The End - Blackbird book 7

15

His heavy eyelids came down as he wondered whether he'd be able to sleep like her, considering he'd never spent the whole night with a woman since Georgia's death. He really hoped he'd do so, because it was...

...clear outside. Some time between seven and eight a.m. So good, recalling he had the day off, because he could use a while longer in bed. His thighs were numb rocks, and the small of his back ached as if he'd been lifting heavy boxes non-stop for the last year.

Serves you well, Brockner. Hope you enjoyed playing teen lover.

Playing teen lo...? Only then he registered the rest of his body. He was naked? He used to wake up laying on his back, but there was something about his right arm. It was stretched out across the bed, and he couldn't move it. His eyebrows raised to pull up his eyelids half an inch to see what had his arm trapped. And he gasped at what he found.

Actually, who.

Gillian...?

Gillian! Of course!

She was still there, with him. Brock couldn't believe it. He'd fell into such a deep sleep, his mind woke up to a momentary blank. Now it all came back to him.

Gillian laid on her side, her back to him, so he mirrored her position. His right arm was under her head, captured by her arms, wrapped tight about it.

Brock's chest stuck to her back. The rest of his body followed the motion. His left arm rested around her waist, and his mild morning boner ended up against her butt.

Easy, tiger, or you're as good as dead.

He ignored his sarcasm, letting his legs fold to fit behind hers. His hand sneaked beneath her arm and found her breasts.

Suit yourself. Just remember: phone on nightstand, dial 911.

In her sleep, Gillian let out an unaware sigh at his touch. It seemed to pull from his hips to press them against her. He sighed too, his nose sunk in her dark hair.

His muscles flared some useless red lights about age, cramps and hospitals. Brock turned his mind off and let his sensations take over.

Gillian's dreams experienced a sudden temperature raise that took her to the brink of waking up. But the dream felt too good to let go, and the tiny part of her mind able to process information only concluded it felt more realistic, but not that different from some of her dreams of Brock. So it allowed her to stay asleep.

Until it felt just too real. Her dreams never burned like this. And they never felt so good. Kicked out of her dream into the waken world, she found herself laying with her chest to the mattress, something fluffy like a throw-pillow under her belly. A warm weight covered her back. It rocked against her. Something even warmer, and hard, pushed her butt. No. Between her legs.

A gush of fire from her groin shoved her into consciousness but not completely. Sensations clouded her sleepy mind and she clung to them. There were too many to register them all at the same time. What captured most of her attention was that warm hard thing moving inside of her. Gosh, it felt so good. She wanted to feel more of it. But when she tried to spread her legs apart, to make more room for it, she couldn't move them. So she stuck up her butt. Her moan echoed somewhere close above her head, and the firm pressure on her breasts increased for a moment. It also felt so good. Not as good as her groin but great anyway. It completed that other sensation. Her back arched in response, to increase both. She moaned again, her mouth to the pillow. She wanted to move. She needed to move. This was what she wanted to feel again. She wanted more of it. She wanted to feel that exquisite fire burning low in her womb. She wanted it to blaze up throughout her whole body. Something pressed her shoulder like a soft bite. The pressure on her breasts focused on her nipples. The first throbbing prick pierced up her belly. That. Please. More. Now. Right now. One of her breasts was left to brush the sheet on her rocking. A gentle pressure travelled further down. Oh, yes. Go on. It brushed past her navel. She wriggled under that rocking weight pinning her down. Keep going! It adapted to the shape of her groin and stopped. She tried to stick to it. Then it stroke past the fold of her skin and slid into the wet, warm gap.

Brock growled when Gillian squirmed against his fingers. He thrust deeper, stretched out on top of her back, his legs keeping hers together to make her flesh tighter around him. He raised his head from her shoulder, breathing in a hoarse panting. The feeling was blinding. He wanted more. He'd have more. Right now. So he paced up and thrust harder. So close. So close. There. Her flesh throbbed against him and her muscles stiffened. Faster. Harder. It burned. She froze with a long, helpless groan. Yes. There. His groin caught fire, scorching his belly as he thrust the hardest, her moaning in his ear. Yes. Stay still. Keep moaning. He thrust one last time as air escaped his lungs, all of him lost in that blessed relief to put out the fire burning him up inside.

He felt like melting as he leaned down and rested all his weight on her, too breathless and hazy even to lay by her side. She still panted beneath him, her body shivering as she relaxed.

"Sorry..." he managed to mumble.

"Morning..." she articulated, her mouth still sunk in her pillow.