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“Les. Les!”
Thank God. She forced her vocal cords to work. “Here. I’m here.”
Brick emerged from the woods, clothes plastered to him, eyes wild and fierce. Those superhero arms would have helped him reach the bank faster than her. He’d probably been charging downstream like a bull, trying to catch up to her, to help her get to shore.
It was an incredible relief to see him, so much that her knees buckled when she tried to run to him. But he caught her, going to his knees to hold her in a powerful, life-affirming embrace before he pulled her away from him. His gaze was all over her, fingertips on what felt like a messy scalp laceration as he cradled her head in big hands.
She confirmed it, her fingers following his. The worst she had were scrapes and bruises. Head wounds liked to bleed, even if they weren’t serious.
“It’s okay, it’s superficial,” she told him, even as she dropped her hands to pull up his shirt. He was still bleeding, his run through the woods making that no big surprise. Adrenaline could carry someone far too long past serious injury.
“Brick, let me see. Stay still.”
He seemed surprised to find he was hurt. He hadn’t even noticed, or if he had, none of it had slowed him down. Keeping her safe had been his total focus. Not once had he allowed her to be fully exposed to Colin’s aim. All of that crowded into her mind, like panicked family in the waiting room. She told them all to shut up. She was suddenly scared shitless, and needed to fall back on her training, not get caught up in who he was to her or how serious his injury could be.
It was okay. Relief flooded her. The bullet had taken a chunk of flesh out of his side, but hadn’t penetrated where the organs could have been adversely affected. The wound would need tending, but a cursory examination showed it was the worst he’d incurred. Like her, he had some cuts, some torn clothing from the rocks, and would probably have impressive bruising patterns by tomorrow. But they were both okay.
She said a prayer of thanks, then lifted her gaze to his. “It wasn’t just girlish fantasy.”
“What?”
“You would jump off a bridge for me.”
“Apparently, so would you.” He was holding her tight against him again, her examination and his strength reassuring her enough she could afford a gentle tease.
“That doesn’t count. You yanked me off.”
He snorted out a half-laugh, but she noted his tension and realized he was scouring the river.
“He’s dead. I saw his body go past. I think he shot himself.”
“Fucking hell.” Brick’s chest expanded and contracted, an expression of relief that transformed into something else as he lifted her face to his, his hands on her now more insistent. His kiss was flavored with the taste of the water, his heat, and hers. She was aware of the friction between their shuddering bodies, plastered against one another as close as they could get with their clothes on.
In the same moment she had that thought, he had his hands on the button of her jeans, wrenching it open, shoving down the zipper. She answered the aggression with her own, her arms wrapping around his shoulders, nails digging into his back.
It was a primal response to the threat of death. Even as she recognized it, the strength of their mutual response shocked her. Overwhelmed her. She gave herself to it, clinging to him as Brick devoured her mouth, his tongue all over the inside of it, her tongue, teeth, cheeks, tasting her, sucking on her. Biting. He gripped her hair like a caveman might.
“Push the jeans down, Les. Get them to your knees, because you’re going to need to spread your legs to take how big I am right now. I’m sorry, baby, I have to. I can’t…I need to feel you.”
“Your side, it needs…”
“I don’t give a damn. Hold onto me.”
She made a noise of total understanding and the same need against his mouth. As he pushed her back against the earth, she begged for more. “Please, I need to feel your skin.”
He pulled his bloody shirt over his head, her helping him to get it out of the way. Despite his order, he pushed her hands away and worked her wet jeans to her knees himself. He tore away her soaked panties with a rip of the seams. Her hands were over his when they went to his jeans, offering fumbling help he didn’t need but which broadcast her matching impatience as he unbuckled his belt, pulled open the zipper.
He was right. He was enormous, thick as she’d ever seen his already sizeable organ. She’d later appreciate the courtesy as he tested her readiness with his fingers. Though her arousal was obvious, it still stunned her that she was so wet his fingers sank to the last knuckle inside her with barely any pressure. Brick muttered a reverent oath.
“My sweet, good girl.”
He could have turned her over, but he planted himself between her knees, his legs pinning her jeans such that it was as if she was spread and restrained for him. That was how he wanted her. Plus he wanted to see her face, as much as she wanted to see his.
His thrust into her was savage. The act was at odds with how gentle his hands were on her face, stroking a gash on her cheek, the blood on her temple. He put his mouth on them and any other cut he could reach. As he drove into her, all she could do was hold on, forcibly moved along the bank by his power. She made a feminine noise of acceptance, and he matched it with a male growl.
There were no questions here, no doubts.
I’m yours, yours, yours.
