Page 22 of Her Second Chance

“You mean compared to a ghost you are.”

I clutch my invisible pearls and gasp. “How dare you,” I tease.

“Relax. I like it.”

I know they shouldn’t, but his words bring a smile to my face. “Shut up and watch the show.”

* * *

Engulfed in warmth, I blink my eyes open to find my hands gripping the gray material beneath me. Under it is hard muscle. I drag my eyes up his chest to his face, finding Brock asleep with his mouth slightly parted. I reach up and move the hair that’s fallen across his face to the side so I can look at him without impediment. He really is beautiful. It’s no wonder he was named Sexiest Man Alive. He deserves the moniker.

I move my hips, feeling something long and hard against my inner thigh. I wiggle more, and it continues to grow. Holy shit. Is that real?

Brock's eyes pop open, and he grips my hips, stopping me from moving. A grin breaks out on his face. “Are you dry humping me while I sleep?”

Embarrassment fills me as my eyes widen, forcing my eyebrows up. I pull away, making things worse. “What? No!” Now, I’m sitting directly on his erection. Fuck me. This dude is something else.

He chuckles. “Relax. I’m just teasing.” He turns his head to read the time on the clock of his DVD player.

4:00. I gasp. “Oh, crap. I was supposed to meet Jason.” I try to move off Brock, but he keeps me in place.

“It’s too late now.” He tugs me so the top half of my body rests on his while I continue to straddle him. This makes his hard cock hit me in the right spot, causing my nipples to harden.

I curl my back, hoping to keep the evidence of my arousal hidden. “I should go.” We both know there’s no force behind the words. I want to stay, and it’s obvious.

He yawns so big, his jaw cracks. He pulls me tighter against his chest. “Sleep. You can’t walk home alone when it’s this dark, and I’m too tired to trek across campus. I’ll take you home in the morning.”

“I shouldn’t sleep here.” Again, there’s zero fight in my words. Being in Brock’s arms is the only place I want to be.

He sighs, relinquishing his tight hold, allowing me to sit up again. “Take my bed. I’ll sleep here.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re too big to sleep here. Your legs are hanging off the end of the loveseat. That can’t be comfortable.”

He stands with me in his arms, then turns and places me back on the small sofa. He grabs the blanket over the back of the loveseat and covers me. “There. You stay here, and I’ll sleep in the bed.”

I snuggle into the spot he just vacated, enjoying the warmth. “Thank you.”

He kisses my forehead, tracing the back of his knuckles down the side of my face, an action that feels familiar. “Gotta take care of my future wife.”

“You mean Jason’s future wife? You’re going to marry a supermodel.”

He caresses my cheek. “I’m pretty sure I’d rather have a doll than a model.” Before I can respond, he places his finger to my lips. “Good night.”

“Night.”

He stands to his full height, and I can’t help but gasp when I notice the bulge not even two feet away from my face. How am I supposed to sleep with that in the room? Brock doesn’t seem to realize just the sight of his cock under his pants has my pussy leaking. I hope I don’t flood this dorm room.

He goes to bed, leaving me restless on the sofa with an ache at my core. Before long, the soft puffs of breath coming from behind the loveseat tell me he’s already asleep. Me, on the other hand, I feel like a live wire has touched me. Every inch of me is wide awake and thinking about Brock’s hard cock.

I sit up and look over the back of his sofa, making sure he’s asleep. Once I’m sure I won’t get caught, I slip my hand under the blanket, rubbing circles over my shorts. My nipples pebble as goosebumps rise across my skin.

It’s been a while since I manually stimulated myself. Sex toys and Hunter managed to keep me aroused enough. I forgot how good it feels to come alive under my own touch.

I rock my hips, moving my hand inside my panties. I gasp when my fingers brush my clit. Holy fuck. Images of Brock from his spread in last month’s Sport’s Quarterly where he was photographed wearing shoulder pads and covered only by a football dance beneath my eyelids. Those visions mixed with his smile when he teased me earlier this evening have me panting. I try to keep quiet, but my moans echo in the room.

“Brock,” I moan. My orgasm has me clenching my thighs and gritting my teeth. I bite my tongue so I don’t scream, but my gasp fills the silent room.

My breathing slows, and I pull my hand out of my panties. Now I’m ready to sleep.

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