it were bad news, do you think I’d be in the office?”
Hope gave way to excitement. “You’re going to approve the plan?”
“I’m going to approve the plan,” Dad replied.
I jumped from my chair and danced in a small circle as I silently screamed into the handset. “Thank you,” I managed to say calmly. “You will not regret this choice.”
“You’re dancing, aren’t you?” Brock asked wryly.
Continuing to hobble around my chair, I said, “No. I am not.”
“On one condition,” Dad spoke up again. “Your friends need to sign a contract where they agree to not move their dance company for at least eight years. It’s a lot of money we’ll be investing in this. We don’t want to spend it and then have them bail on us.”
“Completely understandable.” I sat down, brimming full of excitement. “I’m sure they will be agreeable to this.”
“Get in touch with them today,” Dad said. “If they agree, I’ll get the contract written up next week and we’ll get this squared away before Christmas.”
“Will do.” I squeezed the phone until I was sure it creaked. “Seriously, Dad. Thank you for believing in this.”
“It’s not this road I believe in. It’s you,” he said. “And it’s Brock. I believe in both of you.”
A knot sealed off my throat as unexpected raw emotion swamped me. My office blurred. Hearing him say that? God, I’d been waiting . . . waited for so long. I managed to say something that sounded kind of professional, and then it was Brock talking into my ear.
“You’re off speaker,” he said, and a moment passed. “You feeling good right now? Doing okay?”
“I’m feeling great,” I admitted in a hushed, raspy voice, and then, because of everything we’d shared in the last couple of weeks and how wonderful I was feeling, I said, “I’d be feeling perfect if you were here.”
There was a stretch of silence. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“I know.”
“Call your girls. Let them know.”
I did just that.
I was able to get a hold of Teresa, who patched in Avery, and there were many, many shrieks to be heard. I was actually afraid Teresa would end up going into labor.
“Thank you,” Avery said hoarsely, and I thought she might be crying. “You have no idea how much this means to us—means to me. You seriously don’t.”
My eyes were burning and blurry again. “I think I do. I’m just happy to help you guys do this.” I took a deep breath and tried to chill myself out. “Okay. So are you guys okay with the contract of eight years?”
“Of course,” she said in a rush.
“Yes,” Avery agreed.
“That’s what I thought.
So, I’ll let them know and we’ll get the contract in hopefully next week,” I explained. “Then we’ll move on to getting some contractors out here to look at the space.”
Getting off the phone after that proved a little difficult, because if they thanked me one more time, I would be a blubbering mess. We made plans to get breakfast on Sunday—if Teresa didn’t have the baby by then—and they promised they’d be out of hugging.
There was no erasing my smile that day. No way. Not when I knew I was helping two special people make their dreams come true. Not when I knew my father believed in me.
* * *
Friday, just after lunch, I looked up to find Paul coming into my office, carrying several pieces of paper.
He didn’t knock.
He didn’t announce himself.
Just walked right in and said, “Can you get these to Brock ASAP?” And then dumped the papers on my desk.
My brows flew up as I glanced down to what he had so disrespectfully placed on my desk; I was about to point out that, even though I would see Brock before Monday, he wouldn’t be seeing these papers before then, when something on them snagged my attention.
I snatched them up, quickly scanning them. “What is this?” I asked. Paul was almost out the door. I had to call him back, and when he came in, he stared at me pointedly. “What are these sales plans and estimates for?”
The look on his face shifted. “What does it look like?”
Oh man, the not often used bitch switch that existed at the nape of my neck was so, so close to being flipped. “It looks like a proposal for the space on the second floor—for rooms C and D.”
“That’s what it is,” he replied lazily, crossing his arms.
I tilted my head to the side. “You do realize that I already had a proposal in place for those rooms.”
“For that dance thing? Yeah, but come on, that’s not going to happen.”
Then he laughed.
He laughed.
I counted to ten and made it to two. “It hasn’t been announced yet, but that dance thing was already approved for rooms C and D. So this?” I picked up the stapled papers. “You’re going to have to propose your smoothie idea for one of the other rooms.”
He blinked and stared at me like I had two heads. “What?”