Page 32 of Buried Dreams

“Will do.” I disconnect the phone and walk over to the stove, turning it on and then adding the glass bowl on top of the pot of boiling water to melt down my chocolate chips. I’m stirring it gently when the front door opens.

“It smells good in here,” Oliver declares, coming in dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt. Both his arms are tatted, and one of his hands holds a bike helmet. I smile at him as he comes into the kitchen and looks around. “Where is your mom?”

“Sulking in her room.” I motion with my head toward her bedroom. “She got snippy with me this morning when I told her she wasn’t helping me. It led to a long glare and a hiss before she stormed back into her room.”

“Oh, dear. I’m going to take her out today on the bike. Maybe she’ll be in a better mood.” I nod at him as he walks toward my mother’s bedroom.

Once the chocolate is melted, I walk over and grab the donuts that have been cooling on a rack before lifting one up, swirling the top in the chocolate, and placing it back down. I’m almost done when Oliver and my mother come out from her bedroom. I can see my mother’s cheeks are pink and Oliver has a smile on his face. “We are going to go out for a drive.”

“Sounds good.” I look at her. “Want to try one of the new donuts I made?” I ask. “It’s this new concept I was trying.”

“What do you mean?” my mother comes over and asks me.

“It was something I thought about. I rolled out the dough super thin, then added twenty of them to one, seeing how they would fry up. It looks like it’s stacked.” I show her the donut. “I’m wondering if they are lighter.”

“I’ll try one.” Oliver picks up one and bites into it. “Holy smokes,” he says, chewing, “it’s light and flaky.”

“Yes.” I nod. “That is what I’m going for.”

My mother also tries one, and she smirks at me. “She’s got the touch, I tell you.” They both finish their donuts and head out.

When I look over, I see it’s almost two o’clock in the afternoon. With nothing to do, I decide to maybe head into town and see if they have started work on the bakery. From the phone call I got last week, it would be any day now. They were going to start right away, but I thought that we could expand a little now that we are starting over. So I’m waiting on him to tell me how much extra it will be. But I think adding a seating area will bring in more business, and my mother reluctantly agreed with me.

Washing the smell of donuts off me, I slip on a white T-shirt and then grab my ruffled yellow skirt. It wraps over in the front and is longer in the back. The T-shirt falls just on top of the waist, showing off a hint of my stomach. I slip on my brown sandals before grabbing my phone and walking out. Leaving my hair down and flowing, I head to the bar, wondering if Autumn is in town with Landon.

I stop at the corner and am about to cross the street when I see Brock’s truck parked at the garage. It angers me to no avail. Especially after the way he just walked away from our conversation. Again, leaving me feeling battered and bruised, and he didn’t even have to lift a finger. My feet are moving before I even can stop them; with each step I take I get angrier and angrier. I pull open the door and the bells ring. I look around, seeing the waiting area empty and then sticking my head into his office and seeing it empty also. My heart jackhammers in my chest and I turn and storm to the garage, finding him in front of the workbench with a rag in his hand, and it looks like he’s just finished cleaning the stainless-steel top.

The look on his face is of utter shock at seeing me here. “Everleigh,” he says my name, and my knees turn to jelly. Just from the way he says my fucking name. And I hate it. I also hate when my eyes do a sweep of him from head to toe, and I see him wearing black Dickies with a black T-shirt that I wish made him look dreary and sloppy. But it doesn’t, it fucking doesn’t, he looks fit as can be.

“Fuck off,” I say, walking into his space and stopping in front of his workbench as he rounds it. “I want to know how much I owe you for the truck.”

“I told you,” he says, and I shake my head furiously side to side to stop him from talking.

“I don’t give a shit what you said,” I snap at him. “I don’t want anything from you. Not one fucking thing.” My head moves into his space.

“I don’t give a shit what you want,” he hisses back at me. “I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for your mother. So take your snit and fuck off.” He motions with his head.

“That isn’t how it’s going to work!” I yell at him. “You aren’t going to get to have a say in this.”

He laughs in my face, and if I wasn’t seething before, that pushes me over the edge. “I can see you are in full form today.”

“Fuck you.” I’m about to push him away from me, but the minute my hand touches his chest, he grabs my wrist. “Don’t touch me.” I’m about to rip my wrist from him when he pulls me to him.

