Kristen Ashley - Wild Man

Then he spoke and when he did he did it softly and I noticed the sweet hum in the room just as it hit me his eyes were amused.

“Okay, sweetness, it shits me to do it but I’m gonna have to educate you.”

Uh-oh.

I tipped my head to the side as I felt my body tense and I asked cautiously, “About what?”

“About the games a woman like Olivia plays, specifically why she instigates a play.”

Oh, well. That didn’t sound too bad. It actually sounded interesting.

I relaxed against him and said, “Okay.”

His lips tipped up more and he began, “Now, a woman like Olivia walks into my place and sees a woman in my kitchen who isn’t better lookin’ than her, she does not throw a shit fit.

She does not make bitchy comments. She has no reaction at all. She’s content in the knowledge I’ve settled for somethin’ less and falls asleep smilin’, thinking I’m thinking I settled for second best.”

I nodded when he quit speaking so he continued.

“If she sees a woman who’s better lookin’ than her, her hackles rise and she gets pissed.

Right at that moment it’s game on. Then she throws a shit fit and makes bitchy comments and she drives home thinkin’ about nothin’ but how to stake her claim. And she instigates a play to remind me of the Olivia she played me with, and, by the way, that was who was on my Mom’s lawn today and it was the first time I saw her since the last time Olivia wanted somethin’ from me. And she did this not because she wants me back. She did it in order to best you so she can go back to fallin’ asleep smilin’, content in the knowledge that she’s top of the heap, she’s taken you down and she’s still got what it takes to manipulate me.”

I stared into his eyes.

Then I began, “I don’t –”

His arms gave me a squeeze and he talked over me. “Tess, no lie, Olivia is beautiful but she is not better looking than you. No fuckin’ way. You think, she was, Levi would take one look at you and put you to the test?”

Hmm. Interesting point.

“But –” I started and got another arm squeeze.

“Babe, seriously. I’m committed to my job and there were a lot of things about Darla that were foul most especially the shit she snorted, injected and inhaled into her body but she wasn’t tough to look at. There were a lot of ways to make my play with you as a possible asset or suspect. The minute I saw you, it took me a split second to decide what play I was gonna make and,” another arm squeeze, “when I say the minute I saw you, I’m talkin’ your pictures in a file. The minute I saw you in person, babe, cast your mind back. How long was I in your shop before you said yes to me askin’ you out for a beer?”

I cast my mind back but I didn’t have to. Meeting Brock slash Jake was burned in my brain. I was filling the display with fresh cupcakes, the bell over the door went, I looked up and his eyes were on me. Then he smiled as he walked straight to me, ignoring the two counter girls, asked for half a dozen snickerdoodles and if I’d meet him for a beer.

He was probably in my shop thirty seconds before he asked me out.

I thought it was the coolest move ever, no bullshit, cocky, confident and self-assured.

Not to mention he was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen.

So it wasn’t but five seconds later when I said yes (to my counter girls’ disbelief and delight).

I stared at him.

Then it hit me and I blurted, “You think I’m more beautiful than Olivia?”

“Babe,” he muttered, grinned, gave me an arm squeeze but that was it.

Whoa. He thought I was more beautiful than Olivia.

“I think I need to spend some time perusing myself in the mirror,” I told him and his body started shaking with laughter as his arms separated, one went low, one went high so his hand could sift into my hair then pull my face closer to his.

“How ‘bout you peruse yourself in the mirror later,” he muttered, his eyes dropping to my lips.

“Later?” I whispered, knowing what his eyes dropping to my lips meant because that had happened before but also the hum in the room changed to warm and close and I knew what was on his mind.

“Yeah,” his eyes came to mine then his hand pushed my head closer to his but veered it to the side so at my ear, he whispered, “I had maple buttermilk pie at dinner and chocolate cake during football but I still have a taste for somethin’ sweet and the sweet I wanna eat right now is my Tess.”

I felt tingles at my scalp, along my skin and about three other places besides.

“Okay,” I whispered, sliding my hands out from between us to wrap my arms around him and press my torso close to his.

His lips slid down my neck then back up making me roll my hips in his lap involuntarily and, back at my ear, he growled, “Fuckin’ love goin’ down on you, baby.”

