Everything in me seemed to freeze at that moment, something inside of me sensing the electricity sparking between us.
Finished cleaning off my nose, his thumb moved down, wiping down my lower lip, forcing it down slightly so he could wipe off the foamy cream.
There was no stopping the way my lips parted in a silent invitation. And, I imagined, there was no mistaking the desire in my eyes right then, either.
“Oh, fuck it,” Brock hissed just a second before his hand shifted to my jaw, and his lips crashed down on mine.
I froze for just the briefest of seconds, like some part of me was afraid that any movement would break the spell, would ruin the moment.
But then his lips were pressing harder into mine, and there was no stopping them from responding.
My head tilted back as my lips pressed to his, as my free hand rose to slide up his side, settling on his ribs as his shifted from my jaw to the back of my head, holding me there as his teeth nipped my lower lip, as his tongue moved inside to claim mine.
“Ah, hey Brock?” a voice called right at that perfect moment. “Whatcha doing?” it added, making Brock pull back, his forehead meeting mine for a second.
“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath.
“I sure hope she’s not who I think she is,” the blonde added as she walked past us with a massive bird sitting on her shoulder.
“Who was that?” I asked as we both watched her go.
“Clarke,” he said, moving suddenly away from me, and the small space between us may as well have been a cavern with all the distance it seemed to create.
“Who is Clarke?” I asked, holding my coffee with two hands, making it create some sort of barrier in front of me.
“Sawyer’s brother’s woman,” he said, exhaling hard.
“She has a giant bird,” I said.
“It technically belongs to a vigilante and his woman, but they share custody with Barrett and Clarke.”
“That was a whole lot of crazy in one sentence,” I decided, and couldn’t help but look as the woman stopped in front of a building to unlock it before moving inside.
“Let’s get back to the car, and maybe I can tell you it,” he told me.
With that, he did.
For the whole ride back to the city, almost as if he was afraid that if there was a second where the conversation lapsed, we might be forced to discuss what had just happened.
And, clearly, he didn’t want to do that.
I tried not to feel just a little bit crushed at that idea as we walked into my apartment building, then silently rode up the elevator.
“What’s your schedule for tomorrow?” Brock asked, his tone more guarded than usual. Which, of course, only made me throw up more of my own guards.
“Work.”
So much work, in fact, that I wouldn’t even be able to think about the man.
That is, of course, until I was calling him for help…
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Brock
I tried to give myself a little slack.
It was, for all intents and purposes, inevitable.