Wild Man (Dream Man #2)(73)

I went there; he opened his thighs and reached out to me when I got close. He pulled me between his legs, deep into him, one arm tight around me, one hand cupping my head and pressing my cheek against his chest. I wrapped my arms around his waist and held on.

He dipped his head so his lips were at the top of my hair and whispered, “I love you, my sweet Tess.”

I soft sob hitched in my throat; I held on tighter and pressed deeper.

“Jesus, my girl, so f**kin’ sweet,” he murmured against my hair.

Another hitch then I tilted my head back, his came up and I pulled an arm from around him, lifted it, curled my hand around his neck and pulled his mouth down to mine.

Then I kissed him as hard as I could trying to show him how much his words meant to me.

I was guessing this worked when he tore his lips from mine and muttered, “Maybe I don’t love you. Maybe I just love your mouth.”

I grinned up at him.

“And your cunt,” he went on.

My grin got bigger.

“And your cupcakes,” he added.

I started giggling and he smiled.

Then he whispered, “No, it’s just you.”

I stopped giggling, stared into his quicksilver eyes and then dipped my chin and did another face plant in his chest.

He held me close, arm around me, hand at my head becoming fingers sifting through my hair.

After awhile, I sighed, lifted a hand to my face, swiped away the wet and muttered, “Let me go, baby, I gotta feed my man.”

His hand stopped sifting through my hair and both arms wrapped around me tight.

Then he let me go.

Then I moved away and got down to the business of feeding my man.

* * * * *

I sucked back the dregs of the hot cocoa then moved on my hands and knees across the floor, dragging boxes with me to arrange the newly wrapped presents under the tree. Then I cleaned up paper scraps, put away scissors and tape, bunched up and folded bags and tucked them away and stowed the rolls of Christmas wrap, ribbons and bows in the hall closet.

Through this, Brock lay on his back on the couch, head to a pile of toss pillows, one hand behind his head, one resting on his abs, eyes on a game on television.

I approached the back of the couch, put my ass to it, turned, whipped my legs over while straightening and rolling and, at the last minute, announced, “Incoming,” then I dropped full body on his.

He grunted and his body jerked on impact then his arms wrapped around me.

“Jesus, babe,” he muttered, humor in his tone, that sweet hum filling the air.

I slid off, my back to the couch, my front pressed to his side; I rested a cheek to his chest, arm around his abs and settled in.

Brock moved a hand back to his abs but his other arm stayed curved around my waist, hand at my hip.

I watched football I didn’t give a shit about but I did it contentedly because it was late, I was tired, my mind needed to shut down and the beautiful man who loved me that I loved back was stretched out beside me.

At a commercial, I heard and felt Brock rumble, “What’d you get ‘em?”

Hmm. Apparently the game took all his attention considering the fact that I spent the last forty-five minutes on the floor right in front of him wrapping presents that I did not in any way try to hide.

“Nerf stuff,” I answered.

“Nerf stuff?” he asked.

“When you were out running before we went to look at trucks that last Sunday you had them, I asked them to write a letter to Santa and they did,” I informed him.

“Babe, hate to break this to you but they’re ten and twelve. They know there’s no Santa Claus.”

I lifted my head and looked down at him. “Yeah, I know. But they aren’t stupid. They humored me because they also know I have a credit card.”

Brock’s body shook slightly and pleasantly against mine with his chuckle and I smiled at him.

Then I settled back in.

“What do you usually do for your nieces and nephews?” I asked the TV screen.

“I give their Moms fifty dollars for each kid and they put my name on a card.”

My head jerked up as my eyes shot to him.

Then I asked a horrified, “What?”

“You think fifty dollars is too much?” he asked back.

“No, I think their uncle should buy them presents that he’s put some thought into.”

“Darlin’, the last time I walked into a mall was two presidents ago.”

I stared at him in shock.

Then I asked, “Is that even possible?”

“I got a dick and I was single so, yeah, it’s possible.”

“So, how do you buy the boys presents?”

“Four options, give a wad of cash to Mom, Jill, Laura or all three.”

I stared again.

Then I asked, “Where do you buy clothes?”

“I don’t. I got a Mom and two sisters. I get them for Christmas and my birthday.”

“T-shirts?”

“I don’t get my tees at a mall, Tess. No decent tee can be bought at a f**kin’ mall. A good tee is bought during an experience.”

I had to admit, this was true. When I went the way of tee and jeans just months ago, I’d done copious research with Brock’s tees as my guide and I’d found no tee in any store that was even close to the cool tees he owned.