Chapter 3 #2
"Then he started criticizing me," I continue.
"My body, my clothes, my friends. He'd say I was lucky he put up with me, that no one else would want me the way I was.
And the scary part is... I started to believe him.
I started changing myself to make him happy.
Wearing what he liked. Avoiding people he didn't approve of. I felt like I was disappearing."
Brock's jaw tightens, but he doesn't interrupt.
"When I finally worked up the courage to break up with him, I thought that would be the end of it.
But it wasn't." My voice cracks and I have to pause.
"He wouldn't accept it. He kept showing up everywhere I went.
The grocery store, my gym, outside my apartment building.
He'd just... stand there. Watching. Smiling like we were still together. "
I feel Brock's chest rise and fall with a slow, controlled breath.
"Then the texts started. Hundreds of them.
Some were sweet, 'I love you, I miss you, please give me another chance.
' Some were angry, 'You're making a mistake, you belong to me.
' And some were just... wrong. He'd tell me what I was wearing that day.
What time I'd left my apartment. Like he was always watching. "
My hands are shaking now. Brock takes one of them in his, threading our fingers together.
"Then came the notes under my door. The emails from accounts I didn't recognize.
The flowers, first fresh roses, then dead ones with notes that said things like 'if I can't have you, no one will.
' I was terrified. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't eat.
Every shadow felt like a threat. Every notification on my phone made my heart race. "
I swallow hard, the memories flooding back.
"I went to the police. Showed them everything, the texts, the emails, the photos of the notes.
And you know what they told me? That there was nothing they could do.
That he hadn't technically broken any laws.
That I should document everything and come back if he escalated. "
"Jesus," Brock mutters, his voice rough.
"I left the station and just... broke. Sat in my car in the parking lot and realized no one was coming to save me.
The system couldn't protect me. I was completely alone.
" A tear slides down my cheek, and I wipe it away quickly.
"That's when I knew I had to run. I went home, packed everything I could fit in my car, and drove through the night.
I picked Silver Lake because I'd never been here, never mentioned it to anyone.
I thought... I thought if I could just get far enough away, he wouldn't find me. "
The fire crackles softly. Brock pulls me closer, tucking me against his chest. His heart beats steady and strong beneath my ear.
"For four months, I lived like that," I whisper.
"Terrified every time I left my apartment.
Changing my routines, looking over my shoulder, jumping at every sound.
And the worst part? Feeling like I was crazy.
Like maybe I was overreacting. Like maybe he was just a persistent ex and I should be flattered. "
"You weren't overreacting," Brock says firmly. "What he did to you, that's not love. That's control. That's abuse."
The word hits me hard. I've thought it before but never said it out loud. Hearing Brock say it makes it real.
"I know that now," I say quietly. "But when you're in it, it's hard to see clearly.
He made me doubt myself. Made me think I was the problem.
" I tilt my head back to look up at him.
"Coming here... meeting you... it's the first time in months I've felt like I can breathe.
Like I can be myself without constantly worrying about who's watching or what I'm doing wrong. "
Brock's hazel eyes are dark in the firelight, intense and focused entirely on me. He cups my face with one large hand, his thumb brushing away another tear I didn't realize had fallen.
“You’re here now,” he says, his voice low and steady. “You’re safe. I’ve got you, Sadie. I’ve got you.”
The words crack something open in my chest. All the fear and tension I’ve been carrying for months, it loosens just a little.
Not gone, but manageable. Because he’s here and he listened without judgment.
Because he doesn’t try to fix me or tell me what I should have done differently. He just holds me.
I look up at him and something shifts between us. The vulnerability I just shared, the trust I just placed in him, it changes the air between us. Makes it heavier. Charged.
His eyes drop to my lips. “Sadie,” he murmurs, his voice rough with reverence.
I rise up slightly, closing the distance. “Kiss me.”
He does. His mouth meets mine as his hand slides into my hair, cradling the back of my head, while his other arm bands around my waist and pulls me fully into his lap.
I melt into him like I was made for this exact moment, my hands fisting desperately in his flannel as I pull him closer.
The kiss isn’t gentle, it’s raw, hungry, years of pent-up need exploding between us.