“You came in here full of your attitude.” He turns and backs me toward his workbench. “For what I don’t know, nor do I fucking care.” My breathing is coming in pants as I look into his eyes, eyes that are hooded over with a look I’ve seen far too often before. “Don’t bring your shit to my door.”

“I want nothing to do with your door,” I retort, almost whispering. “I want nothing to do with you. Not now”—the lump starts in my throat, and I regret coming in here—“not fucking ever.”

“Good,” he replies. His head advances, and his mouth is open on mine. His tongue slides into my mouth as the kiss is primal. I move my hands to his shoulders to shove him away at the same time his hands grip my hips so tight, I’m going to have his mark on me. I move my head to the side, planning on stopping the kiss, when he picks me up and places my ass on the shiny stainless-steel top. My legs open when he steps into them, he pulls my hips forward so I can feel his hardness.

This is crazy, my head tells me while my body arches into him, his hips thrusting forward. I want to push him away from me. My fingers squeeze his shoulder to do just that, but instead, one hand moves to the back of his head. Sliding it into his hair, I fist it in my hand, ready to pull his head away from me. But the more he kisses me, the more I forget even my own name.

“Fuck,” he hisses when he lets go of my lips for a second before his tongue again invades me. His hands move down to my legs as he bunches the skirt into his fists. My hands are frantic to touch him now. The urge is more powerful than the need to walk away from him. One touch from him is all it’s ever taken. The two of us are in sync as my body aches for his touch, so much I might cry. It’s this overwhelmingness that I can’t explain.

My hands go to the hem of his T-shirt as I pull it off, and he lets go of my mouth long enough to rip it over his head. My hand touches his chest, trailing down, feeling his heartbeat mimicking mine. His hands move to my own shirt as he rips it off and tosses it to the side. His mouth goes to my neck as I close my eyes and feel his heat invading me. His hands cup my tits as he rolls one nipple before pushing down the cup to the other one, and his mouth doesn’t go to kiss it. No, he attacks my nipple, first biting down on it, making it shoot straight to my core. I moan before he sucks it into his mouth. My hands go to the button of his jeans; at the same time, his hands move from my outer leg to my inner thigh, moving up until his fingertips touch the lace of my panties. The touch sends shock waves through me. “Shit,” he swears, and he makes sure my eyes are looking into his when he slides the fabric to the side and slips two fingers into me. “Wet.”

My eyes instead go to my hands at his button, getting it open and then sliding down the zipper. I’m about to push his pants down and free his cock when he slides out of my reach and down. His hands pull me so my ass is on the edge so I have to put my own hands by my sides. The coolness of the stainless-steel top should make me stop whatever it is that is about to happen, but I’m mesmerized by his tongue sliding out of his mouth and licking me. I have to close my eyes; it feels like I’m about to fly off the table. His mouth devours my pussy, sucking in my clit at the same time that two fingers slide into me. I lift my hips off the counter, wanting to fuck his fingers. “Oh my God,” I can’t help but cry out when he bites down on my clit and doesn’t let it go. Instead, he rubs his teeth together and savagely finger-fucks me. “Yes,” I hiss, moving one of my hands to his hair and pulling it in my fist, hoping he feels the pain also. His fingers slide in and out of me as he manipulates my clit. I need more, and he knows it. If anyone knows my body, it’s Brock. He has played with it like he’s the conductor and I’m the instrument.

“No.” He pulls his fingers from me. “You come on my cock.” He licks his fingers, and I’m about to cry, but he moves one of my legs so my foot is on the top, leaving me open for him. He pushes his pants over his hips, his cock springing free, making my mouth water. My hand comes out to rub the precum into the tip of him before palming his shaft. “Put me inside you,” he orders, and I do exactly what he tells me to do. I rub his cock head through my slit three times, dragging it out, hearing him growl before placing him exactly where he needs to be. He doesn’t hesitate for a moment, and in one swift move, he’s inside me. My mouth opens in a gasp before his mouth finds mine. His tongue sweeps into my mouth once before letting it go and then he looks down at us joined. His cock is buried to the root, filling me as if he was made for me. He puts his forehead on mine and I look up to see his eyes looking at me.

---