Page 113 of Fire in You

My lips curled at the sensual warning in his voice. “Maybe?”

Suddenly, without any warning, he gripped my wrists, capturing them in one hand. He held my wrists pinned to my stomach as he moved down and down, kissing and licking his way from my mouth to my breast and lower, over my navel.

“Open up for me,” he ordered, and I did, spreading my legs as my fingers curling helplessly around air.

I held my breath, drowning in pure sensation as I waited for him, for his mouth and for his tongue. I waited until I was straining against his grip, and then his mouth was on me, sucking deep as he slipped one long finger inside. I cried out as he worked my body until I was stretched to the breaking point, teetering on the edge, and then he stopped.

“Brock,” I gasped, eyes flying open.

He said nothing as he rose, and with one hand, he undid his pants, shoving them down his thighs and freeing himself. Even in the darkness, I could feel his stare piercing me. My hands itched to touch him, but he still held them together as he came over me. A heartbeat passed, and I realized I wanted him like this, bare and raw. We’d talked about birth control and using condoms. He knew I was on the pill, but we still used one every time.

Except now.

I felt his tip against my heat, the hard and hot length of him pressing into me as he lifted my hands, pressing them down into the bed behind my head. The position arched my back, thrusting my breast into his waiting mouth. I felt the cool metal of the medallion hit my skin.

“Oh God,” I whispered.

He lifted his head and his free hand traced over my jaw and then down the center of my chest. I could barely catch my breath as his hand coasted over my belly and then my hip. “I think I would love to tie you up. What do you think?”

I squirmed, breathless. “I think . . . I think I’d like that.”

“Oh, babe, you would definitely love it.” His hand curled around the base of his cock, and I moaned as he started to enter me.

“But I want to touch you,” I said.

“I know.” He pushed in slowly, tortuously. The stretch was there, so was the burn, and I reveled in it, wanting more and more. “Damn,” Brock groaned, his body shaking as he controlled every inch he gained. “This is perfection.”

Brock punched his hips forward, and my gasp of pleasure was lost in his heated groan. His presence, like before, was tremendous, almost too much, and when he started moving, I thought I would die.

I yearned to touch him, but I couldn’t break his hold, so I gave in to him, to the almost painful pressure around my wrist, to this sublime torture. Fully seated in me, Brock held still for several moments and then he began to move, pulling back until just the tip of him remained, and then thrusting forward until there wasn’t even a breath between us. The tug and pull of each thrust was building a cyclone deep inside me.

A fine sheen of sweat broke out all over my body as his rhythm increased. His hand went to my hip. “Wrap your legs around me.”

Not needing to be told twice, I did just that, and it seemed impossible, but he went deeper. “You’re killing me.”

“Not yet.”

And then he did.

Brock drove into me over and over, stopping to grind against me, and each time he did, he hit that spot. My head rolled from side to side as the knot of tension tightened and tightened, and then I broke. Release whipped through me, stealing my breath and my voice. I couldn’t even say his name. I was thrown up to the heavens and he followed, his head burying into my neck as his body shuddered in a powerful rush.

It took a while before the storm passed, before he lifted his head and kissed the side of my neck, before he peeled his fingers from my wrists, and before he said, “Now I could really go for a slice of that pumpkin pie.”

Laughing, I turned my head to his and kissed him. “With whipped cream?”

He stilled and then pushed up on his elbow. “You have whipped cream?”

“Of course,” I murmured.

“Do not move. Not even an inch.” He eased out of me and then rolled off the bed, popping to his feet. He was gone only a few minutes and when he returned, he had the pie and the Cool Whip.

The Cool Whip didn’t go on the pie, though.

Brock spent the night proving there were much, much better uses for it.

Chapter 31

My office phone rang early Thursday morning.

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