Chapter 8 #2
She gasped as she careened closer to an orgasm. Comparing herself to one of his cars didn’t bother her. Not when she saw the care he took of them. In her family, they were a means to money, the interest in them as a work of art long gone.
But with Brock, she was a work of art. When they were together like this, it was in his expression. He was fascinated by her body.
Larger chunks of hail hit the window. He tensed even as his pelvis tilted in rhythm to her riding him. She hugged his head into her chest with so much force, he bit into her sensitive skin.
She cried out, but not in pain. It was like he swelled inside of her when she was already so full with him, yet she wanted as much as he could give.
They were both close, but he released her breast and leaned back.
He panted with the exertion, his lips parted.
His lids were hooded, his cheeks flushed with arousal and his hair mussed.
Those blue eyes of his were glued to where they were connected and he cupped her sex.
Just the touch of his calloused fingertip on her swollen clit pushed her over the peak.
She threw her head back to call out her ecstasy. Brock’s shouts of coming mingled with hers.
Her body milked him as she shook, her breasts bouncing in front of his face. His rough hand left her center and he cupped her breasts as he rocked with his release.
Slumping over him, she had nothing else to give. He’d dominated her. He skimmed his hands around her back and hugged her close. They’d made their own cocoon of peace while the storm raged.
Behind her closed lids, flares of light brightened the room. A few seconds later, more thunder rolled through.
The worst of the storm seemed like it was over. The hail was done, but it was still raining and the sounds of dirt and debris getting thrown around filled the night.
Tension was creeping back into Brock’s shoulders where her hands rested.
“Do you need to go out and check the damage?” she whispered.
“Not until it clears up, then it’ll be dark any way. I want to stay here, with you.”
That was exactly what she wanted. She traced her fingers down his rounded biceps. “Do you have any ideas of what we could do?”
Brock lay with a hand across his chest, his features softened in sleep.
Josie stayed curled under his arm. The floor could’ve been more uncomfortable, but the softness of the carpet made it bearable. She’d been so exhausted, she hadn’t cared when she’d finally passed out.
Flickers of candlelight danced over the walls and the furniture.
The curtains were still drawn, but daylight filtered in around them.
After their round on the loveseat, he’d spread her out on the carpet and played with her body for another round.
He’d dug out blankets and covered them when she’d been too boneless to freaking move.
Before he’d dropped down next to her, he’d lit two of the biggest candles, ones that could burn for hours while they slept.
Since he’d still been jerky with the rain and thunder, she doubted it was a romantic gesture, more like he needed the candles to soothe himself. Their soft glow contradicted the wind outside, giving the room a feel of safety.
He’d gradually relaxed as the scent of lavender vanilla grew stronger and the effects of the lightning were muted against the candles.
She learned so much about him without him saying word.
Or was it the other way around? He told her so much about himself, allowing a glimpse into how he worked. Did he even realize he was doing it?
His eyes slitted open.
“Morning,” she purred.
“Morning.” He half-smiled before a grim expression took over and he sat up.
He pushed himself up and it was her turn to ogle. His strong body bunched and flexed as he gathered his clothing. She was content to watch until he walked out of the room and up the stairs.
Josie looked around the empty room. Well, that was abrupt.
With a sigh, she rose, folded the blankets and gathered her own clothing. She shrugged into the same top and shorts until she could clean up and put on fresh clothes. Water kicked on in the house. Brock was taking a shower upstairs.
If he’d had any other expression on his face when he left, she might’ve been more offended. But how he’d acted during the storm and mentioning their crops, he must have a lot on his mind.
Really, it should bother her. But his behavior didn’t. She didn’t take it personally and it was refreshing to be given space. He understood she didn’t need her hand held through life. She’d never been a needy girlfriend and had resented being treated like one.
By the time she reached the upstairs, the water switched off.
As she was looking for a room to set her stuff in, or wait for her turn, he came out of the bathroom with a towel slung low on his hips.
His black hair was slicked back, leaving his eyes clear to register his surprise at her hanging out in the doorway to the bedroom.
“I…” She licked her lips because in the light of day, Brock with no clothes was positively delectable. “I was wondering where I could put my backpack, but if the bathroom’s open…”
Had he expected her to take off? To wait downstairs? She’d ask, but that seemed more awkward.
He gestured to the bathroom. “I’m done. Just need to grab a bite before I go out and see what damage was done to the buildings.
The guys are meeting me to inspect the fields.
” He paused, looking past her into the bedroom but not focused on anything.
His brow crinkled as he seemed to come to a decision. “Are you hungry?”
“Do you want me to stay for breakfast?” she asked cautiously. Why was he acting…odder than usual?
“Yes.” His quick answer lifted the weight off her chest.
“Are you sure?” she prompted with a smile.
He scowled. “Yes.”
Her smile faded. “Is everything okay?”
“No. Before I meet my cousins I have to check the chickens, and go look at the siding, make sure none of the windows are cracked, then there’s the trees—”
“You’re worried.”
