"What I'm sayin' is, you do not fuck with a woman that means somethin' to me. And when I say that, I mean, you do not fuck with a woman that means somethin' to me."
Oh my.
I got it.
"You wanted to hurt Damian," I said quietly.
"Hurt? Yeah. In a way he'd feel that pain every fuckin' day for the rest of his motherfuckin' life. In a way he'd never forget me. In a way he'd never forget the lesson I taught him. And in a way he'd think about you and instead of you giving precious headspace to wishin' you never met him, his headspace would be filled with wishin' he'd never fucked with you."
Before my mind told me to do it, my body pressed closer to his. But if my body asked my mind, my mind wouldn't have argued.
I slid my hand up his hard chest, along his corded neck to come to rest on his stubbled jaw.
Then, looking deep into his eyes, I admitted, "I don't have words."
His arm got tighter and his face tilted on the pillow to get closer before he whispered, "Tess, I learned somethin' early about you. You are the only woman I know who doesn't need words. Everything you do speaks for you and it never lies. Just your hand on me, babe, said it all."
He held my eyes and I held my breath because he said that like he liked it, not a little, a whole bunch.
I nodded. His face got soft. Then it dipped to mine where he touched my mouth with his.
When he pulled back, he murmured, "Hit your light, darlin'."
I nodded again, took my hand away and rolled. I turned out the light then curled on my side, pulled the covers over my shoulder, shoved my hands under my cheek and called, "'Night, honey."
Half a second later, I found my body hauled across the bed, my ass in the curve of his hips, his knees cocked into mine, his front pressed to my back, his arm tight around my belly and his lips at my hair.
Only then did he murmur, "'Night, Tess."
Brock Lucas spooned.
I fell asleep smiling.
Chapter Eight.
Wild Thing
The soft strains of Fiona Apple's "I Know" forced my eyes open to the early morning light. I listened to her contralto, her piano, the soft strum off a bass and the slow gentle beat of a drum for a few long moments before the volume started to increase. Then I got up on a forearm, reached out and hit the button that would freeze the volume like I usually did so I could listen to my music in the mornings.
Then, when I reached for the covers to shove them off, my body moved backwards across the bed and hit something very, very solid and very, very warm.
Oh man.
How could I forget?
Brock was there.
And boy was he there, his hard, heated body behind me, his strong arm around me; I felt his lips at the skin of my neck.
"Honey," I whispered, those lips trailed up then I felt teeth nip my earlobe.
A shiver slid through me.
Then, a rough, sleepy, deep, "'Mornin', baby."
Oh my.
His lips slid to behind my ear as his hand at my belly slid up my ribs and I held my breath until his hand stopped. I let out my breath then held it again when the backs of his knuckles started stroking feather light at the bottom swell of my breast.
Oh my.
I pressed back into him as he pushed into me and his tongue touched the skin behind my ear at the same time his thumb disengaged from his knuckles and swiped my breast just under my nipple.
At that, a throb pulsed through me.
"Brock," I breathed.
"Unless you got an early mornin' emergency cake to bake, sweetness," he growled in my ear, "our earlier activities are scheduled to recommence right about now."
"The White House tends to give me plenty of advance warning," I quipped breathily.
"Fuckin' fantastic," Brock muttered, rolled me to face him, his hand went in my hair, twisted gently and tugged back but he didn't have to do that. My arm was winding around him and my head was dipping back so he could have my mouth.
And he took it.
Brock had not lied with what he said in my kitchen when he came back. The first time he made love to me had not been planned. It wasn't a seduction. It started as usual, we were just messing around but, before that night, he'd always kept it under control. It had usually been about me, him exploring me or him helping me to get off. But something happened and, even as much as I thought about it, to that day, I had no idea what it was but whatever it was, it snapped his control and he picked me up from the couch, carried me to the bedroom and off we went.
This was different from all of that except the last.
Because Brock didn't have a plan. Brock wasn't protecting me from exposing myself, giving too much to a man whose name I did not know. There was no reason for Brock to control the situation, his reaction or mine.
So he didn't.
And even bigger than that night when his control snapped, now he didn't need it, with one touch of our tongues, lying in my bed in the weak, early morning light of dawn, it exploded.
And even better than any other time, this wasn't about him exploring me and helping me to get off. This was about us exploring each other.
And for the first time ever, I was free to give as good as I got.
So I fucking did.
It was wild, it was heated, it was energetic, there was a lot of rolling, groping, tongues, teeth, fingers, moans, groans, whimpers, sighs and gasps as he took, I took, he gave and I gave.
