Page 42 of Grouch-ish

“Be selfish,” he commands, desperation sounding in his own strangled tone.

“But you—” I hiss at the next nudge of tension he creates, forcing me to roll my hips and brush harder against his leg.

“This is all for you.”

“Four.”

The countdown seems to spur him on, and Brock becomes hyper focused as his mouth comes to mine once more and his leg flexes against that sensitive spot on me. His hips insistently rock and I clutch at his lower back, silently begging him not to stop.

“Three.”

“Yes,” I whisper.

“Two.”

“Oh, God,” I croak.

“One.”

Fireworks go off behind my eyelids before Brock demands I open them and I’m met with the heat of his coal-like eyes, flaming and bright, as I melt beneath him. Guilty but giddy.

That was incredible.

Draping my hand dramatically over my forehead, I shake my head, blinking back the glittery specks floating in the air over me.

“Happy New Year, snowflake.” Brock grins with a mischievous glint to the teeth digging into his lower lip.

“Happy New Year, fireman. May it be your best year yet.”

The added wish causes Brock to release his lower lip. His expression goes blank a second before he lowers and hovers just an inch from my lips.

“I call time until midnight hits Chicago.”

“Oh God,” I tiredly chuckle, until I read his face and realize he’s serious.

This man wants to kiss me around the clock.

Day 7

Seven minutes swimming

January 1

Chapter 11

[Brock]

Fuck, she is sexy. She not only let me just kiss her, she gave me that sweet orgasm around midnight and then continued the kissing game when Chicago struck twelve. By then we were both worn out. I’d made up for years’ worth of useless kisses in a matter of hours, but I wanted more time with Pear.

My dick had never had such a workout, but I didn’t want to rush like I’d said. I only wanted to savor every second our mouths connected. Of course, there was nibbling at her neck and feasting on her skin, but my hands didn’t wander much other than outlining her serious curves and teasing the supple underside of her breasts.

There was no denying I wanted more of her, but I wanted to be given the gift, not just take from her.

When we finally agreed to call it a night, I escorted her to her room and went to mine but I didn’t last more than three minutes before I was popping out of bed and knocking on her door.

Her tired groan was my permission to enter. “No more,” she muttered into her pillow, hugging it tight beneath her head. I’d asked a lot of her today, but I still wanted to be close to her.

“Can I sleep with you?” I sounded like a child who’d had a bad dream. In many ways, I was that child deep down inside. A kid who’d given up his youth to help his family. A man who worked hard to provide for his family. A husband who lost his wife and struggled to keep up with his children. A firefighter who has possibly seen more than his share of trauma, and known death.