Page 58 of Nailed

I held onto his shoulders and back, my nails raking down, holding onto his weight; solid and unyielding when everything around me was slowly dissolving. His breath came quick and deep against my ear. He kept repeating my name in whispers and moans, and with every iteration of it, dragged me closer to the very edge of my control.

And still I wanted more.

I grabbed his face, forcing him to look at me. “I want you everywhere.”

I kissed his cheek. “Don’t.”

Then his jaw. “Leave.”

His throat. “Any.”

His chest. “Part of me untouched.”

The guttural sound that escaped him had me throbbing and his hips stuttered against mine. I reached over the bed to grab the lube I’d bought a few weeks prior, right after my stint with Rafe. I handed it to Brock.

Wordlessly, he rolled over until I was on top of him. I began to ride while he squeezed some of the gel onto his fingers. When he reached around me to slip two of them inside while I was grinding on his cock, my eyes rolled to the back of my skull.

His attention to detail showed here as he prepped my ass until I was ready for it. His fingers were so painstakingly slow that I ended up bucking against them and only then did he maneuver our bodies so that he was on top again, rubbing himself across my back entrance.

“Are you—” he began but I was so impatient that I just pressed back into him and he groaned, his hands squeezing my ass so hard that I knew there’d be marks tomorrow morning. Or so I hoped.

His hand trailed up my spine, encouraging me to relax and as I did, he pressed in. Despite all the effort he’d put into opening me up, there was still an initial bloom of pain and an alien fullness that forced a yelp from my throat.

But Brock took his time again, trembling with restraint but determined. And slowly, that discomfort gave way to a pleasure that sparked into an inferno when a free hand found its way between my legs. Three fingers inside, a thumb on my clit and his cock in my ass…I’d never felt this full before.

Tears streaked down my cheeks again and I bit the inside of my cheek to try and muffle the sounds I was making but it was pointless. My vision blurred in the intensity of the pleasure I was feeling, building to a peak until it ruptured and my body fell apart for the third time.

Brock came inside me this time with a shout and for the couple of minutes it took for us to unwind from the high, his body cocooned around mine, sweaty and shaking. I felt his tongue snake a trail of sweat along the column of my back and I was too blissed out to even make any more noises of satisfaction. He kept his head pressed to my back.

I was done. Well and truly finished.

We slowly untangled our bodies from each other and the cool air suddenly felt frigid against my skin. When I finally looked at Brock again, his face was as open and exposed as I’d ever seen it, his eyes softer than I thought they were capable of being.

I smiled dazedly, reaching out my hands. “You sure take pride in your work, huh?”

And that’s when I fucked up.

I watched in abject horror as, brick by brick, the walls started going back up. It was like just hearing the word “work” triggered some reset chip in his brain, speeding up what was probably already the world’s most severe case of post-nut clarity.

He cleared his throat. “I’ll help you clean up. Let me just get my clothes first.”

“You don’t have to get—”

But he was gone, already halfway downstairs and tugging on his underwear and jeans. I sighed heavily, running a hand through my no-doubt sex-crazed hair. Most dudes would’ve crashed after all that but he was buzzing around like a worker bee, running me another shower, helping me get my bedding into the washer and even bringing me a glass of water from the kitchen.

We didn’t speak as he went through the motions. The contrast was jarring.

At last, he seemed to think he’d done enough and shrugged on his jacket. I followed him forlornly downstairs, just having thrown on an oversized dress shirt. At least he’d had the decency to wait until I was done showering before he bolted.

He unlocked and opened the door, letting in a gust of cold night air. “Good evening, Miss—”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” I said through gritted teeth, folding my arms across my chest. “Not after what we just did. And don’t you fucking dare say it was a mistake, either.”

“I wasn’t going to,” he said quietly. But he evidently redeveloped his allergy to eye contact.

“Brock…please just stay.” I stayed rooted to the spot. “I…I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

For one single, painful moment, it looked like he was actually considering it. Then his mouth tensed and he dropped his head. “I’m sorry, Lauren.”