Wild Man (Dream Man #2)(42)

He let me do this but when my head dropped back to the bed, his face moved to my neck and, still gliding slowly in and out, his hands started to roam over the silk at my sides.

I held him tight in three limbs, my hand in his thick hair sliding through repeatedly as both our heart rates slowed, our breath evened and finally he stopped stroking and stayed planted inside me.

Then, against my skin, with a gentle tug on the material at one side, he asked, “To sleep, you gotta change outta this into a normal nightie?”

I laughed softly and stopped stroking his hair to wind my arm around his shoulders.

After dinner and snickerdoodles, he took me to his bedroom where we fooled around on his bed until we were fooling around partially unclothed then we were seriously fooling around because we were totally naked. He took his time, I took mine and only at the end when it was skin against skin and breathing was so labored there were no whispered words that it got wild and energetic.

This, of course, totally blew out of the water the plan I came up with while kick-boxing but, undeterred, after we were done, when I hit his bathroom to take out my contacts and prepare for bed, I slid on the short, deep lavender nightie with slits up the sides, thick edges of delicate black lace and a pair of black lace panties all of which cost a fortune because it was pure silk and the lace was extraordinary.

In glasses and wearing what I thought was an in-joke; I walked into Brock’s bedroom only to find Brock didn’t think my nightie was funny. I knew this when his eyes hit me, his whole face got dark, the air in the room became so sweltering it felt like it was pressing against my skin and the minute I got close to the bed, he moved. Lunging toward me, his arm hooked me at the waist and he yanked me into the bed, pulled off my glasses, tossed them unheeded on the nightstand and we started up again. This time, from start to finish, it was wild and energetic, no pleasant exploration, no lazy caresses; it was hot, heavy and completely abandoned.

I answered his question with, “Actually, it’s kinda comfy.”

His head came up and he looked down at me. “Good, ‘cause I like it.”

I grinned at him and whispered, “I kinda got that.”

He grinned back then his head descended so his mouth could touch mine then it slid down my cheek to work at my neck, slow, lazy and sweet.

His h*ps moved slightly as he pulled out gently and I drew in a soft breath at the feel of it and the fact I didn’t like the loss of him then my arms gave him a squeeze as my head turned.

In his ear, I whispered, “I have to go get cleaned up.”

His head came up, his sated eyes caught mine and he whispered back, “All right, baby.”

Then his face dipped to my throat, his lips touched me there and he rolled off.

I rolled the other way, got off the bed, snatched up my panties and headed to his bathroom.

The good news was, his bathroom was clean though he could use new towels since he clearly bought his in the same year he bought his pickup and his furniture. Not to mention, the bathroom had been installed before The Brady Bunch was in reruns.

Still, it wasn’t icky which was what I decided to focus on.

I did my thing, slid on my panties and bent over the basin to look at myself in the mirror.

Hair wild, face flushed, lips swollen, ni**les still hard against the silk, I stared and for the first time in my entire life, taking in my reflection, I thought I might be a little bit of all right.

Then I grinned, turned out the light and walked back into the bedroom.

Brock was leaned across the bed and turning off the light at my side. As I joined him in it, he was turned the other way and turning off the light at his.

When he was done, he reached out to me, gathered me in his arms, pulled my front close to his, tangled his long legs with mine and his arm, slanted up my back so his hand was in my hair, pulled me deeper as he pushed my face against his chest.

I turned it so I was resting my cheek there and slid an arm around his waist.

“Thanks for dinner,” I whispered against his chest.

“Best part about it was desert,” he whispered back and I smiled.

Then I sighed.

Then I told him, “I like your family.”

His fingers tensed against my scalp before he murmured, “Good.”

It was then, keeping it real, which was the only way I knew how to do it, I shared, “Um…

just FYI, and I’ll preface this by saying this is not an act of a psycho woman invading your life but a rescue effort, I’m buying you new towels and, uh… new dishtowels as a priority one mission.”

His voice held a smile when he asked, “A rescue effort?”

“Someone needs to put yours out of their misery.”

There was a short, deep chuckle I not only heard but also felt before, “Sweetness, I got an ex who cleaned me out seven years ago, a job which means I’m rarely home and this includes me bein’ under deep cover on an assignment that lasted a year and a half, a year of that where I had zero contact with family, even my kids, and I got two boys who are at an age they don’t give a shit about anything but the fact the TV works and food is in the fridge and, considering they’re boys, they’ll probably never be at an age where they give a shit about anything but TV and food. Towels are not a priority and dishtowels are definitely not a priority.”

My head tipped back to look at his shadowed jaw in the dark room. “You didn’t see your kids or family for a year?”