He stared at her. With her feet pulled up and her legs bare, she looked more like the kid he’d rescued in that parking lot six months ago. He shook his head. “I don’t want you to ever be sorry you knew me.”
“What if I end up being sorry that I never did know you?”
He glanced at her, his heart thudding. He couldn’t have heard her right.
She wet her lips. “Maybe we need to stop acting, Brock. Do you know I dream about that night sometimes? Only, in my dreams, you don’t take me to Slade. You take me back to your room. I dream about you touching me…about your hand between my legs. I get myself off, but it’s you touching me. Did you know that?”
He gave a groan, but he didn’t move away from her. He couldn’t. He’d had the same dreams—erotic fantasies about her and him in a dingy motel room. He’d wanted to strip her naked that night, and he still wanted it. Well, they were adults. She knew what she was doing. With his stare locked on hers, he asked, “W
ant some company tonight?”
“Are you going to regret this, Brock? ‘Cause I’m not going to. Not ever. But if you think this is something you can’t handle—”
Leaning forward, he shut her up with a kiss.
***
Keira didn’t need any other answer from him. It felt wonderful to have his mouth on hers, his lips hot and wet. His arms came around her and she gave a soft whimper. She didn’t want to break whatever spell had them both entranced.
He pulled back to rip off his shirt. She traced a path up his neck and along his jaw line with her lips. He turned his head and came back to her. She put her hands on his skin—and traced the small lines of a white scar.
Pressing her back, he pushed a hand up under her dress. She wiggled until she was lying down. The folder she’d been looking at crinkled. She grabbed it, stuffed it under the pillow. “You’re wearing too much,” she told him.
“You’re one to talk,” he said, his voice a rumble.
He pushed away from her, yanked off his pants. She slipped out of her dress and underwear. He came back to her, naked, his body hard and bronzed. She spread her legs for him. She was wet already, she knew. Wet and aching. She could smell her arousal and she could see his.
He joined her on the bed, caging her with his body and then dropping his head to take her lips in another kiss. He shifted his mouth to her breast. She gasped, and said, “No second thoughts?”
Lifting his head, he smiled. “Seconds and thirds.” His voice had deepened and it set her insides vibrating. She’d always loved how authoritative his voice could sound, and tonight was no different.
She brushed a hand through his hair—it felt like silk. “I like it longer.” Looking into his face, she saw the raw desire kindle in his eyes. Her stomach flipped.
Brock turned so that she straddled him. “What are you thinking so hard about?” He ran the back of his fingers down the line of her throat to her breasts. He didn’t stop there, but kept going, brushing his fingers over the slight curve of her stomach and beyond.
Keira asked on a moan as she arched into his touch, “What happens in the morning?”
“We wake up and do our job. Tonight—tonight, I want you. And I can’t walk away, Keira. Not even if this burns us.”
“Oh, I’m burning. Shut up and put out the fire, Brock.”
She dug her fingers into the sculpted muscles of his back. He closed his eyes and moaned. Pushing herself up, she held herself over him.
He caught her hips. “How long has it been for you?”
Keira knew exactly what he was asking and didn’t pretend to misunderstand. She shrugged. “Way too long. But you’re not just anyone, Brock. I’m on the pill and I’m clean.”
“I don’t want to hurt you; I never want to hurt you.”
“Sometimes you can’t help it,” Keira said and lowered herself onto him. She leaned forward, her hair draping around them. Their scent mixed—his musky aroma, her arousal, and the scent of lavender from the sheets. She captured his lips in a kiss. Soft lips, she thought, hard muscles. He was so hard—so big. He filled her up, stretched her.
Raising her hips, she moved backwards to feel his hardness brush against her. She groaned as pleasure swamped her. He steadied her hips. Opening her eyes, she plunged down on him again.
Brock spread his arms wide. “Do what you will with me.”
“Oh, I plan to, sailor.” She set up a rocking motion. Head thrown back, she closed her eyes. His hips started to buck under her. Sweat slicked her skin, dripped down her spine. He lifted his head and grabbed her hips. Flipping them over, he pressed her into the mattress. She wrapped her legs around his waist. He set up a pounding rhythm, and she opened to him, pleading with him to go faster and harder.
The world heated. There was only her and Brock and the pressure building inside. She wanted more of him. She grabbed his ass, raked her nails over his skin. He gave a soft grunt, lifted up, and pushed even deeper. She screamed his name and felt the heat pulsing into her as he spilled into her, his hips jerking, pushing her down. His heated breath brushed her face. His sweat-slicked skin slid over hers.