“Okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” I end the call.
Then I rise from the table. “I’m sorry, Mom. I have to go.”
“Why?” she asks.
“It’s…a friend. He needs me.”
Mom’s eyes brighten when I say “he.” Yeah, my mother loves me and accepts me, but she wants me to end up with a man. I hate it, but it’s true.
Well, Brock Steel is a man. A man like no other. I don’t know what’s going on, but he needs me, and I’ll be there.
I have to be there.
I feel it in the marrow of my bones. I must be there for Brock.
“I apologize,” I say again.
“It’s okay, Rory,” Mom says, smiling. “We’ll save you a plate.”
“Thanks.”
I give Zach a quick pet on the head as I leave the kitchen. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Callie feed him a piece of her pork chop.
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.