Chapter Sixty-Seven
Miranda
I was somehow aware of nothing—and everything—all at once.
The classical music gently carrying through the building. The way my heart was thumping against my ribcage. My breathing that went faster and more shallow as my chest seemed to get tighter and tighter with each passing second.
The strong legs under my thighs and ass.
The big hand still in mine.
The way his dark eyes were heavy-lidded and heated as I finally forced my gaze to find and hold his.
“All I could think of all night,” he said, his hand releasing mine so his fingers could glide up my arm instead, “was this. Getting you alone. Getting you to really look at me.”
“I’ve been looking at you,” I insisted.
“Not like this,” he said as his fingertips teased the crook of my elbow, making an unexpected shiver course through me.
“Yeah, like that,” he said, voice going a bit deeper as I felt myself relaxing deeper into him even as his hand teased across my belly then up, his forearm brushing my breast as he continued his path upward.
Over my arm.
My shoulder.
Up the column of my neck.
His thumb traced my jaw from my ear to my chin.
Then up.
Sliding across my lower lip.
They parted like an invitation.
One he was all too pleased to receive.
One moment, he was sitting back and watching himself explore.
The next, my head was against the armrest and his body was half folded over mine.
I got one moment to enjoy the heat in his eyes before his lips were suddenly on mine.
Hard.
Hungry.
I swear every inch of me ignited at the contact.
The heat scorched through me, leaving ashes and ruins in its wake as my lips started to respond to his. Taking, giving, yet always demanding more.
Brock’s responded to the call, deepening the kiss, nipping my lower lip, tracing the seam with his tongue, then moving inside to claim mine.
A low, throaty moan escaped me then as need hummed through my system, making me feel overly sensitive.
Suddenly, my dress felt like it was suffocating me, and the material felt like it scraped across my skin.
Brock’s lips ripped from mine, tracing a path over my jaw, teasing the shell of my ear, then sliding down my neck.
Turning my head, I gave him more access as I let myself fully submerge in that moment, in the sensation of his lips, the feel of his warm breath on my skin.
His tongue circled the pulse point in my throat before moving down, running kisses over my collarbone, then down between my breasts.
The dress was tight, impossible to slide down, so his face just rested there for a moment before he was moving downward.
Sitting back on his heels, his hands went to my skirt, sliding it up my legs, then thighs, having to tug a bit to get the tight material up over my hips, where he left it.
His hungry gaze slid over my thighs, then the swatch of barely-there lace panties between.
His hand flattened, sliding up my calf, back of my knee, then up my thigh to slip inward, grab the material, and start pulling it down.
Thoughts proved impossible right then.
All that existed was the moment, the way he was focusing on me, the sensations coursing through me.
Panties gone, my thighs pressed together until Brock’s hands were moving up my legs once again, gently putting pressure on my knees until they parted for him.
He let out a little sighing sound at the move as he bent forward, pressing a kiss to the side of my knee, then the other, before his lips were moving up the inside of my thigh, getting closer and closer to where I needed him most, where the need was so acute it was almost painful.
Then, just when I was sure that I couldn’t take the sweet torment for a moment longer, his face was between my thighs, his tongue was sliding up my cleft, then teasing across my clit.
My whole body jolted at the contact before a shiver coursed through me and a low whimper escaped my lips.
Against me, Brock let out a groaning sound as he kept working me, as he started to drive me upward.
His hands massaged my thighs, then guided my legs over his shoulders.
My hips rocked restlessly against him as my back arched off the couch.
Brock’s hand slid between us, his fingers teasing at the entrance of my body, fingers tapping for a long moment before finally sliding inside of me.
His tongue circled and his fingers thrust, then turned, and curled to tease over my top wall as my muted whimpers became moans. My fingers tangled in his soft hair, holding him to me as he pushed me right to that edge, then tossed me over, leaving me to crash down into the orgasm.
My body was still shaking from the release when he was pulling away, kissing back down my thigh, then lifting up and coming over me.
“You taste so fucking good,” he murmured before his lips claimed mine again.
I should have felt sated.
But there was renewed desire quickly flickering from flame to fire.
My greedy hands were grabbing at his jacket, shoving it down his shoulders, and tossing it to the floor.
“We can stop,” he murmured against my lips.”