His mouth claims mine with a deep, possessive growl that vibrates straight to my core.
He tastes like coffee, salt, and pure sin.
Like safety wrapped in wildfire. Like the kind of home I’ve never let myself believe I could have.
My soft curves press flush against his hard body as his big hands roam, gripping my hips, sliding up my waist, palming my breast with just enough roughness to make me moan into his mouth.
He swallows every sound, tongue stroking deep, fucking my mouth like he’s already imagining how he’ll take the rest of me.
Heat floods between my thighs, slick and aching.
I roll my hips against the thick, hard length of him, shameless, needing more.
When we finally break apart, we’re both panting. His forehead rests against mine, one of his hands still tangled in my hair, the other gripping my ass like he never wants to let go.
“I want you,” he rasps, voice wrecked and low. “So fucking bad, Sadie. I want to bury myself inside you until the only thing you know is my name.”
I look up into his hazel eyes and see raw, burning honesty staring back at me, no games, no pressure, just pure, devastating want. It steals what little breath I have left.
“I want this,” I whisper, my voice trembling with need. My fingers slide down his chest, nails scraping lightly over his skin. “I want you, Brock. All of you.”
Something shifts in his eyes. Hunger. Relief. Possession. He kisses me again, deeper this time, his tongue claiming my mouth like he has been starving for this. For me. His hands slide down my sides, gripping my hips hard enough to leave marks. I want them. I want proof this is real.
"Bedroom," he growls against my lips. "Now."
He does not wait for an answer. He lifts me, and I wrap my legs around his waist instinctively.
I can feel how hard he is through his jeans, pressing exactly where I need him.
The friction tears a whimper from my throat.
He carries me down the hall, his mouth never leaving mine, kissing me like he is trying to memorize my taste.
We stumble into his bedroom. He kicks the door shut and sets me on my feet beside the bed.
For a moment we just stand there, staring at each other.
His chest heaves. His eyes are dark with want.
I reach for the hem of my sweater and pull it over my head.
His gaze drops to my breasts, still covered by my bra, and his jaw clenches.
"Fuck, Sadie." His voice comes out rough. Reverent. "You are so goddamn beautiful."
Heat floods my cheeks, but I do not look away. I reach behind me and unhook my bra, letting it fall to the floor. His eyes track every movement. When I am bare from the waist up, he closes the distance between us in two strides.
His hands cup my breasts, thumbs brushing over my nipples. I gasp at the sensation. "Perfect," he murmurs. "Every fucking inch of you."
Then his mouth is on me, hot and wet, sucking one nipple while his fingers work the other. I arch into him, hands tangling in his hair. The silver at his temples feels soft under my fingertips. He is relentless, alternating between gentle and rough, wringing moans from me as I squirm against him.
"Brock, please."
"Please what?" He lifts his head, eyes locked on mine. "Tell me what you want."
"You. I want you."
"You have got me, sweetheart." He straightens and pulls his shirt over his head in one smooth motion.
My breath catches. He is all hard muscle and broad shoulders, a few scars scattered across his chest and abs.
Evidence of a life spent running toward danger.
I reach out and trace one with my fingertip. He shivers under my touch.
"Your turn," he says, voice low. His hands move to the button of my jeans. "These need to come off."
He undoes the button and zipper, then hooks his thumbs into the waistband and drags them down my legs along with my panties.
I step out of them, suddenly very aware that I am completely naked while he is still half dressed.
But the way he is looking at me, like I am the most incredible thing he has ever seen, makes me feel powerful instead of vulnerable.
"Get on the bed," he orders, his tone leaving no room for argument.
I climb onto the mattress, heart pounding. He strips off his jeans and boxer briefs, and my mouth goes dry. He is thick and hard, already leaking at the tip. I want to taste him. I want to feel him inside me. I want everything.
He crawls onto the bed, covering my body with his. The weight of him feels right. Safe. Consuming. He kisses me again, slower this time, like he is savoring it. His hand slides between my thighs and I gasp when he finds how wet I am.
"Christ, Sadie." He circles my clit with his thumb, making me buck against his hand. "You are soaking wet for me."
"Yes," I breathe. "Please, Brock."