Chapter 7
ADAM
I fell through the air, no chute in sight. I twisted and tumbled as I plunged toward the ground belly first. Arms and legs were akimbo, flailing crazily.
It was so weird. I wasn’t the least bit frantic or worried.
I wasn’t scared at all. That had to be the strangest thing because I was always scared when jumping.
Considering the number of times we jumped out of planes, you’d think I’d have gotten over it, but nah, dog, jumping out of a goddamned plane was scary as fuck.
But not this time.
The ground was coming closer and closer. I flipped in the air again, staring up into the inky abyss. Yet still, I remained calm.
The air rushing past my ears sped up. The sound got louder. The ground approached.
I fell faster and faster and faster.
My eyes flew open just as I “hit” the ground.
“AHH!” I gasped, flying upright. My head smacked something.
My breaths came hard and fast. My heart pounded. I pushed myself back to lean against the metal wall behind me, trying my damnedest to quit breathing like I’d just run ten miles in under an hour in the Afghan heat.
Or like a kid who just watched their first scary movie.
After a few minutes, I realized the dream wasn’t what had me wigging out.
It was a couple of different things. It was the fact I didn’t remember being moved back inside the box from the torture chamber, but mostly, it was that sunny winter day nearly five years ago when life took an unexpected turn.
It was the reminder of the time Brock had been the one falling through the air chuteless.
That was one of the worst days and one of the best.
WINTER 2004
He nearly fucking died. It was fucking scary as hell. The training op included a HALO jump, and Brock’s primary didn’t open. It happened. What we did was dangerous, so training was too. So yeah, it fucking happened. To all of us.
Hell, this wasn’t even the first time Brock’s primary had failed, but this time, it was different for me as his teammate.
As I watched him plummet to earth, I got sick.
Physically sick. I lost my cookies, yakking right there in the middle of the team as we all stood watching our brother’s life flash before our eyes.
Unlike the others, the possibilities of all the things that had plagued me since that night with Carly also flashed through my mind.
As soon as Brock got his backup open and touched down—a.k.a.
smacked the fucking ground hard enough to knock him fucking cold—the realization of all the shit I’d been feeling for the last six to eight months finally hit me.
Along with all the crazy mixed-up feelings from when Brock had kissed me and called me gorgeous a few months ago.
When we returned to the apartment, I was still losing my shit. I bitched about the parachute packer. I bitched about the pilots and all sorts of other shit. All the while, Brock remained silent. He never made a fucking sound.
And it pissed me the fuck off.
“How are you just fucking sitting there? You nearly fucking died!” I yelled at him as I paced the living room.
Brock was making himself a sandwich in the kitchen. He glanced at me, confused.
“Yeah, I did. It isn’t the first time one of us has almost died, Adam. It won’t be the last.”
He walked past me, chomping away on that fucking sandwich like he hadn’t just almost left me alone in this world.
That was the final fucking straw. I fucking lost it.
I smacked the sandwich and beer out of his hands and shoved him against the wall, cracking the drywall and leaving a Brock-sized dent behind.
As soon as Brock’s back hit the wall, his face transformed in an instant. The nonchalance and the calm that were so foreign to him disintegrated as passion and lust took their place. Before I could process the change entirely, he grabbed me and pulled me against him. His mouth crashed into mine.
Shock forced a gasp from me like I was a teenage girl. Brock pushed his tongue into my mouth. He licked and sucked the rest of the shocked gasps from me.
His mouth on mine was like Brock himself: crazy, chaotic, no rhyme or reason. There was no pattern to follow. There was no plan in place. He was flying by the seat of his damn pants. He took what he wanted and needed, and I tried my damnedest to keep up. Finally, I gave up and let him lead.
The brushing of our lips, the burn of his longer beard against my shorter stubble, and how he held my face were all at odds. The savage taking, the bite of pain, and the tenderness warred within me. I was so fucking confused.
And hard. I’m gonna have the imprint of my jeans on my cock.
I stepped closer toward Brock’s bigger body, and he flipped us so I was the one leaning against the wall. He slumped down, evening out our height difference. He broke the kiss and stared into my eyes. I wasn’t sure what he was seeing, but the man’s looks finally registered in my idiotic head.
Damn! He’s fucking hot.