And it was when I was giving, crouched low between his cocked legs, my mouth taking him deep when he knifed up, his hands came under my armpits, he hauled me between his legs up his body at the same time he rolled me to my back. I wound my arms around his shoulders as I opened my legs and his hips fell through.
Then his eyes locked with mine the second before he thrust deep.
My neck arched, my arms spasmed around him and I lifted my knees to press my thighs tight to his sides.
"Tess, mouth," he growled, my neck righted and his mouth was on mine, his tongue in my mouth as he rode me deep, God, so deep, hard, God, so hard and sweet, God, God, so unbelievably sweet.
It built, it was fast, it was hot and it was going to be incredibly good.
And before it swept over me, I tore my mouth from his, shoved my face in his neck and moaned, "Brock."
"Oh yeah, baby, fuck yeah," he grunted, thrusting deep, I drew in a sharp breath and came hard.
Then I came down, my head dropping back to the pillows and I had the opportunity to watch his face as I felt him move inside me and I saw, clear as day, Brock Lucas liked right where he was.
A lot.
A whole lot.
He had an arm around my waist, grinding me down, his weight in his other forearm in the bed and I wrapped my legs around him, tilting my hips up for him and this made him growl deep from his chest. His eyes locked with mine, I kept one arm tight around his shoulders and my other hand went to his face, thumb sweeping his cheek then his lips.
Then he buried that face in my neck, groaned, "Tess," and planted himself to the root on another groan as he came.
I slid my hand from his face into his hair, tilted and tipped my head so my face was in his neck and I pressed my lips against his heated skin, feeling the tickle of the long hairs that curled there.
Then I closed my eyes and took him in with three senses, smelling his skin, feeling him all around and buried inside me and listening to his heavy breaths.
He gave me his weight for approximately two seconds before he gathered me in both his arms, miraculously got up to his knees taking me with him, still connected, and, keeping our bodies linked, he twisted, falling to his hip then dropping to his back with me on top.
Nice.
"Nice," I whispered into his neck and I heard his deep, attractive chuckle before I heard his head move on the pillow then I felt his lips against my hair where he kissed me.
Oh my.
That was nice too.
He had one arm wrapped around the small of my back and when the other hand drifted up my spine to play with my hair, I lifted my head to look down at him.
He tilted his chin, his quicksilver eyes catching mine and he grinned, sated, content and amused and the sweet, sultry, warm hum of that mood saturated the air and settled like bliss against my skin as he muttered, "Wild thing."
I blinked.
Then I asked, "Sorry?"
"Baby, fuck," his arm gave me a squeeze, "you were all over me."
I blinked again.
Then I felt my body get tight.
Damn.
I was a follower not a leader in bed. Careful, thoughtful, keeping ears and eyes open to make sure what I was doing was enjoyed and noting what my partner liked when I did it so I could keep doing it or cataloging it to do it again.
I did not lose control. I did not let go.
This meant the two times I'd had sex with Brock were the two best times of my life, by far, like, far as in an ocean far. In fact, without a fair amount of work from my partner (and, usually, they gave up), I rarely climaxed during sex or any part of the festivities.
But, just now, I had not been in my head and paying attention. I had been in the zone and acting on instinct. My body, what it was feeling and its needs, ruled my mind and my mind had totally checked out.
Totally.
Damn.
I started to pull up when Brock's hand cupped the back of my head but slid down, taking my hair with it so his fingers were curled around the back, his palm was warm on my neck under my ear and his thumb was against my face by my hairline.
And as his hand positioned, he whispered, "Hey." My eyes slid through his to come to rest on the pillow by his head and I inched up again but his hand tensed and he semi-repeated, "Tess, hey." I stilled but kept my gaze on the pillowcase to which I got a squeeze of his arm around my back, pulling my body close and a growled, "Eyes, babe."
My eyes slid to his.
His looked deep into them.
Then his hand at my head brought my face super close to his and he whispered, "What the fuck, baby?"
"I " I started but a shadow shifted into his eyes and stayed there as he cut me off.
"Jesus, did I hurt you?"
I shook my head slightly and said, "No, it's just..."
I trailed off because I didn't know what it was.
His thumb started skimming my cheek light and sweet as he prompted gently, "It's just what?"
"I don't know what," I whispered.
He held my eyes and didn't say anything.
Then I found my mouth telling him, "I lost control."
He did a slow blink.