The End - Blackbird book 7

14

"Show me what you like," she whispered by his mouth.

"Anything," he breathed. "As long as it's you."

As he spoke, he lay on his back, his arms dragging her along. She smiled as she sat up on top of him, but only halfway. Her hands sank on the pillow, flanking his head, and she met his eyes again. Brock's knees came a little up and apart, and he couldn't stop his hips from pushing up. That made her push down and do that swirling move he'd especially appreciated on the couch. His hands rested on her hips. Until his eyes slid down to her breasts. A long list of clichés flooded his mind as his fingertips stung and his mouth felt suddenly dry. He admitted 'full' and 'inviting', then he cast away the list because her breasts called out for him. He just had to oblige. So his hands cupped them at the same time and squeezed them oh so gently. He loved her muffled moan when his thumbs stroke her nipples. His knees came further up, pushing her forward, as his hands brought her breasts closer to his face. Her eyes fluttered closed as she leaned in to him.

Gillian almost froze when Brock's mouth shifted from one breast to the other and back, pausing to kiss the gap between them. But her body covered up for her stray mind and kept following the slow pace of Brock's hips.

His hands kept their gentle grip on her, his thumbs teasing her nipples until they were dark and hard, and every touch echoed as pricks down her belly, adding up to his firm, slow thrusts to set her on fire inside.

Brock loved it when she reached around blindly to bring another pillow under his head. Now he was in the perfect position. His lips captured one of her nipples, then the other, for his tongue to wrap around them.

Gillian let out a helpless moan and she tried to stretch out her legs along his. He lowered his knees to let her do it. Her back arched when his mouth closed on her breast, his tongue to her nipple. She couldn't help shivering as he sucked, softly at first, then harder. She stiffened and moved faster, in swaying strokes that made him suck harder.

Gillian felt the spark of a burning stab she didn't want so soon. But it was hard as hell to refrain herself when his hands moved in circles with her breasts, as his teeth still teased her nipple. Oh, no, he took her other nipple in his mouth to do the same, the licking, the sucking, the teasing. How was she supposed to fight that? His hand let his wicked mouth take care of her breast and travelled down her arched back. It opened flat to grab her butt and push her against him. And of course he thrust up, as deep as he could.

Later on she'd mused about whether his being so tall was good or bad. Right then, it allowed him to reach further than she expected. His hand moved so his fingers slid between her butt cheeks toward her groin and brushed it. At that point, she could only give the hell up. There was no fighting all of this. Brock was everywhere, doing all the right things at all the right places in all the right ways. But something rebelled inside her. If he thought she was going down all alone, he was damn wrong.

Brock was taken aback when she moved away from his mouth—he would've spent the rest of the night on her sweet, lovely breasts, so smooth and oversensitive. She came down to kiss him, their chests together as she bent her legs again. Brock panted when her hips made one of their swirls as she moved up and away from his hips. And his panting became a hoarse moan when she stopped an inch before he fell off her and stiffened around his tip. His knees were launched up so he could thrust further. He stretched out his arm as much as he could, so his fingers moved between her cheeks.

Gillian loved his husky growl when she moved down on him and swiftly up again, resisting the push of his hand to keep her down. She moved her hips in a slow sway as she felt the throbbing burn grow inside her. Brock felt it too, the perfect excuse to grab her hips and guide her down. His thrust pulled a weary moan from her lips.

There it was. That exquisite fire feeding on his every move and sound. She could only follow him now, as she tried to keep filling her lungs, because now she knew what was about to happen. In the swirl of need and pleasure growing inside of her, she was surprised when Brock didn't pace up. Instead, his thrusts were firmer and deeper, even harder. So it happened in slow motion for her. The flames didn't blaze her up. The waves crept all over her inside and stayed, scorching her nerves and tightening her muscles once more to a painful extent. She didn't think she could take it much longer. Yet she did.

Brock still clasped her hips, moving her at will. His hips slammed against her at every thrust, stayed up for a moment to rub himself against her and only then guide her up again. To start over. And over. And over.

Gillian's voice was a helpless thread of weary moans, as she shivered from head to toes in Brock's hold. And he managed to keep his eyes open and her in sight when her stiff, throbbing womb tore down his last attempt to wait. He couldn't. Her climax was too powerful to feel, too beautiful to see. How was he supposed to resist the pull of her heat? So he gave up and his own need took control.

Gillian crumbled on his chest with low panting cries, incapable of staying straight on top of him. So he circled her back with his arm and rolled over, making her lay on her side. She forced herself to meet his eyes. Brock grabbed her leg to keep it around his hip and thrust again.

She would've liked to say something. 'Oh, my.' Or 'Good Lord.' 'I love you,' seemed custom-made for the occasion. If she could only utter a single coherent sound. Maybe later. What she really needed now was breathing. And clinging to him, else her body would just fall apart like a broken doll. Damn man. Once more, he wouldn't let her come down. He was taking his sweet time to reach his own climax, and he didn't plan to cut her any slack in the process.

Gillian felt him shiver when he thrust, and his heavy breathing felt like rales on her skin. She grabbed his face and he closed his eyes, all of his attention focused below his hips. She was too out of breath to kiss him, still struggling to get some air to her lungs, lost any hope of control over her trembling, burning body. At least she kept her mouth an inch away from his. So she breathed in his growling moan when Brock thrust the hardest and deepest, and stayed like that, his hips drilling her inner thighs. She registered her own hips tried to keep moving, and every attempt made him exhale sharply. The burning and the throbbing considered wavering at Brock's immobility. It took her a moment to notice she was actually moving against him, trying to make the feeling last. But then Brock's hand let go of her leg and his arm fell around her, and she kept still.

Her overloaded mind managed to process that the way his arms wrapped around her, she felt like sinking in him. So she lowered her head to rest it in the gap of his neck, and her leg dropped down from around his hip to slip between his long legs. She stuck to him, breathless, shaky, exhausted.

And he was the perfect nest to cuddle in. Especially when his dry lips brushed her temple, on their way to deliver a raspy murmur in her ear. "I love you..."

She was in no shape to answer, so she only nodded against his neck.

Brock felt her nod, and her trembling legs, and the shaky breaths she drew. Her heart hammered against his chest and her lips let out one weary sigh after the next. He pulled up the covers over them both and his arms wrapped tighter around her, tucking her in—in him. Good Lord, she was so hot and sweet at the same time. And the best of it all was that it was her, Gillian. He was so not letting go. Ever.

Gillian fell asleep in under a minute. To dream of sleeping with Brock. In her dream, she kissed him good night, stuck to his side with her arm across his chest and closed her eyes to his cologne and his warmth. Like every night.

Brock stayed awake longer. Through exhaustion, he still thought it was odd how naturally Gillian fell into a deep, relaxed sleep in his arms. He didn't know it for a fact, but she didn't fit the kind to have her lovers stay the night. Yet she was sound asleep in a strange bed, cuddling with him, as if they did it every night.