Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
“Go wait at the pick-up,” he demanded, hip-checking me until I moved out of his way. “Normally, I’d say we can get a table, but the youths have descended upon the place,” he said, gesturing around to the young clientele that had occupied every single table.
“It’s hot in here anyway,” I said, shrugging. “I think I would enjoy this more in the cool air outside,” I told him, moving through the crowd and out the door. “Can we walk?” I asked, waving toward the street lined with storefronts.
“Yeah,” he agreed, but I didn’t miss the casual glance down at my feet.
Admittedly, they were killing me. But I’d be damned if he knew that. So I started walking as I waited for my coffee to get just a shade cooler than ‘the fires of hell’ before I took a sip.
Apparently, Brock was immune to third-degree mouth burns, because he chugged his coffee and tossed his cup before I could even fully tolerate the heat through the cup and the coffee collar around it.
“Are you going to try it or not?” Brock asked, shooting me a smirk.
Deciding it was probably drinkable, I leaned back against the brick of a closed office, took off the cap, took a deep breath to breathe in the scent, then took a long sip.
It was like all the best parts of fall and winter combined to have a party in your mouth.
There was no way to keep the primal groan of pleasure in as I closed my eyes and tipped my head back for a second, just enjoying it fully because I knew I would probably never have a first sip of anything quite as good as that coffee.
But then I sensed Brock moving closer, making my eyes slit open just in time to watch as his arm rose, and his thumb moved out to wipe down my nose where, I imagined, some whipped cream had accumulated.
Everything in me seemed to freeze at that moment, something inside of me sensing the electricity sparking between us.
Finished cleaning off my nose, his thumb moved down, wiping down my lower lip, forcing it down slightly so he could wipe off the foamy cream.
There was no stopping the way my lips parted in a silent invitation. And, I imagined, there was no mistaking the desire in my eyes right then, either.
“Oh, fuck it,” Brock hissed just a second before his hand shifted to my jaw, and his lips crashed down on mine.
I froze for just the briefest of seconds, like some part of me was afraid that any movement would break the spell, would ruin the moment.
But then his lips were pressing harder into mine, and there was no stopping them from responding.
My head tilted back as my lips pressed to his, as my free hand rose to slide up his side, settling on his ribs as his shifted from my jaw to the back of my head, holding me there as his teeth nipped my lower lip, as his tongue moved inside to claim mine.
“Ah, hey Brock?” a voice called right at that perfect moment. “Whatcha doing?” it added, making Brock pull back, his forehead meeting mine for a second.
“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath.
“I sure hope she’s not who I think she is,” the blonde added as she walked past us with a massive bird sitting on her shoulder.
“Who was that?” I asked as we both watched her go.
“Clarke,” he said, moving suddenly away from me, and the small space between us may as well have been a cavern with all the distance it seemed to create.
“Who is Clarke?” I asked, holding my coffee with two hands, making it create some sort of barrier in front of me.
“Sawyer’s brother’s woman,” he said, exhaling hard.
“She has a giant bird,” I said.
“It technically belongs to a vigilante and his woman, but they share custody with Barrett and Clarke.”
“That was a whole lot of crazy in one sentence,” I decided, and couldn’t help but look as the woman stopped in front of a building to unlock it before moving inside.
“Let’s get back to the car, and maybe I can tell you it,” he told me.
With that, he did.
For the whole ride back to the city, almost as if he was afraid that if there was a second where the conversation lapsed, we might be forced to discuss what had just happened.
And, clearly, he didn’t want to do that.
I tried not to feel just a little bit crushed at that idea as we walked into my apartment building, then silently rode up the elevator.
“What’s your schedule for tomorrow?” Brock asked, his tone more guarded than usual. Which, of course, only made me throw up more of my own guards.
“Work.”
So much work, in fact, that I wouldn’t even be able to think about the man.