Chapter 19 #3
His gaze heated, dipping to where her breasts were on full display before him. The look in his eyes was raw and ravenous. Full of frantic hunger. Then she leaned in close, pressed her lips to his in a featherlight kiss, and whispered, “Don’t stop.”
“Fuck,” he groaned, crushing her to him with a kiss. “You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted you these past few days.”
“Then I guess you better show me.” Juliette reached between them and tugged his shirt out of his jeans, yanking it up over his head.
When he threw it over the back of the sofa, Juliette could only stare at the way time had changed his body.
With the softest of touches, she carefully explored the new version of this man, marveling at the way his muscles bunched and tensed beneath her fingertips.
She traced the lines of his biceps to his forearms, and back to where a Celtic knot tattoo wound from his wrist to his shoulder.
Every dip and line was memorized. There were a few new scars, a gnarly one cut across his ribcage, and there were some blemishes she didn’t recognize, from stories she didn’t know. So, she kissed each of them.
“So many scars,” she murmured, her gaze lifting to his face. “Do they hurt?”
He shook his head. “Not anymore.”
“Good.” Juliette rocked her hips again, grinding against him. “Because I hate to think you were in pain, and I wasn’t there to comfort you.”
There was a flash of some dark emotion she didn’t recognize, but it was gone in the next moment when he blinked.
“You can comfort me now.” His smile was slow and sensual. In one fluid movement, he stood, hoisting her up into his arms. “If you want.”
Grabbing his shoulders for purchase, she locked her legs around his waist. Oh, yes. She would like that very much.
Brock carried her to his bedroom, his mouth fused to hers, his hands molded to her ass.
He nudged the door open with his shoulder, pausing only to kick it shut once they were inside.
Juliette tangled her fingers in his hair, nipped his bottom lip with her teeth, and loved the feel of her breasts pressed against his solid chest. The faint dusting of hair there tickled her skin, heightening her senses, sending spasms of awareness firing through her.
She could stay like this forever, locked in his embrace.
“Jules,” he murmured against her mouth.
“Hm?” She let his tongue glide over hers once more.
“I have to put you down.”
Juliette wriggled in his hold, the heat between her thighs building. “Why?”
“So I can fuck you properly.”
“Oh.” She loosened her legs, sliding down him like a pole. “Right.”
The moment her feet touched the smooth hardwood floor, Juliette knew a boundary had been crossed.
Standing in his bedroom, surrounded by touches of evergreen and warm oak, of subtle reminders of him, she knew there would be no going back.
This was the moment. Their past would stay behind them, buried where it belonged, but their future remained untouched. Unknown.
He hooked a finger into the waistband of her flannel pants, giving them a gentle tug.
They dropped to the ground, and she carefully stepped out of them, fully aware of the hunger flashing in Brock’s gaze as he slowly devoured her.
Juliette edged backward until she bumped into the bed, then lowered herself onto the plush mattress.
She situated herself on the fluffy comforter, moving her mess of hair across his pillows.
She tried to settle, to remember to breathe, but Brock kept watching her, even as he unzipped his jeans, and it was impossible not to steal a peek the second he kicked them off.
Brock removed his snug boxers next, and Juliette caught her bottom lip between her teeth.
They’d had sex before, in fact, Brock was her first, but while he looked the same, everything was different.
He was more cut, more defined. There were new scars mixed with old memories.
Years of hardened, lean muscle lent him a tempting kind of appeal.
A dusting of auburn hair feathered across his chest, trailing down to his navel.
His abdomen was chiseled, carved from granite.
Solid and strong. She thought he was impressive before, but now she swore he was larger than she remembered.
He stood before her, jaw tensed and cock straining, and her legs involuntarily fell open wider in invitation.
Muscled arms caged her in as he stretched out above her, and when he nestled himself between her thighs, the tip of him pressing against her slick core, Juliette almost came undone.
Her hands coasted up his shoulders, and she wound her arms loosely around his neck, urging him closer.
“Shit,” he muttered, pulling away.
“What is it?” she asked, panic slicing through her. What if he changed his mind? What if he thought having sex with her was a mistake? She would never survive the humiliation, the absolute despair of knowing he’d rejected her.
“Condom.” Brock glanced over his shoulder to where his jeans were strewn across the floor. “Might have one in my wallet. I don’t know, it’s been a while.”
“It’s okay.” She threaded her fingers through his hair, drawing him back to her. “I’m on the pill. It’s fine.”
A line of concern furrowed across his brow. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” She nodded, shifting and lifting her hips. “Completely sure.”
“Okay.”
He absently smoothed her hair from her face, and she lost herself in the green of his eyes.
They reminded her of an enchanted forest, one she could wander through aimlessly for hours, until she lost herself.
He blinked and the world came back into focus.
She didn’t look away as he slid inside her.
Instead they held one another captive as each agonizingly slow thrust sent spirals of pleasure curling through her.
It was as though they were locked in a silent dare, a challenge to see who would look away first, who would be the one to break the spell. The one to make it real.
Brock’s face was so close to her own he swallowed each of her gasps.
Her nails scraped at the back of his neck as she moved with him, rising to meet him, while each delicious wave pushed her closer to the edge, a dangerous slope of no return.
His lips brushed hers. Once. Twice. His tongue glided along the seam of her mouth.
But he didn’t close his eyes, and neither did she, and when they kissed, their eyes stayed open.
Wide and searching. Asking questions that couldn’t be answered.
Calloused hands roughed up the back of her thighs as he pushed her knees up, draping her legs over his broad shoulders, changing their position. Deepening the angle.
“Brock.” His name was a breathy rasp, and she clutched at the comforter beneath her, nails digging into the soft fabric.
“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this, wanted you, Jules.” His pace quickened, hips jerking forward as he slammed into her, forcing her to chase that lusty high. “I’ve dreamt of you for years.”
Juliette wanted to say something, to beg him not to stop, to admit she wanted him more than anything.
But all she could focus on was the way he kept driving deeper, filling her fully as she crested toward that pulsing pinnacle of relief.
And when he brushed his thumb across her cheek, then kissed her soundly on her mouth, she came undone.
The gesture was simple but achingly familiar. It was the same thing he did every time they made love as teenagers, the same gentle touch. Same sweet kiss.
It broke her.
Gasping, she clutched at him, heart racing as he surged into her one final time, emptying himself completely.
Her name was on his lips like a reverent prayer, over and over.
Juliette’s heart was torn, spliced in half by memories of the past and moments of the present.
Brock had left her once without saying goodbye.
He’d simply gone off and vanished, as though they hadn’t been young and recklessly in love, as though they hadn’t planned their entire life together.
She couldn’t risk losing her heart to him again.
But she ached with the need to be enough, to feel wanted, even desired.
And Brock could give her that. However fleeting, however temporary, he could make her feel those things, if only briefly.
It wasn’t love.
It couldn’t be love.
But when he pulled her into him afterwards and fell asleep with his arm draped around her waist, Juliette didn’t move away.