Chapter Six

Brock carried Jemma into the house, avoiding everyone as best as he could and ignoring any who called out. He wanted her in his room, in his bed, with her naked body pressed tight against his skin. He wanted to be her blanket, her pillow, and anything and everything she needed. He saw the distrust in her gaze. It was nothing less than he deserved. Now, it was up to him to earn her confidence. To show her and her bear he was a mate who’d treasure and protect her. Always.

He carried her into his room, knocking the door shut with his hip. Jemma held tight to his shoulders but didn’t say a word as he walked into the adjoining bathroom. He sat her on the counter then turned, opened the glass door and turned on the water.

“Do you have three showerheads?” Jemma asked.

Brock turned back to her, grabbing a fistful of material between his shoulders and tugging the shirt over his head before dropping it to the ground. He nodded as he toed off his shoes and kicked them aside before reaching down and pulling off his socks. He glanced up as he reached for his belt and grinned at the hunger in his little mate’s gaze.

“More than that,” he said, taking his time with opening his jeans. “You’ll see when you step in. The rain head and two others are on now, but there are more.”

He glanced up as he spread the material wide and shoved it down his thighs. His shaft bobbed up, long and thick as it pointed toward her.

“I can shower by myself, Brock.”

She forced her gaze up to meet his, and her cheeks flushed at him catching her staring at him. Hell, she could look all she wanted. Touch, too. On second thought, maybe touching was a bad idea. Especially since he was waiting for her to beg and give him her vows before he took her virginity.

“I’ll shower with you.”

He gripped the shirt he’d dressed her in and eased it up over her head. She lifted her hands, allowing him to remove it and toss it onto the pile on the floor. Then he grasped her waist and helped her to stand. With a hand on the curve of her ass, he guided her to the shower.

She moaned as she stepped inside and the hot water hit her. He damn near came then, barely managing to get control as he reached around for the bodywash and loofah he’d placed in the enclosure when he’d been here earlier. He’d wanted everything perfect for when he brought her back to his room. Now, he squeezed some of the vanilla-scented wash onto the wet material and ran it over her shoulders.

She was tense at first, but he took his time, moving along her spine, skipping over her injured side, then squatting behind her to wash her ass and legs.

“Turn around.” His voice was husky as he fought the need to lift her against the wall and fuck her until she couldn’t take anymore.

He heard her blow out a breath before she did as he asked. He started at her feet, lifting them one at a time to rest on his thigh as he cleaned them for her. Then he made his way up her legs. The loofah was lost somewhere on the shower floor as he used his hands to rub the bubbly soap over her skin. When he got to the inside of her thighs, he pressed, urging her to widen her stance for him. With a shuddering breath, she did. He forced himself to be quick when he wanted to linger. He stroked her folds, brushed his thumb over the swollen nub of her clit, and swept his fingers back and forth over her opening, teasing them both with the idea of dipping inside and seeing just how tight she’d be around him.

“Brock.” Her hands found his shoulders, and when he glanced up, it was to the perfect view of her rosy nipples, rock hard and practically begging for him to suck them. Her head was thrown back, her throat working as she panted.

He eased his hands higher, stroking over her stomach, then standing as he poured more wash into his palms and cupped her breasts. He ran his thumbs over her nipples, her moans almost destroying the tight leash he held on himself. He forced his hands elsewhere, taking each arm in turn and washing from shoulder to fingertips before dropping them and turning her until she faced the water again. This time, he took the shampoo and worked it through the long, dark tresses he loved. Jemma had beautiful hair. Dark as the midnight sky, falling to the middle of her back in long, thick curls. It complemented her big blue eyes perfectly.

“That feels good,” she moaned, leaning her head back. He didn’t deny himself the need to drop his lips to hers. Soft. Chaste. Without the depth and possession he craved, with her wet and naked before him.

“Relax, baby. I’ve got you.”

Jemma’s eyes popped open, and she gave him a considering look.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

“How long this new Brock will last.”

He laughed. “I’m still an asshole, which I’m sure you’ll remind me of often. But I’m your asshole.”

She shook her head, and her brows puckered.

“Stop thinking so hard,” he ordered, rubbing the space between her eyes with his thumb. “Shower, food, sleep, then we’ll talk.”

She appeared so young in that moment. Unsure of the world around her. It made him want to kick his own ass even more than he already did. Fate had gifted him with a fierce, beautiful mate, and because she’d proved more of a challenge than he’d been ready for, he’d let what he’d felt was rejection dictate how he’d behaved. His brothers were right. He was an idiot.

He helped her rinse her hair then worked conditioner through it, loving the way the curls sprang up as he pulled the treatment through to the ends and released. When he was finished, he dropped back to his knees and turned her so he could see the side where she’d been stabbed. A growl rumbled up from his chest. He should have been there for her, watching over her, protecting her.

“I’m fine,” she whispered then hissed when he trailed his fingers along one enflamed edge.

