The End - Blackbird book 7

10

Brock meant to keep a grip on himself and behave. But when she kissed him deeper, he found his own hand around her breast, only half-covered by the top. Gillian gasped when his thumb slid over the fabric and stroked her nipple. And Brock felt a pressing prick down his navel when her nipple hardened in his touch, deliciously sensitive.

"D'we really need dinner?" she muttered.

Hell no, but my old bones need a break before jumping yours again like I mean to. "Of course we do," he replied, Brockner serious—and his thumb still teasing her nipple.

"Yessir," she breathed, but she grasped his belt loop and tugged, bringing his hips against hers.

Brock felt bold enough to kiss her again and be the one to step back.

"I'll clean the bathroom," said Gillian. I'd like to keep the cold-shower option open in case I cannot control myself.

"Okay."

Brock commanded his hand down—not easy, because her breast seemed custom-made to fit it—and spun on his heels to circle the breakfast bar and open the fridge. It was hard, not to look back at her. The cold air straight to his belly helped. There wasn't much to pick from after three weeks away, but what he found in the freezer was enough. God blessed microwaves.

While he defrosted greens to join some chicken legs in the oven, he thought it was funny in an enjoyable way. Their bodies still held the reins of the situation, and it was alright. There'd be time to talk—and if he knew Gillian, it would be sooner than later. In the meantime, intercourse was the breaking news, and it felt good to give their minds the night off to let their guts rule.

Brock washed his hands and opened the cupboard over the counter. Good thing he'd recalled that solitary bottle of wine in there, dusting up behind the glasses. He didn't even remember how it got there. Maybe Russell had given it to him on his birthday, last year? He had no idea.

"How can I help?"

Well, you could start by covering yourself in a body bag, so I don't get a heart attack just by looking at you. "Can you grab the glasses?" he replied, pretending to keep his focus on the stubborn cork refusing to come out.

But she stood so close to him, she brushed his arm with hers when she reached into the cupboard. And she came into his peripheral sight. Which almost made him break the cork in two at her limber body stretched in her tight clothes, the arc of her back bringing out her inviting curves. He finally conquered the spoiled thing with a determined yank, right when she turned to him with a wine glass in each hand.

"I'm not used to wine. You're not trying to get me drunk, are you?" she asked as he filled the glasses.

Brock raised his eyebrows, eyes down on the flowing wine—and her collar through the glasses. "Actually, I am, so you won't say no when I tell you to stay the night."

"You should do it when I'm still sober. I can be a bitch when I'm drunk, y'know."

"Sure, blame it on the booze."

Gillian laughed and touched his glass with hers. She'd dreamed of this so many times: being alone with him, joking with him, seeing him smile so much—at her! Once more, reality was better when it came to him. She loved the way he treated her, as if it wasn't the first time they shared any of it. He made it all so much easier, better in every way. Now she needed to focus, or colored hearts would start fuming out her fangirl ears.

Brock met her eyes with a serious scowl. "Okay, advice taken. So I'll ask now. Wanna stay the night?" he said.

She laughed again and nodded, forcing herself to ignore the heat lashing her cheeks yet again. Jesus! How could she be such a fool? Daredevil Gillian blushed at such an obvious question! She should better keep the tease going to find her cool back.

"Yeah, I—" I do? I can't say that! "—'d like that." That. Good. "But I don't think that was the only reason why you wanted to get me drunk."

Brock sipped his wine and replied, matter-of-factly. "Well, the whole point is that you don't register what I do to you, so I'm not telling."

"What you do to me? Why? What would you do?"

Brock smiled at her purring question and how she stood too close to him. He leaned in to whisper in her ear, his spare hand flat open on her butt. "Guess you'll have to drink to find out."

Gillian shivered when the tip of his tongue touched her ear. Gosh! Did the stupid man have some secret manual, 'How To Turn Reg On In Five Steps' or something like that? Every little thing he said or did seemed to push a button she didn't even know she had. Any silly tease she'd always ignored coming from any other man now worked magic coming from him.

Brock leveled up in determination when he backed away from her to check the food in the oven. Drat. It'd take at least another twenty minutes.

"Tell me about Ohio," Gillian said, her voice back to her usual plain and energetic way, hoping some work talk would help her behave through dinner.

Which suited Brock just perfect. So he told her what they'd been doing over the last three weeks, until dinner was ready.