“Holy shit, Jos, you want to, though. Date him. You’re totally falling for him.”
“I am not,” I rushed to object, glancing at the closed door. “With everything going on, dating is the last thing I’m thinking about. That much I can tell you.”
She pressed her glossy lips together, suppressing a grin. “Hmm-hmm.” Leaning her chin on her hand, she looked at me through the phone, a concerned expression dropping over her features. “I just want you to be happy.”
“Thanks. I wouldn’t be able to get through any of this without you, Ains.” The bedroom door opened, and Brock leaned against the frame. His eyes found mine, a shadow that hadn’t been there earlier darkened them. It made me wonder what his father had said. “I’ve got to go. Call you later,” I said to Ainsley. We disconnected, and I sat up on the bed, facing Brock.
He remained in the doorway staring at me. Something was wrong. The tension vibrating off him charged the room.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
He took a purposeful step toward me. Then another. “I don’t want to talk at all.”
I understood what he was implying, and I could do that—give him what he needed. He had done the same for me. Was it fucked-up that we used each other in this way, to forget our problems and just feel?
Fuck yes.
Did I care?
Not at the moment.
But down the line, if we kept doing this to each other, someone would catch feelings. That someone would be me. Already I was afraid I felt more for him than I should.
He reached the edge of the bed, and I shifted so I was on my knees in front of him. My hands traced up from the flat of his belly to the hard planes of his upper chest.
His eyes blazed. “You and I…we’ll never work. This is wrong. I shouldn’t want you like this,” he declared in that seductive, dangerous voice.
That was supposed to be my line. I was curious why he thought this was wrong. Was it because of his stupid rules on dating or did have to do with Grayson? Or something else entirely? I looped my fingers around his neck, closing the space between us so our faces were just inches apart. “No talking, remember.”
His hands came around me, grabbing my ass, and he lifted me off the bed. My legs wrapped around him as a muscle ticked along his jaw, underlying anger residing within him. Not at me. But someone had pissed him off. “Are you sure?” he whispered with a darkness that hinted of things to come.
I must have gone temporarily insane, lost all control. Messing around with Brock was bad. He said so himself. “I can handle you, Brock Taylor.” I closed the distance between us, fusing that glorious mouth to mine in a kiss that demanded a response.
He didn’t disappoint.
Our tongues tangled in a frenzy of desire, anger, and desperation. My fingers pressed into the base of his neck, weaving into a mess of wavy hair as I gripped him tightly.
Brock and I had issues. God, did we ever, and drowning those problems with sex only made them magically disappear for a brief moment. But it didn’t matter, because I all wanted was to lose myself in him. This was the only time I felt normal.
With his lips still fastened on mine, he dropped us to the bed, covering my body with his. He trapped my hands behind my head and pressed a collection of hot kisses down the column of my neck. Every inch of him sank into me.
His name fell from my lips.
A smile curved on his lips. “Say it again,” he demanded, his breath sending warm tingles over my skin.
My nose wrinkled. “No, I can’t do it when you ask me.”
Staring down at me, his eyes glinted as if I’d challenged him, and I realized what a mistake that had been. He kissed the spot just behind my ear, and my back arched. “Say it, Firefly,” he murmured.
Powerless to do anything else, I breathed, “Brock.”
He reclaimed my lips with a satisfied purr, in a kiss that set me on fire. My legs wrapped around his, keeping his body pinned to mine. His fingers slipped under my shirt, unhooking my bra, and my nails dug into his back. This was what I craved—his touch.
I pushed at his shoulders, and he pulled back, giving me just enough space to take off my shirt. I tugged at the hem of his and bit my lip at the sight of his bare chest. He was a magnificent specimen of male, hard and firm in all the right places.
Speaking of hard…
He ground that part of him into the V between my legs. There were too many clothes between us. My lips parted as my fingers fumbled with the button on his jeans, and I slipped my hand inside.