Mom looks the other way. She’s a sucker for dogs.
I get into my car, my nerves on edge. I’m worried. Worried for Brock. So much is going on with both of us.
About twenty minutes. That’s how long it takes me to get to the driveway of the guesthouse where Brock lives. I stop the car, park, exit, and walk to the door. I walk, even though my instinct is to run to him. To fix whatever’s wrong. To never let him go.
I lift my fist to knock when the door opens.
Brock stands there. His hair is wild, his dark eyes wide, and he’s wearing no shirt. Only jeans, his feet are bare. His muscles are tense and rippled.
I stare, my lips parted. Before I can take in the beauty of his chest though—
He pulls me to him and crushes his mouth to mine.
So this is what he meant. This is what he needs.
He’s stressed, on edge, panting and needy.
Is this what I want? Do I want to give him sex right now? When it’s obviously an escape for him? An escape from something I know nothing about?
Yes.
I do.
I want to be here for him. And if that means I get used in the process, so be it.
The kiss is dark and angry. Full of rage, yet full of need. Full of desire and passion.
My God, it’s wonderful.
I want to be used. I want to be taken. Whatever is bothering him, I want to be the one to erase it from his mind.
My thighs fit perfectly into the indentations of his hips as he walks quickly, with purpose, toward his bedroom.
I was hungry for dinner. Hungry for the first time in a long time. I’ve been forcing myself to eat, as I know I need my strength. But since Pat Lamone came back to town, my heart hasn’t been into eating.
But Brock’s filets tasted good last night. So did tacos this afternoon for lunch, and I was actually looking forward to my family’s Sunday dinner for the first time in a while, despite the fact that Pat and Brittany showed up at Taco Bell after Callie and I were done eating.
Is it because of Brock? This man?
I don’t know. I don’t care.
I know only this. I’m feeling things I haven’t ever felt.
Physical things. Physical things that are trying to intertwine with emotional things that I don’t fully understand.
All wrapped up in this man. This beautiful, hungry man.
This man whose kisses are more powerful than any drug could be.
The bed. I’m on the bed now. My shirt is gone, and then my bra.
Brock’s lips. Brock’s lips around my nipples.
We skipped all that before. No foreplay. I’m not sure he wants foreplay now. The way he’s sucking my nipple, it’s like he’s fucking me.
He’s an animal, and I’m his prey.
And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
He tugs on my nipple, bites it. Then sucks it hard. All the while he plays with the other one, twisting it, pulling it. Flaming arrows dart through me, straight into my pussy.
He’s violating my nipples, and my God, the pleasure… It’s so intense. I’m ready to climax from this alone.
“My clothes, Brock. My pants.”
He groans, still sucking hard on my nipple.
He says nothing—at least nothing in words. My nipples are being sucked and prodded and pinched, and I’m adoring every minute of it.
Except I need more… I’m so wet, so ready, and I need him inside me.
He’s so focused. Laser focused on my breasts. If this is what he needs, this is what I’ll give him.
With every single touch, I become so much more sensitive. I lower my head and inhale the fragrance of his hair. It smells like the rest of him—clean and spicy and masculine. I stroke his head, sift my fingers through his thick hair. I almost feel like I’m comforting him, which is so strange, considering he’s devouring my nipples.
I want to get out of my jeans, kick off my shoes, lie naked next to him.
He’s still wearing his jeans. I smooth my hands over his bronze and hard shoulders. So beautiful. His muscles are taut, and I slide my hands down his back as far as I can go. He’s warm, so warm. I want to kiss him all over. I want to feel the hardness of his muscles against my lips.
I have to get them off my boobs first.
“Brock,” I say softly.
He groans again, the vibrations reverberating against my chest.
“Brock…I need you inside me.”
Another groan, and then he pulls on the nipple between his teeth. Sparks shoot into me.
He finally drops the nipple. “You’re so beautiful, and your nipples—they taste better than I even imagined.”
My nipples have a taste? I’m not sure they do, but I’ll go with it.
“You’re beautiful too,” I say. “Let me touch you. I want to touch every part of you, Brock. Please.”
He moves his hand away from my other breast. Then he stands and removes his jeans.
No underwear. He was going commando. And his cock. It’s so big, so hard, and so beautiful. The skin tone is slightly darker than the rest of him, and a couple of purple veins meander over and under and around it.
He pulls me up next to him, and his dick pokes me in the belly. Then, he pushes me back down on the bed. I lift my eyebrows.
And I understand.
He removes my shoes and socks, and then he slides my jeans and underwear off me quickly.
We’re both naked now, both ready.
“What do you need?” I ask.
“You.”
“What can I do for you? What do you need right now, Brock?”
He sits next to me. “Just touch me, Rory. Please. You’re so beautiful. It’s almost hard to imagine that you were created by mere human beings. You’re an angel, Rory. Touch me. Please.”
His words leave me breathless.
His face is so close to mine, and though I expect him to kiss me, he doesn’t. So I do as he asks.
I touch him.
I begin with his nose, sliding my index finger over it—its perfection, its straightness. Then I trace his upper lip, his black stubble tickling my finger. I slide my other hand down his cheek to his neck and then to his tan shoulder. I rest on his shoulder for a second, reveling in its muscular shape and hardness. With my other hand, I touch his full lower lip. And then I slide it down his neck onto the other shoulder. I squeeze, gripping his shoulders, embracing the musculature.
I bring my hands together over his chest, his hard pectorals. A smattering of black hair—the perfect amount, in my opinion. His chest isn’t bare, but it’s not fuzzy either.
And my God, it’s so warm and so hard. His abs are glorious, a perfect sixpack, and they lead to his black bush and his massive cock.
“My God,” I sigh.
He doesn’t reply. Simply cups both my cheeks, thumbing them, and then he traces one finger over my lips.
A big part of me is surprised. When he called, his voice was filled with so much anguish, I thought he’d want to fuck—a quick, hard, and dirty fuck.
But it seems what he needs right now, more than anything, is comfort.
Though I’m horny, and I really want his dick inside me, I’m willing to give him what he needs.
What he seems to need is to touch me in return.
My breasts are rosy and swollen, my nipples still hard and slightly sore from his rough attention.
It’s a good sore, though. A really good sore, and I want more of it.
Brock bends down, kisses the side of my neck, sending shivers through me. His lips travel over my shoulder all the way to my hand. He kisses my palm and then each finger, ending at the tip.