“I’m sorry.”

“The attack wasn’t your fault. None of us could have predicted they’d attack Holloway land again. It was probably some last hurrah attempt to get as many of us as they could. Or maybe, they thought Lawrence Walker was already here, and they came for him.”

Brock leaned in and placed a kiss on her flesh before standing once more. He dropped another kiss on her lips before urging her to lean back so he could rinse her hair for her.

“I don’t know what to make of this,” she admitted.

“Of what?”

“You. Being nice. It’s weird as hell.”

He laughed.

“I’m serious. Yell at me or something, so I know it’s really you. That you weren’t taken over by some pod people or I haven’t fallen into an alternate universe. Or… Oh, god! Am I in a coma, and this is all a dream?”

“If it was a dream, what would we be doing?”

Her gaze flicked down his body, taking in the erection he did nothing to hide. He wanted her comfortable with his body. He planned to keep her naked as much as possible.

“We wouldn’t be showering,” she muttered.

“No?”

His chest rumbled as his bear urged him to claim their mate. Brock walked her under the spray until her back pressed against the shower wall. He loomed over her, so much larger than his mate. She had such a big personality, a fiery temper, that he forgot how tiny she was.

He leaned into her, his cock grazing her stomach as he took her mouth softly with his. She was soft and tempting. Too tempting. Need had him brushing his fingers along her collarbone then along the slender column of her throat. He licked at her lips, but even when she opened her mouth on a sigh, he didn’t dive in. He refused to consume. Instead, he took his time. Tasted. Tempted. Until her tongue licked along his bottom lip and flicked inside his mouth. He let her have control, let her do her own exploring. Until her soft fingers wrapped around his shaft and squeezed.

“Fuck.”

Brock pulled back, breathing hard as he disengaged her grip and grappled for control. He fumbled against the wall but managed to shut off the shower. He slid the door open and jerked a towel off the rack, wrapping it around his hips before grabbing another and using it to dry Jemma.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked, uncertainty in her gaze.

“If you’d been any more right, I’d have broken my promise.”

She gave him a questioning look.

“The one where I said I wouldn’t fuck you until you begged.”

She flushed but shook her head in denial.

“Maybe, I’ll make you beg instead.”

The woman had no idea how close she was to that. Hell, he’d been ready to fall to his knees and beg as soon as she’d gripped him. Even before then. When he touched between her thighs and the sweet fragrance of her lust had filled his nostrils, it had taken everything he had to keep from lifting her up then thrusting his tongue inside her and eating her like the decadent treat he already knew she’d be. He was ready to give in when her stomach growled. She was hungry and needed food to help fuel her body, so she could heal. And he was thinking about sex.

“Let’s get you dried off and in bed. Then I’ll grab us something to eat.”

“I’m afraid to go to sleep.”

“What? Why?” he asked, cupping her face and tilting it up toward his when she would have looked down instead.

“I don’t want to wake up and find this is all a dream.”

“This?”

“You,” she admitted. “Waking up to find you hate me again just might break me.”

“Jemma.”

He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her and hugging her. She broke his heart. Had she really thought he felt that way?

“You make me feel a lot of emotions, but hate has never been one of them.”

“Don’t let me wake up alone, Brock,” she whispered. “I’m so tired of being alone.”

“Never again,” he promised, scooping her up into his arms and carrying her to his bed. He tossed back the covers and put her on the mattress, throwing the wet towel back toward the bathroom door before covering her up.

He turned, grabbing some shorts from his dresser and pulling them on before he saw the tray on top of it. Sandwiches, chips, and several bottles of water and a note from Jensen.

Make sure she eats.

Leave it to Jensen. Brock carried the tray to the bed and joined her. He owed his brother. All of his brothers. For helping him open his eyes to the miracle lying in his bed, eyelids already drooping shut.

“You need to eat before you go to sleep, Jemma.”

She nodded, eating absentmindedly, more by rote than anything else. She was fiery, with a quick temper, a woman who kept him on his toes, one who fired and fed his own temper. This muted version of her was hard to take. He’d do anything needed to get the real Jemma back. Whatever had happened to her during the attack, whether it was the poison or the drugs or something else, it was breaking her, and he didn’t fucking like it one bit.

When he glanced back at her, she was already out. He eased the plate from her lap and took the empty bottle from her hand. She made a soft sound but didn’t move otherwise. He finished the food and put aside everything before turning off the lights, shucking the clothes he’d pulled on and slipping into bed with her. He tugged her close, needing to feel her body against his. As if she agreed, she rolled into him, one leg going over his thighs, arm thrown over his stomach as she nuzzled her face against his chest. He cupped her ass, urging her even closer, moving her higher until that nose rubbed his throat. He should feel guilty for wanting her to mark him with her scent while she was asleep and unaware. He didn’t. She might not realize it, but now that he had her in his bed, she was never sleeping alone again.