I shivered and I did this because I loved it too but almost (not quite) better was him growling it in my ear.

“Brock,” I whispered.

His arm slid up my back, wrapped around tight and his fingers stroked light as a feather against the side of my breast as he went on, “Never had a sweeter cunt than yours, Tess, not in my whole fuckin’ life.”

I made a noise in my throat and pressed my lips against his neck right where his hair curled as my hips rolled against his lap again.

“You wet for me?” he murmured against my neck.

Oh yeah. Definitely.

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Good, then you’re ready.”

Then he moved his head and mine, crushed my lips down on his, invaded my mouth with his tongue and surged up off the couch, taking me with him.

I wrapped my legs around his hips, my arm around his shoulders and slid the fingers of my other hand in his hair as he kissed me while he carried me to my bedroom.

Then I gave Brock something sweet.

Then he gave me something sweeter.

Then we both gave each other something even sweeter.

Then he tugged his tee and jeans back on, I pulled on a nightie, warm socks and dug in his exploded bag that now had a permanent place in the corner of my bedroom and pulled on one of his flannels. He got a beer and poured me some red wine while I took out my contacts and slipped on my glasses. Then we curled on my couch in the basement and watched football.

I zonked out with my head against his thigh and his fingers sifting through my hair.

I reawakened when he set me in bed and only stayed that way until he pulled me deep into his body and tangled his legs with mine.

My last thought before drifting back to sleep was that Thanksgiving, as with anything with Brock’s family, was interesting, to say the least.

But Thanksgiving night with just Brock and me was fabulous.

The best Thanksgiving night I ever had.

Ever.

One arm wrapped around my back, one hand on my ass, Brock surged out then back inside me and I stifled my moan against his neck as my fingers fisted in his hair and the nails of my other hand dragged down his back.

He growled in my ear because my man liked my nails on his back and then he surged out and thrust in again.

And again.

And again.

I lifted my head and yanked his up by his hair, maneuvering his mouth to mine; I kissed him hard as he pounded inside.

Then my nails dug in his back and my legs spasmed around his hips as my head jerked back and I whimpered, “Oh my God, honey, I’m gonna –”

I didn’t finish, my eyes closed, my head fell back, he drove in faster and harder and I gasped and held him tight to me as I came.

“Eyes,” he growled and my eyes fluttered open and focused hazily on him. “I want your eyes when I come,” he ordered.

“Okay, baby,” I whispered and held his eyes, held him tense in three limbs as one hand roamed, gliding across his skin, up his back, around his side, my thumb rubbing his nipple hard then down his chest, his abs until it was at our wet connection and I was feeling him taking me from outside as well as in. “God, that’s beautiful.”

“Tess,” he groaned.

I touched my lips to his, held his eyes and whispered, “Fucking beautiful, baby.”

He slanted his head, took my mouth and planted his cock, his grunt of release driving down my throat.

Yeah. Beautiful.

Since his mouth was on mine, when he recovered, he started gliding in and out as he kissed me, deep but soft and sweet and I wrapped him tight and kissed him back.

Then his mouth released mine, he buried himself to the root as his lips glided down my cheek to my ear, his arms curved around me squeezed and he whispered in my ear as his hips pushed deep, “Sweetest fuckin’ cunt I ever had.”

I shivered in his arms.

Then he pulled out and pulled me off the vanity in his bathroom where he’d walked in when he heard me turn off the faucet after I brushed my teeth, closed the door and instigated operation maximum physical contact in the only room in the house (possibly and hopefully) his sons couldn’t hear us having sex. Thus, me ending up with my ass to the vanity, my arms and legs wrapped around Brock and my first-ever orgasm in a bathroom.

It was sublime.

But when he dropped me to my feet, he surprised me when he stayed close and turned me to facing the mirror then he pressed forward and fenced me in against the vanity, his hands moving slowly around my ribs, my belly, crossing over to go down to my hips. My surprised eyes went to the mirror and I saw his were already there following the trail of his hands. Then I saw my hair was a mess, my cheeks pink, my eyes still hazy and his hands were still moving over the amethyst-colored, simple, short silk nightie (another Neiman’s purchase, not the splurge of the first I got at Nordstrom’s, but also not cheap either) he’d fucked me in.