Page 37 of Tossed into the Mob
“You too.” He put on the seatbelt but couldn’t hide his smirk.
I took off, faster than before, and hoped if the police stopped me, it was someone who knew Flint. What was the name of that police chief I’d sent football tickets to? He might come in handy.
With one hand on the wheel, I outstretched the other one, meeting Brock’s hand over the console. The softness of his skin, combined with the current pulsing into me from him, had my skin prickling with desire.
“It’s small.” I had to warn him not to expect an apartment as large as the one Flint had bought him.
Brock stared straight ahead. “Size isn’t everything.” He squeezed my fingers hard. Ouch, he had quite a grip.
“I was talking about my place.” Damn, he obviously didn’t see my engorged cock.
Laughter bubbled out of him and banished the lingering grief that’d infiltrated those first few days we were together.
After I parked, we took the stairs to my third-floor studio because the elevator took ages. Though if we’d waited, we could have kissed some more. I dragged him into the apartment, wanting to kiss him again, but I needed to see his face and turned on the lights.
“This is nice.”
Huh? He was making conversation when I wanted to get naked. But perhaps I’d misunderstood his intention.
“Small but mighty.”
I’d had enough with innuendos, and I pulled him close, but he reared his head away.
“One question. Why did you quit your job at the hospital and come back here? Be honest or we can’t move forward.”
I had a choice. Tell the truth or lie. If there was any hope of us mating, I had to be honest, even if it scared Brock away.
“I wanted to be close to you.”
“You gave up a promising career.”
I shrugged. Midwives were in demand. Me quitting a job I’d had for over a year was a small blip on my resumé but not a disaster.
“It felt right.” I wouldn’t mention the imaginary bruises on my back from the family’s meddling. “And I’ve been thinking about something bigger, something I wanted to create.” This wasn’t the time to discuss work.
He was quiet for a long moment. “Do you feel it too? This thing between us?"
“Like how you react to my touch?” But I also felt better when his hand was in mine.
“Yes, that’s been true since we met, but now it’s also your scent that drives me wild.” His eyes darkened. “I can’t think straight whether you’re near or far.” He tapped his head. “You’re always in here.”
I tamped down my desire because Brock needed to talk. If I didn’t, I’d toss him on the bed and yank out my length.
"I've been telling myself we're just friends. That what I'm feeling is gratitude.” His eyes searched mine. "But it's not, is it?"
“No. What you’re experiencing, I feel it too. It’s something deeper. When you’re not here, it’s as though part of me is missing.”
He took a deep breath and let it out. “Okay, the confusion is gone, I banished it.” He narrowed his eyes and smirked.
“Good.” Wow, that one word was loaded with tension and desire, but it felt right. I mirrored his smirk as warmth radiated from him, even without us touching.
Brock came closer, and the air crackled as if prepping for a thunderstorm. His fingers brushed over my jawline, and I shivered. But his touch was tentative as he traced over my lips. I longed to lick, lap, or bite them but stood still, allowing the waves of lust to wash over me.
I needed to touch him but allowed him to take control for the moment. His smirk faded as he hooked a thumb in my belt loop and yanked me closer. His eyes locked on mine as our bodies pressed against one another. My rock-hard arousal matched his, and he ground his hips into me. I gulped and took long, slow, deep breaths to contain my longing.
"Treyton..." His voice was so deep and husky it was almost a growl.
Not trusting myself to speak, I leaned in and he did the same. Our lips brushed against one another in a feathery light touch, and I was lost in the softness of his lips plus his hardness pressing on my crotch. When Brock’s hand tangled in my hair, tremors wracked my body and the kiss deepened.
