Wild Man (Dream Man #2)(64)

My last thought before drifting back to sleep was that Thanksgiving, as with anything with Brock’s family, was interesting, to say the least.

But Thanksgiving night with just Brock and me was fabulous.

The best Thanksgiving night I ever had.

Ever.

Chapter Thirteen

Errol Fucking Flynn

One arm wrapped around my back, one hand on my ass, Brock surged out then back inside me and I stifled my moan against his neck as my fingers fisted in his hair and the nails of my other hand dragged down his back.

He growled in my ear because my man liked my nails on his back and then he surged out and thrust in again.

And again.

And again.

I lifted my head and yanked his up by his hair, maneuvering his mouth to mine; I kissed him hard as he pounded inside.

Then my nails dug in his back and my legs spasmed around his h*ps as my head jerked back and I whimpered, “Oh my God, honey, I’m gonna –”

I didn’t finish, my eyes closed, my head fell back, he drove in faster and harder and I gasped and held him tight to me as I came.

“Eyes,” he growled and my eyes fluttered open and focused hazily on him. “I want your eyes when I come,” he ordered.

“Okay, baby,” I whispered and held his eyes, held him tense in three limbs as one hand roamed, gliding across his skin, up his back, around his side, my thumb rubbing his nipple hard then down his chest, his abs until it was at our wet connection and I was feeling him taking me from outside as well as in. “God, that’s beautiful.”

“Tess,” he groaned.

I touched my lips to his, held his eyes and whispered, “Fucking beautiful, baby.”

He slanted his head, took my mouth and planted his cock, his grunt of release driving down my throat.

Yeah. Beautiful.

Since his mouth was on mine, when he recovered, he started gliding in and out as he kissed me, deep but soft and sweet and I wrapped him tight and kissed him back.

Then his mouth released mine, he buried himself to the root as his lips glided down my cheek to my ear, his arms curved around me squeezed and he whispered in my ear as his h*ps pushed deep, “Sweetest f**kin’ cunt I ever had.”

I shivered in his arms.

Then he pulled out and pulled me off the vanity in his bathroom where he’d walked in when he heard me turn off the faucet after I brushed my teeth, closed the door and instigated operation maximum physical contact in the only room in the house (possibly and hopefully) his sons couldn’t hear us having sex. Thus, me ending up with my ass to the vanity, my arms and legs wrapped around Brock and my first-ever orgasm in a bathroom.

It was sublime.

But when he dropped me to my feet, he surprised me when he stayed close and turned me to facing the mirror then he pressed forward and fenced me in against the vanity, his hands moving slowly around my ribs, my belly, crossing over to go down to my hips. My surprised eyes went to the mirror and I saw his were already there following the trail of his hands. Then I saw my hair was a mess, my cheeks pink, my eyes still hazy and his hands were still moving over the amethyst-colored, simple, short silk nightie (another Neiman’s purchase, not the splurge of the first I got at Nordstrom’s, but also not cheap either) he’d f**ked me in.

I could tell looking at his face he liked it.

Actually, I already knew this considering I could tell by his face (and actions) last night when he first saw it that he liked it.

Suffice it to say we’d broken the seal on ha**ng s*x with his sons in the house. Last night, it was late, the boys definitely asleep but Brock still took care to muffle my noises with his mouth and his own with mine or my neck.

This morning, the bathroom.

“How many cupcakes you gotta sell to give me this, darlin’?” he asked and my eyes shifted from his hands moving on me to his in the mirror.

“Less than the extravaganza I treated you to that first night at your apartment, more than the cotton candy eyelet one,” I answered.

He grinned at me. “Cotton candy eyelet one?”

“The one I wore our first night together.”

“The pink one?”

He remembered.

Damn.

He remembered.

“Cotton candy,” I corrected softly.

His grin became a smile and for some reason that smile settled in my belly.

He thought I was funny. He thought I was beautiful. He got close anytime I was near. He wanted to stand between me and roaring lions. He wanted to help me battle my ghosts. He had two fantastic sons, a screwy but loving family, a great body, an affectionate manner and he remembered the color of the nightie I wore our first night together in my bed.

I stared into his smiling, warm, quicksilver eyes in the mirror but I wasn’t smiling.

I was searching.

But it was gone.

“It’s gone,” I whispered, his smile faded and his brows drew together as his arms convulsed tight around me in reaction to my tone.

“What’s gone, baby?”

“That poisonous thing in my belly.”

I felt his body still against mine as his eyes locked on mine in the mirror. Then I was turned from the mirror and lifted up. Automatically, my limbs wrapped around him as he walked us out of the bathroom, into the bedroom and then he put a knee to the bed, twisted and I had my head in the pillows and my man on me.

He didn’t say a word but his eyes searched my face and I let them.