His mouth snapped shut and he nodded. “Yeah, I’m worried.”
He said it like he was relieved she had identified what he was feeling, as if he couldn’t do it himself.
What had she read when she’d Googled Mason’s diagnosis?
Something with emotions… She’d have to look again; she couldn’t ask.
How do you come out and say, Hey, has anyone diagnosed you with anything?
“Okay. I’ll shower while you get breakfast ready. Do you mind if I go around with you to look at everything?” She glanced at the clock on his living room wall. “At least until I can go visit Jesse before I leave town.”
His cousins probably didn’t want her along when they checked their fields, although she was curious about what the aftermath looked like.
“That’s fine.” He shifted out of the way so she could use the bathroom. As she passed, she meant to give him a demure smile because last night was the most amazing night ever, but his gaze wasn’t on her. Like it hadn’t been most of the morning. Was his reaction all nerves, or something else?
She went through her routine in the strange bathroom, but surrounded by his stuff, it felt right.
His bathroom was only slightly larger than the one in her old house, but it was comfortable.
Earth tones with soft lights cast a peaceful atmosphere—for a bathroom, but there was track lighting she could use above the mirror if she wanted.
He seemed to have a thing for neutral colors and soft materials. His towels were as plush as the carpeting, definitely more expensive than the ones she’d bought on clearance.
Colors. Sounds. Wasn’t that common for someone on the autism spectrum?
But engines didn’t bother him. Was it because they were predictable?
Or because they didn’t herald possible income loss and property damage like a storm?
Maybe both. Looking her in the eyes seemed to be an issue.
It wasn’t like he avoided it, he just…didn’t always look at her.
She was curious to see how he acted in a crowd, or when making small talk.
He tended to be on the literal side and didn’t read the subtleties of speech too well.
When she got home, she was going to have a heyday on “Dr. Google” trying to figure out Brock Walker.
If she just asked him, would he tell her?
What if she asked him and he had no idea what she was talking about? Insulting.
Feeling much better after cleaning up and donning new clothes, she twisted her hair into double ponytails. It was too short to pull back into one. She hefted her pack and walked out.
“What smells so good?” She wandered into the kitchen.
Brock, back in another black T-shirt and blue jeans, was at the stove, pushing food around. “Eggs and sausage.”
“Is that like a farm-standard breakfast?” She dropped her pack and settled on a barstool. Her stomach rumbled. She grabbed a banana from the middle of the island.
“I have it every morning.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
Munching on her banana, she adjusted in her seat, attacked by a sudden case of self-consciousness. Sleeping over with Brock hadn’t entered her mind when she’d packed, so she wore an old blue college T-shirt and black basketball shorts. And her only shoes were the sandals down by the door.
Glamorous.
Brock switched the stove off and separated the food onto two plates that already had tomato slices on them.
“Homegrown?” she asked.
“The eggs and tomatoes, yes.”
She smiled at him when he pushed the plate in front of her, but he wasn’t looking. Oh, okay. She dug into her eggs, but she curled in on herself. What was it with this bout of insecurity? Maybe Brock was fine about what happened last night and it was her.
They ate in silence. He was a fast eater and was up and washing dishes before half her food was gone.
She finished chewing her mouthful and pushed another forkful around. “You’re welcome to sit with me until I’m done.”
“I have to get outside and check out the damage.”
Her shoulders slumped a little more. “Oh. Okay.”
Had she expected him to change after a few rounds of spectacular sex? What if he couldn’t change?
Setting her fork down, she summoned any knowledge she gained from an hour of web searching. Determined to get to the bottom of his behavior, she asked, “Do you like me?”
That earned her another surprised look as his brows popped up. “Yeah, of course I do.” His tone bordered on incredulous.
“So last night wasn’t just because of the storm?”
“Why would the storm have anything to do with it? I like you, Josie.”
He didn’t drop eye contact and she was afraid to blink and break it.
He opened his mouth to say something, but shut it.
She waited and after a few heartbeats, he finally spoke.
“When you want something, you need to tell me. I’m not good at taking hints.
If you want to know something, you need to ask.
I’m not good at guessing.” He shoved his hand through his hair and dropped his gaze to the counter.
“I’m not good at saying what I should when I should. Or not saying what I shouldn’t.”
The muscle in his jaw flexed. Did it bother him that he might be upsetting her? Unable to come and ask about her suspicions, she took another route.
“Do girls usually get mad at you and think you’re an insensitive jerk?”
The muscle flexed again. “Yes.”
“Well, I don’t and they were stupid.” She got up and went around the island. The subject was dropped—for now. She had a better understanding of him. “Thank you for letting me know what I need to do and I’ll try not to act like a nag.”
His voice dropped low. “You’re not a nag. I like you, Josie. I…liked last night.”
Just like that, her core began to tingle and she rose to her tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “Want to do it again?”