“Let’s eat now.” It will give me something to distract myself while I try to get comfortable being in a room with this man alone.
“Perfect. Why don’t you go take a seat in the dining room and I’ll bring everything in?”
I make my way over to the dining room table with candlelight and two plates set out with a cloth napkin and silverware. For the first time in a long time, I’m eager to get to know this man even more.
Dinner conversation flows well, with the two of us chatting about safe subjects—how he got into hockey, why I chose broadcasting as a career, and the insane price of real estate in this city.
After dinner, Brock changes the record on the turntable to something I don’t recognize but I like.
“Who’s this?” I ask as he brings me a refill in my wineglass and takes a seat next to me on the couch.
“The Civil Wars. Ever heard of them?” He positions himself so that he’s facing me, arm draped across the back of the couch and the one holding his wineglass rests on his leg.
I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”
“They’re great. Too bad they broke up.”
I listen. “They are good. That is too bad.”
“Are they hard to find? The vinyl I mean?” I ask.
He nods. “They can be. There’s this one I’ve been looking forever for. Have you heard of Rüfüs Du Sol?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Well, once I get my hands on that one, I’m playing you, ‘Treat You Better.’”
I don’t say anything that I’m feeling. That I can’t wait for him to share something he loves with me. Compared to when I arrived here tonight, I’ve done a one-eighty. I was jittery and nervous at first, but now it feels as though Brock is a longtime friend. I’m comfortable in his space with him.
I don’t know if it’s the red wine or just gazing at his rugged maleness, but my body warms from the inside when he looks at me. His whiskey eyes are so intense, as though he’s trying to suss out my thoughts.
The need to press my thighs together to relieve the growing ache is intense and I shift in my seat.
“I’m sorry, am I making you uncomfortable?” he asks.
“No. Why?” I tilt my head.
He shakes his head and sort of chuckles. “I just can’t stop staring at you. You’re so beautiful. And those lips…”
I feel myself getting drawn in by him, and I can’t avert my gaze.
“What about my lips?” My voice is breathy and I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.
He leans in a little closer and the scent of his cologne makes my eyes flutter closed.
“That red lipstick you’re wearing shows off how plump they are.”
My eyes open and I see he’s leaned in a little more.
“It makes me desperate to know what they’d feel like. What you’d taste like.”
I barely manage to stop myself from moaning. Barely.
I can’t believe I’m about to tell him this. I came here tonight thinking I’d do my part by having dinner with him, maybe engage in a little flirting and then leave after telling him nothing was ever going to happen between us.
Instead, I say, “Why don’t you find out?”
His nostrils flare and he reaches out and takes my wineglass from my hand, his gaze never leaving mine. He sets both of our drinks on the coffee table, then sits there for a moment, taking me in.
My breaths grow heavy and by the time he slowly leans in, I’m panting in anticipation. He slides his hands over my cheeks and pushes them into my hair, drawing me forward, and when our lips are a breath away from each other’s, we sit still for a moment.
The corner of his lips tilt seconds before his lips claim mine. My body buzzes from the contact, like he plugged me into an electrical socket.
He licks across the seam of my lips, and I immediately open for him, needing more. Our tongues meet and he slowly kisses me, as if he’s savoring this moment. A moan slides up my throat as the strokes of his tongue hypnotizes me.
I have never been kissed so cherishingly—as if he wants to slowly devour me.
His fingers tighten in the strands of my hair and I slide my own under his arms and around his neck, using my nails to stroke the base of his hairline, causing him to growl.
Too soon, his lips are trailing down to my neck. My nipples pebble in my bra and tighten almost to a point of pain, but the most exquisite pain.
Brock nibbles on my earlobe, flicking it with his tongue the way I imagine he might do to my clit and the air leaves my lungs in a rush.
“Tell me you’ll let me worship this body tonight,” he whispers breathily in my ear. One of his hands slides out of my hair and grazes down the side of my torso, taking the weight of my large breast in his hand.
I nod frantically because yes. Yes, to whatever he’s offering. This feels too good to stop.
His teeth nip at my earlobe, and I yelp. He chuckles and soothes it with his tongue.
The hand that was on my breast trails down over my stomach, up and under the hem of my dress before finding my center. Brock expertly shifts me while we kiss so I’m leaning against the back of the couch.
He breaks away from our kiss and leans his forehead against mine while his hand between my legs dips under the band of my lace underwear and slides over my clit and through my already slick folds.
My back arches, but Brock keeps me in place by kissing me again. Once again, his fingers coast over my clit, but this time he pushes two inside of me. I groan into his mouth at the invasion, every nerve ending lighting up in pleasure.
His thumb swirls over my center while he pumps his fingers in and out of me. It doesn’t take long before I’m close to coming and he must be able to tell because he breaks off our kiss and pulls back to watch me.
His intense gaze feels like fingertips on my skin and I watch the way his jaw flexes as I squirm and wiggle, moans slipping out of my mouth.
Without warning, he pulls his fingers from me and I whine, reaching for his hand, missing them immediately.
“I have to taste you.” He inserts his fingers into his mouth and pushes them past his lips, his eyes drifting shut as though I taste like nothing he’s tasted before.
It makes me hold my breath until he opens his eyes with a wicked grin. The next thing I know, he’s pulling my underwear down my legs and tossing them behind him without a care. He holds my legs up and examines the heels he bought me, leaving them on. Next, he spreads me wide, hands on my knees, then lifts the hem of my red dress and slips underneath.
I arch off the couch from the swipe of his tongue over my folds, but his hand is there on my lower abdomen, pushing down and forcing me to stay in place. When he circles his tongue over my clit, I bring my finger to my mouth and bite down on the side of it, small sounds escaping me.
He swirls around and around my clit before pushing two fingers into me. A groan vibrates to my skin when I pulse against them.
I look down, forgetting for a moment that I can’t see his face, just the draping of red fabric over his head. There’s something wholly erotic about only being able to feel him.
He hooks his fingers as he finger fucks me because he hits my G-spot over and over. That coupled with the sensation on my clit sends me barreling toward release. I feel like a supersonic rocket launching into the atmosphere as my climax comes fast and hard and mind numbing.