Page 52 of Forbidden Love

“Is this real?” Deb whispered, her voice trembling as she searched his face, needing to see the truth in his eyes. Rain slicked her hair to her face, soaking her to the skin, but she didn’t care. “Areyoureal?”

Brock didn’t answer with words.

Instead, he cupped her face in his large, calloused hand—so gentle it made her breath hitch. His eyes locked on hers, intense and unyielding, and then he pulled her to him like he couldn’t stand another second without touching her.

His mouth crushed down on hers, hot and demanding, and Deb melted into the kiss with a gasp. It wasn’t soft or tentative—it was desperate, full of fire and promise, and years of pain and hope crashing together all at once. His other arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her tighter against him as if he needed her under his skin.

She clutched at him, fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders, his soaked skin hot beneath her hands despite the cold rain pelting down around them. Their kiss deepened, breath mingling, tongues tangling, and when he finally pulled back, they were both panting.

“Do you feel that?” he growled, his forehead pressed to hers. “That’s real.Weare real.”

Before she could say a word, he swept her off her feet—literally. With one arm under her knees and the other wrapped securely around her back, Brock lifted her effortlessly into his arms.

“Brock—” she started to protest, but he silenced her with another kiss, this one softer but no less intense.

“You’ve run enough tonight,” he murmured against her lips. “Let me carry you now.”

She couldn’t fight the way her heart surged, and she didn’t want to.

As thunder cracked above and the rain came down in sheets, Brock carried her through the storm like she weighed nothing. Her arms wrapped around his neck, and for the first time in a long time, Deb let herself surrender—to the warmth of his body, the safety of his hold, and the terrifying, exhilarating feeling that maybe, just maybe, she was finally where she belonged.

He didn’t stop until they reached the porch. Then, without hesitation, he carried her inside and kicked the door closed behind him. He gently set her down, his eyes roaming over her.

“You are beautiful.” He whispered, his eyes taking her in, then he frowned. “Where is your other shoe?”

“I’m a wet mess.” She glanced down at herself. “And it’s somewhere between here and where you found me. I stepped on something sharp.”

Brock swooped her up, carried her to the couch, and sat her down gently. Kneeling, he peeled off her sock slowly and frowned. “Why in the hell didn’t you tell me.” He lifted her foot, looking closely. “Are you in pain?”

“A little?” She said, and she couldn’t keep the pleased smile off her face. Brock looked up at her.

“What?” He was still frowning as he held her sore foot.

“I’ve just never had anyone care for me,” Deb said, then shrugged, feeling a little embarrassed after exposing that truth. “It’s nice.”

“Yeah, well, get used to it.” He said, setting her foot down carefully. He slowly ran his hand up her calf.

Her eyes followed his every movement, mesmerized. There was something undeniably sexy about a man’s hands—especially his. Big, strong, and a little rough. Hands that could build, fight, protect… or worship.

Brock’s touch slid down her bare leg, slow and warm, and goosebumps rose on her skin—not from cold, but from the thrill of anticipation.

“Are you cold?” he asked, concern tugging at his brow as he knelt before her, still rubbing her calf gently. Still, she trembled. “You’re shaking.”

“I know.” Her breath caught as his hands drifted higher. “But it’s not from the cold.”

Something changed in his expression. Heat sparked behind his eyes, his features tightening with restraint as his gaze roamed her body. Slowly, he rose to his feet in front of her, towering and wild, his damp shirt clinging to every sculpted muscle.

“I’m done second-guessing what I want. I want you, Brock.” Deb’s voice quivered with need, need of him and only him. “This may seem fast, but I don’t care.”

“Deb, for me, this is not fast. I’ve waited for you, my Mate, for a long time.” Brock said, his eyes searching hers. “There is no pressure if you want to wait.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to wait.” She sighed, feeling a lump form in her throat. “I’ve been waiting for you, too. I just didn’t know it.” Her voice full of tears.

The rain still drummed against the windows, soft thunder rumbling through the sky, but all Deb could hear was the rush of blood in her ears, the thunder of her heartbeat, and the raw emotion in Brock’s eyes. He looked like he’d been through hell and come out the other side, only to find heaven standing in front of him.

Her shirt clung to her damp skin, her hair wild from the storm, but he didn’t seem to care. He reached for her slowly. Then, without a word, he swept her up into his arms.

She gasped, arms curling instinctively around his neck, but he only held her tighter, his strength gentle but unshakable. “You don’t have to carry me,” she whispered, her voice trembling—not from fear, but from the overwhelming truth of what she felt for him.

---