16. Caroline
16
CAROLINE
B rock kisses me like I’ve never been kissed before. It’s filled with desire, passion, and a hint of danger. I can’t get enough of it. In fact, it’s all I can do to hold myself back from jumping up and wrapping my legs around him. He’s built like a big, strong tree. I have no doubt that if I climbed him like one, he could easily hold me.
We’re both breathing heavily when I force myself to pull back and give him one last chance to back out. “You don’t have to do this. I’m tough, and I can handle rejection. I’ll be fine.”
He slowly shakes his head as he looks deeply into my eyes. “I wish you could see yourself from my perspective. You are the most intriguing, desirable woman I’ve ever known, and any idiot who has ever made you feel otherwise deserves to be pounded senseless.”
Although he sounds like a caveman, I can’t stop my lips from tipping up at his vehement threat. My heart aches to believe him, but something buried deep inside me silently screams that his wonderful words can’t be true. I’m not the alluring temptress type. I’m the girl sitting on the sidelines of all the fun with her nose buried in a book. It’s impossible for me to see myself any other way, despite how much I’d enjoy the fantasy.
My nerdy demeanor is probably the reason behind why I created my mermaid alter ego. Sparkly Pacifica is everything I’m not––bubbly, beautiful, and beguiling.
Proving himself to be incredibly insightful, Brock’s eyes draw downward. I could swear he’s looking directly at my soul as he asks quietly, “Why don’t you believe me?”
“Because I know the truth.” Hoping to appease his worries, I say, “It’s truly fine. I’ve made my peace with being utterly forgettable to the opposite sex.”
“Does this look like a man who is going to forget about you any time soon?”
My gaze follows his as he looks down at his crotch. The impressive bulge straining for release from his jeans is undeniable.
I clear my suddenly parched throat before saying, “You’re having a physiological reaction to our close proximity and kissing. It would likely happen with anyone that you didn’t find to be completely repulsive. Don’t worry… I know that it doesn’t mean anything real.”
“How about this? Does this mean something real?” His voice sounds desperate as he lifts my hand to press it against his chest. His heart is beating wildly as if it is trying to thump its way right out of his body.
“Yes, it means that you are a virile, hot-blooded male who is attracted to the opposite sex. I’m sure your body would have the same reaction with anyone that turns you on in even the slightest capacity.”
His exasperated huff lets me know that he is irritated with me. I don’t mean to be annoying, but my no-nonsense, practical side won’t allow me to pretend that I believe he truly wants me––despite how much I’d love to get lost in that wonderful delusion, even if it only lasted for one night.
He runs his fingers through his hair, then rubs his hand along the back of his neck. In a somber tone, he says, “I don’t know what to do to make you understand. I care about you so much, but I don’t want to ruin our friendship or any potential for a long-term, romantic relationship by having sex too soon.”
I scoff at this lame excuse. Although I appreciate him trying to spare my feelings, I find it impossible to believe that the true reason for his refusal of my proposition has anything to do with fear over losing me as a friend or future lover. I may not have much experience with men, but I know enough to realize this isn’t how they operate. Besides, it’s not like Brock and I are besties.
Deciding to call his bluff, I lift my chin and ask, “So, when will you be ready?”
“Ready to have sex with you?” His tone is elevated as if I have completely caught him off guard.
“That’s right. If your refusal is just a matter of not wanting to have sex too soon, when will we have waited long enough to appease your worries?” My cheeks heat even as I ask the brazen question, but I refuse to back down.
Some obnoxiously stubborn side of me wants to force him to admit that he doesn’t want to be with me, so that I don’t glom on to the hope that we might someday become a couple. It’s much easier to be confronted with the hurtful truth now than to be devastated by a crushing blow later.
Brock seems to be at an uncharacteristic loss for words as he opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of water.
Taking his silence as my truth, I say in a flat tone, “That’s what I thought.”
I turn to the side so he won’t see me trying to blink back the tears.
“Well, you thought wrong. I’m done trying to be a nice guy. If you want me even half as much as I want you, then it’s high time for us to see this through,” he growls before stepping forward and dominating my space.
My rear end bumps against the wall as I take an involuntary step backwards. His presence is nearly overwhelming. All of the oxygen seems to disappear from the room as he cages me within his strong arms. The logical side of my brain tells me that I should be frightened by his overbearing demeanor, but my heart and the rest of my body demand that I seize this opportunity.
When I tip my face up to his, he doesn’t hesitate in the slightest. He crushes his lips to mine, lifts me into his arms, and presses me into the wall. I’ve never experienced so many wonderful sensations all at once. My already heated skin is set ablaze, and I don’t ever want it to end.
The last shred of his control is unleashed when I moan into his mouth, wrap my legs around his thick torso, and melt into him. My mind musters one final rational thought that I’m finally getting to find out what all of the fuss is about regarding sex. But that realization floats away almost as quickly as it arose as our bodies strain against each other, and I become completely lost in Brock.