“No, we can’t,” I objected as my fingers went to his bowtie, and then the buttons of his shirt, pulling that off, and tossing it into the growing pile on the floor as well.
His cock was straining against his pants, pressing into my hip, promising perfect fullness, and relief from the clawing need within me once again.
I tried to fuss with his belt, but it stubbornly refused to budge.
“Brock, please,” I begged.
He shifted his weight backward and off of me, balancing on his knees as he looked down at me.
“God, you’re fucking beautiful,” he said as his gaze moved over me.
My heart felt like it swelled in my chest at those words.
But the need for him was stronger than wanting to bask in the admiration in his eyes right about then.
My hands went to his belt once again, yanking at it, a move that got a small, sexy little chuckle out of Brock as he took my hands and slid them to his thighs so that he could work the frustrating belt loose, then pulling it off and tossing it to the ground.
My hands moved back upward, working his button and zipper free, then sliding his pants down his hips.
My fingers moved across the front of his boxer briefs, teasing the thick length of his cock.
His gaze was molten as I pulled down his boxer briefs, exposing him, then closing my hand around him.
A shudder coursed through him at the sensation.
But then he was reaching back for the wallet in his pocket, pulling out a condom foil, and tossing his wallet aside.
I stroked him for just another moment before letting my hands fall away, so he could slide on the protection.
Once he was done, my hands moved up his sides to grab his arms, pulling until he folded forward and pressed down onto me.
His cock settled against my cleft, making me shift my hips until the underside of him was flat against me, allowing me to grind against his hardness to ease some of the frustrated ache inside of me as his lips took mine once again.
It started slow and sweet before his lips got harder and more demanding as we writhed against each other.
He pulled back to look at me as the head of his cock pressed against me, then slid inside with one smooth, deep stroke as he buried to the hilt, filling me completely.
My legs rose to his sides as my hips writhed against him and my walls tightened around him.
“Fuck,” he hissed, closing his eyes for a second, looking for some control. “Haven’t been able to stop thinking about this,” he added, lips pecking mine lightly a few times. “Better than I could have imagined,” he added as his hips started to rock in and out of me.
The intensity in his eyes as we moved together made me almost immediately emotional. Folding up, I tried to hide my face in his neck.
“I want to look at you when I’m inside of you,” he objected, pulling back, and sliding an arm around my waist, then shifting our positions, so I was straddling him.
“So fucking beautiful,” he hissed as his hands brushed my hair off my neck so he could lean forward and press a kiss at the space where my neck met my shoulder.
“Ride me, baby,” he groaned, voice tight with his own need for release.
Somehow, his need only spurred on mine, and my hips started to move.
Slowly at first, then faster and faster as we drove each other higher and higher.
One of Brock’s hands settled at the side of my neck. The other slid between my thighs, engaging my clit as I continued to ride him.
My whimpers grew to ragged moans.
Brock’s hisses and indrawn breaths became low groans and words of praise as we drove toward that edge.
“You feel so fucking good,” he hissed as his hips started to rock up into me as I rode him. “You look so fucking gorgeous when you’re taking my cock,” he said, his fingers sinking into my ass, urging me to move faster.
No one had ever talked to me in bed, and certainly never with praise. Somehow, the words were just the push my body needed.
My hips rocked.
His thrust.
And the orgasm slammed through me, stealing my breath along with all the damn strength in my body, leaving me falling into his chest as the waves just kept crashing over and over.
“Fuck, baby,” Brock hissed, driving up into me through my orgasm, then yanking my hips down on him to take him deep as he found his own.
I don’t know how long we stayed like that, clinging to each other, trying to even out our breathing and bring some order to the chaos in our bodies and minds.
It wasn’t until I heard applause from somewhere in the building that I seemed to snap out of it and back into my right mind.
“Shit,” I hissed, sliding off of his lap, then climbing off of the couch.
“Baby…” Brock tried, reaching toward me.
“I, ah, I have to go, uhm, freshen up,” I said, yanking my skirt down, then rushing out of the door, leaving him all but naked as I rushed through the building, trying to find my way back to the bathrooms.
“You okay?” a voice asked as I rushed in.
There she was, a pretty blonde that I knew by association, though not personally.
Elsie.