There was silence. I was breathing heavily and a single tear trailed down my cheek.
Brock’s face was impassive. I didn’t know what to do, what to say. I wouldn’t be surprised if he wiped his hands of me. I’d been fucking him around for the better part of two years. I deserved it.
Suddenly he moved. He pushed himself off the doorjamb to plaster his mouth on mine. His hands were in my hair, rough and desperate. His kiss was brutal, taking no prisoners as he whirled me around, slamming me up against the wall. His hand moved to cup my breast.
“Brock,” I half moaned.
“Shut the fuck up,” he growled, pinching my nipple.
I cried out in pleasure, feeling wetness pool between my legs. “Never again are you going to let some fucked up shit in your head keep me away from what’s mine,” he snarled, hand plunging into my panties.
I restrained a scream as his finger pushed into me, flooding my body with pleasure. He bit my neck viciously.
“You know how many times I’ve jacked off thinking about you, fuckin’ furious at you but desperate for your cunt at the same time?” he muttered, his mouth still at my neck. His finger inside me stopped and his eyes met mine. “Do you know how mad I am that I haven’t been able to claim you for all this time cause of that shit?” he barked.
I stared back at him, unable to process my own emotions. His words were brutal but the hand at my pussy was soft, rubbing me in circles.
His face moved closer to mine. “Do you also know it makes me love you even more that you’re so goddamn loyal to your best friend you’d sacrifice your own happiness for hers?” He paused. “Even if the reason was bullshit.”
He shook his head before kissing me again, soft and tender this time. His hands started moving in between my legs again. “So tight, like velvet, baby. Even when you get prickly and sassy on the outside I know my girl’s always soft in here,” he murmured in my ear, kissing my earlobe.
I could feel my orgasm building, threatening to overwhelm me. “I’m going to spend every night for the rest of my life in this pussy, in my pussy. You hear that, babe?” he growled in my ear as he finger fucked me.
“Yeah,” I murmured, barely able to get one syllable out.
His finger stopped and my eyes snapped open. His blue eyes blazed into mine. This time they seared my fucking soul.
“Say it, Amy,” he demanded.
“Say what?”
“Say this pussy is mine, you’re mine. That you’re my fuckin’ old lady,” he ordered hoarsely.
“My pussy is yours, I’m yours,” I breathed out as his fingers moved slowly.
“My what?”
“Your old lady,” I continued as he rubbed my clit.
“Too fuckin right.”
His hands moved again, bringing me close to the edge before they stopped. Before I could complain he ripped my panties off me and unbuckled his belt, plunging into me, filling me. I cried out in ecstasy.
“Fuckin’ love you, Amy,” he grunted as he pounded into me, his large hand spanning my collarbone, the other biting into my ass.
“Love you,” I moaned back just before my orgasm rippled through me.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The next morning had me feeling uncharacteristically domestic, which may or may not have been due to the fact I was thoroughly fucked both last night and in the early hours of this morning. After getting all of dirty secrets regarding Ian aired I felt one hundred pounds lighter, which may be the reason I found myself blowing hair out of my face and frowning at the burnt mess that was my first pancake. I glanced at the pan, then at the picture on my Ipad.
“Shit,” I muttered.
I had left Brock sleeping upstairs and for once he didn’t wake up. I wondered if he would keep sleeping long enough for me to run to a café to get breakfast and feign I made it.
Arms around my middle made me jump.
“Morning, baby.” Stubble brushed against my check and I shivered delightfully, relaxing into Brock’s chest.
“You’re not supposed to be awake. I’m meant to be making you breakfast,” I replied, hoping he wouldn’t notice the mess in front of him.
“Well, when I woke to the smell of smoke I thought I’d better come down and investigate. Need a fire extinguisher?” he asked dryly.
“The first pancake is always a disaster,” I protested, trying to reach for the jug amongst my mess.
“I think this is more than a disaster and I fear for your safety if you have to attempt that again. Plus I fear for my stomach if I have to consume that,” he said seriously.
I turned around to face him, frowning. “I just wanted to do something nice for you and now you’re being an asshole. I’m tempted to force feed you,” I snapped, trying to maintain a scowl while his attractive face grinned down at me.
He kissed me on the head tenderly. “I appreciate the effort babe. But how about I take you out for breakfast and we can save both the house and our stomachs?”
I chewed my lip for a moment, contemplating what a disaster it would be if I attempted to salvage the ruined breakfast.
“Okay,” I conceded. “As long as you promise not to spread around what a horrible cook I am.”
Brock gathered me into his arms for a tight hug.
“Your secret’s safe with me, Sparky—although how is it you’ve been able to sustain yourself all these months?”
“Well, I mostly eat salads and healthy crap that doesn’t require many open flames, and I go out to eat when I can,” I confessed, hoping he wouldn’t be my turned off by lack of domesticity. Wait. Where did that come from? Since when did I care whether or not a man approved of my inability to perform household duties?
Brock interrupted my freak out, and he did seem angry but not for the reason I thought. “We’re going to fix that shit,” he growled.
“What? Are you going to give me cooking lessons, Jamie Oliver?” I asked sarcastically.