The End - Blackbird book 7

7

Brock lifted his head enough to see Gillian's face, and feared he'd never be able to look away. He could hardly believe her complete surrender, shivering and groaning at his smallest move. So frail and gorgeous. Breathtaking as she willingly cast away any trick and let him into the secrets of her body. It pushed him over the edge, and he impaled her one last time with a breathless growl, all of him in her, fire in his belly and stones in his thighs.

He needed a long moment to draw some air in and open his eyes. And she was the first thing he saw, coming down from that dizzy, fevered haze.

Then it hit him.

Ludicrous as to feed his sarcasm for a whole year.

He'd been too busy trying to keep her from panicking away, reaching in the dark for the right thing to say and do. And while at it, their bodies had taken over. As simple as that.

So only now, when their urge was satisfied, as he reluctantly let her come down from their climax—only now he had a chance to actually process that the woman still panting in his arms wasn't just any woman.

It was her.

It was Gillian.

The brilliant rogue who'd never given up on him, and kicked him out of his comfort zone of self-hatred and guilt.

The daredevil who enjoyed poking dragons just for the kicks of fighting them by his side.

The tough warrior who laid down her armor only for him.

The sensitive beauty who'd put her priceless heart in his hands almost as a challenge.

A more pragmatic part of his brain registered she wasn't so agitated anymore. Meaning she wouldn't suffocate if he kissed her. So he did, as her legs slid down his sides and he still lingered inside her.

He wished he were thirty years younger when he lifted his head and she kept her eyes closed, her wet lips still parted. Had he been that younger, he would've made love to her again right there and then. Good thing her soft murmur rescued him from his mourning over his lost youth.

"And they say first times suck..."

She opened her striking eyes to his mild frown. Somehow she managed to scoff against his ribs.

"Be grateful I can't feel my legs," she said. "Else..."

"Else you'd embarrass me," he replied.

She loved the little smile pursing his lips. Her eyes moved over his face. No. There was no way she'd ever get tired of seeing it—especially this close.

She had no surprising realization. She'd been perfectly aware all along. It was him. Declan Brockner. Brock. Her stupid bitter man. The man she loved. And now, the man she'd want around the clock. Badly. If his kiss was intoxicating, he was simply addictive as a lover. Her head was overloaded of suggested pleasures she couldn't wait to taste.

Damn man.

First she'd loved his mind.

Then she'd loved his heart.

And now she'd fallen head over heels for his body.

C'mon! How come such a man even existed?

"Promise it'll always suck like this," blurted out her too-vivid imagination.

He shook his head with a grave grimace. "Sorry. I'm afraid that from now on, it'll only get worse."

She let out a giggle and raised her head to brush his mouth in a quick peck. And Brock couldn't say what he liked most: the way she always got his weird humor or how natural her peck felt.

He pulled himself away from her and helped her to sit up. They looked at each other and chuckled. Because in the heat of the moment they didn't give a damn. But when the fireworks were over, they found themselves half-dressed, all sweated, and so disheveled they looked plain funny.

"Dinner?" he said, fetching their underwear from the floor.

"Actually, I'd like to borrow your shower."

"Not possible."

"No?"

"Not without me."

"Only if you're still cooking after."

"Sure."

"Then we have a deal."

Brock stood up to wear back his trunks, even if he planned to take them off again in five minutes. "So you really got me the day off tomorrow, in the middle of the week?"

Brock took her hand to help her to her feet. She went on to stand on her tiptoes. She just couldn't stop herself. She just had to brush his lips with hers once more. Only then she shrugged.

"He'll get back at me with his stupid teases for the next ten years." They headed together to the bathroom as she faked Cassidy's rough way. "C'mon, Gillian! What's his secret to have you eating from his hand like this? He can't be that good in bed!"

Brock turned the bathroom light on and Gillian found his shocked scowl.

"Did he really ask you that?"

Gillian scoffed. "Of course he does. Five times a month."

In order to hide his growing shock, Brock opened the small linen closet by the bathroom door to grab clean towels for them. "And what do you say to him?" he asked, expecting to hear that Gillian sent Cassidy to hell every time, as he deserved.

"I smirk and hold my peace. Y'know, to feed the legend. What can I say? I can't tell'im, 'I don't know, I only have my wild dreams about'im.' He'd never believe me!"

"Beg your pardon?"

Surprise replaced Brock's shock. He turned around, towels in his hands, and found Gillian's eyes wide open at realizing what she'd just said.

Shit! Shit! Shit! She really needed to stop blurting out like that all the time!

He scowled deeper when she blushed at the speed of light. Before he could say anything, she got into the bathroom and closed the door between them. He heard the lock and tried the door. Yes, it was locked. What the hell?