He stepped closer, just enough so that our cocks brushed one another if we breathed deep. Which was all the damn time, since we were huffing as we tried to catch our breath after that kiss.
A kiss that changed so fucking much. All the puzzle pieces that made me Adam DuBois started realigning themselves.
I could see them shifting, turning, and moving into new places.
It was as if the pieces made two different versions of me, depending on how they were put together.
One version was the one I’d always been, and the other was kept under lock and key until Brock Jones turned all that chaotic, passionate nature of his on me and me alone.
He rearranged all the pieces that made me who I was into something I hadn’t considered, but wouldn’t give up now that I had it.
Brock’s hands were still cupping my face as he stared at me. I didn’t know what he was looking for, but he worried me.
Does he regret it?
The last time Brock had kissed me, he was drunk as fuck, and the following day, he’d wigged the fuck out.
He’d passed out cold, laying open his chin as he went down.
My hands had found a home at some point.
I squeezed his waist, trying to get a reaction from him.
He just gazed at me. Occasionally, he bit his lip like he did when trying to figure something out.
Biding my time, I dragged my tongue across my lips. Brock’s eyes followed the movement wholly. His tongue mimicked mine, and I realized why he had become so enraptured with the movement.
Watching him lick his lips turned the temperature up in my groin.
My breathing sped back up, and I asked, staring at his mouth, “You okay?”
He chuckled softly, a slow, sexy smirk spreading across his face. “I should probably be the one asking that question.”
Where’s this easy banter been with the women I’ve fucked? I’ve never laughed with a sex partner before.
Fucked? Sex partner?
My dick yelled at me. He’d been without since Carly. He was a miserable, depressed fellow. He didn’t seem to give a shit that the person making him stand at attention was a freaking dude or that it was Brock.
I ignored that voice in my head, the one on my shoulders and the one in my pants, and I smiled at Brock.
I could feel the heat in my face as I laughed softly. “I’m good.”
And I was. As strange as I thought kissing Brock or him kissing me would be, I’d thought of it so fucking much since that night with Carly.
Brock licked his lips again, and my cock surged at the sight.
Down, boy!
But my cock refused to listen. He wanted. Hell, I wanted. I hungered. So, I leaned forward, keeping my eyes on his until I became crossed-eyed.
Just before our lips touched, Brock whispered, “Yes,” which spurred me.
I surged forward the last few millimeters. Our mouths crashed together. Tongues dueled. Teeth clashed.
And I wouldn’t have had it any other way. He and I were strong, alpha men. We were naturally dominant and fought for that dominance now that I wasn’t two steps behind or caught by surprise.
The difference between a soft, feminine body and Brock’s was bigger than the Grand Canyon or the fucking Great Wall of China, but it wasn’t bad or weird. It was so fucking erotic. I couldn’t get enough.
My hands roamed. One came up between our chests, and I rubbed his nipple through his shirt. He groaned as the cotton rasped against the hard nub. A hum of pleasure vibrated in my chest at the sound he made. That sound went straight to my dick. As if it could get any fucking harder.
My other hand slid around his waist and down to his ass. I gripped the hard flesh hidden under the denim and squeezed, pulling him toward me.
He wrenched his mouth from mine.
“Jesus Christ…” he called as his head fell against the wall.
I chuckled as he ground his cock into mine, where I had us pressed together, holding him there. “No. Just Woody.”
He laughed as he leaned toward me, still cupping my face. “You’re definitely living up to that nickname.”
I laughed.
His eyes shined with amusement. His mouth closed over mine.
I pulled him away from the wall so we were pressed together.
The change in height reminded me of the night with Carly when Brock had pulled me back against his chest. The difference in our size made my blood boil.
Brock had always made me feel safe, but now that feeling was melded with a new, hotter feeling.
I pushed him, maneuvering him toward my room.
I needed to feel him against me. I didn’t think I was ready for much more than what we were doing, mainly because I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing, and I didn’t know what Brock liked in bed with a man, but I wanted more than a liplock in the kitchen.
“Where you taking me, Woody?” he asked against my lips.
I tilted my head back and looked up at him. “I wanna feel you next to me.”
Brock stopped. His hands slid from my face down to my chest and arms, pulling my hands into his. “Are you sure?”