Then his hands were on my ass, squeezing, pulling me more firmly against his hardness.
My hands were impatient, moving down over his chest again, then his stomach, feeling the muscles twitch under my touch.
A low rumbling sound moved through him as my hand slid under the waistband of his pants, my hand closing around him, and stroking.
He only let me touch him for a few seconds before he was grabbing me, yanking my silk pajama shorts and panties down my legs, then dropping to his knees in front of me.
Reaching for my leg, he pulled it up over his shoulder, so his tongue could trace up my cleft, could tease over my clit.
One of my hands slapped down on the counter behind him, steadying myself, and the other grabbed the back of his head, holding him to me, even though he showed no signs of wanting to pull away as he continued to work me, driving me up, pushing me toward that edge, then shoving me over it, leaving me to crash down into the orgasm that had my legs shaking and my moans ricocheting off the walls and cabinets in the kitchen. He was up on his feet before the waves stopped crashing, grabbing me, turning me, and pressing me forward over the kitchen island.
I was vaguely aware of one of the drawers opening and closing, but couldn’t make any sense of that until I heard the crinkle of the condom foil.
But before I could even wrap my head around the fact that he was hiding condoms in mykitchencabinets, though, I could feel his cock gliding up and down my cleft, then pressing against, and surging inside of me.
All rational thoughts flew out of my head at the feel of him spreading me again, buried deep inside of me.
Brock’s hands slid under the hem of my shirt, moving up my belly to close over my breasts, his fingers working my nipples into hardened buds as his cock stayed stubbornly still inside of me.
Impatient, my hips started to rock back into him.
“Fuck, you’re killing me, baby,” he hissed, his fingers pinching, sending a jolt of pain that had no right to be as sexy as it was.
“Fuck me, Brock,” I demanded.
Whatever control he’d been holding onto before snapped right then.
His hand sank into my hips, using them to slam me back into him as he thrust forward.
Hard.
Deep.
Driving me back up quickly, effortlessly.
Then sending me crashing through an orgasm so intense I swear I damn near blacked out for a second.
“Did you… pull a condom out of the linen napkin drawer?” I asked when I was able to think clearly again.
“Yeah I did,” he said, moving away from me, but not before giving my ass a slap. “There’s also some in your coffee table. The linen cabinet in the bathroom. In one of the sideboards. Oh, and stashed in a few of your decorative vases. Had to be prepared,” he told me, moving fully away, prompting me to grab my panties and pants, and settle them back into place.
“When did you do that?” I asked, wondering if it was before or after the attack.
“While you and Cam were doing your pedicures,” he told me. “Had to be prepared for when you were ready again.”
“I think I will pretty much always be ready for you,” I told him, shrugging it off.
“I know the feeling. Luckily, we got nothing but time now…”
Brock - 3 months
“That’s enough of that,” I said, reaching across the table to take the phone out of her hands.
It wasn’t like she was responding to some important work email. She was probably still trying to micromanage from afar. Despite the fact that Cam had taken over the leadership role in a way that suggested he’d been waiting for his chance to shine for a long time.
The part of me that had spent a lot of fucking time working on my own mental health was a bit concerned that he was masking his grief and anger in work. The other part of me, though, knew that Cam was seeing a therapist. And if she was okay with how he was coping, then that was really all that mattered.
As for Miranda, well, it happened a lot like I suggested to her it might. She spent the first week or so mostly okay. More worried about Cam than what had happened to her. But as the second week rolled in, there started to be nightmares. And I would catch her staring out the window, lost in her own thoughts, a freaked out look in her eyes.