Chapter 15

Brock

Have you ever kissed someone after spending years wanting just that? I couldn't even feel her lips at first, too caught up in the fact this was happening. She was sucking in a breath along with me, her hands sinking into my hair as I grabbed a handful of hers. When her legs parted, I surged in, my mouth forcing hers open.

I needed in her.

My tongue, my body, my cock, because only when I satisfied this long-suppressed need to delve into her as deeply as I could go would that burning ache in my chest ease. I pulled away anyway, staring down at her, drinking in her dazed expression, then her swollen lips. Something settled inside me when she smiled. Her hand dragged me back down for another kiss, one I could actually feel.

Her lips were so soft, but hungry as well. She wasn't content to let me lead the way, her grip tightening to the point of pain, as if I'd tried to get away. Never. I wanted this, slow, soft kisses and long, deep exploratory ones where I got acquainted with every square inch of her mouth, until we were forced to come up for air.

"Food," I ground out.

"What?"

She seemed to come back to herself, smoothing my hair back down and then blinking up at me.

"We're getting food," I insisted.

"Going through the drive through for a burger?" she asked hopefully, right as her body began to move. My dick felt like it was trying to claw itself out of my jeans, because this rocking movement was driving me mad.

"No… No…" I forced myself away from her, holding my hips back as my hands slapped down on the car. "Date, remember?"

"We can pretend to do that when Mum arrives," she said, trying to draw me back.

"No." She didn't realise, but this was the real thing. I wasn't here for her to scratch an itch with. Jamie was the only girl I wanted, and I had to do this right. "I'm taking you out to a very nice restaurant and getting you… Fuck!"

Her hand slid down the front of my jeans, finding my cock and forcing the denim to mould tightly around it. The coarse fabric wasn't her, but it was close enough. It throbbed so hard my teeth clamped down, right as I pushed her hand away.

"No." She grinned at my forceful assertion, the little brat. "Jamie?—"

"We can practise dating later. Right now I want to practise?—"

"I'll peel every inch of clothing off your body and then lay down, get you riding my face as my hands grip that cute little arse, forcing you down as far as you can go so I can pulse my tongue in and out of your cunt." Oh, I had her attention now. The smile faded and something darker rose. "I'll suck your clit until you're squirming, feeling my beard rubbing all over you until you burst."

"God, yes, I want that," she hissed.

"But you have to grab dinner with me first."

That soft, hazy look in her eyes started to fade as she shot me a not entirely friendly look.

"This pizza better be coated in solid gold or something."

"Not quite. It's good and so is…" Moving in like I had a right to, grazing my nose along her neck and hearing her breathing pick up was so damn good. "Anticipation. I'm pretty sure I need to fuel up for what's to come, and then…" I nuzzled into her ear, feeling her squirm under me. "Dessert."

"If you're thinking gelato or something…" she growled.

"I'm thinking you, babe." I unlocked the door and held it open. "Now get in before I change my mind."

The sound of the car's engine, the deep throaty rumble, took on a whole other vibe now. Jamie's eyes always lit up when she saw my baby, it being a late-model classic I'd restored myself, but now? Her nails raked up and down her thighs as I threw the car in gear, then one hand slid across to rest on mine. That one little gesture heated me up inside. It was sweet, but more importantly, it was possessive, like I was hers and she was mine. I thought about that over and over on the way to the restaurant.

We were given a booth out the back and she went to sit opposite me, but that wouldn't do. I'd stared at Jamie far too often, but feeling her? My hand found her thigh, her whole body jolting, right as the waiter came over.

Interesting.

"You good with me ordering for you?"

There was a little pause, the waiter leaning slightly closer, but Jamie rallied quickly.

"Um… sure, just no anchovies."

"Seafood makes you sick." She blushed slightly when she realised I'd been paying attention far longer than just tonight, but I forged on. I ordered a couple of pizzas and some sides, knowing we'd never get through the lot of it.

"Exactly how much ‘fuel' are you going to need?" Her question came out a little breathy because my hand slid up higher, my fingers curling around her inner thigh.

"We won't eat it all," I assured her, "but I'll get the leftovers boxed up to go, and later…" My mouth dropped closer to her ear. The place was packed and noisy, but I didn't want to risk anyone hearing this. "When we're both exhausted and sated, I'll drag some food out and feed you to make sure you keep your strength up, ready for the next round."

This is what I wanted, to feel her vibrate under my hand, to feel her responding to me, but that would never be enough. I had to know how we got here, what led to her agreeing to date three men who'd just been waiting for a chance, so I peered into her eyes.

"But before that, how about you tell me what's going on with your mum?"

I was crashing and burning without even getting off the ground. All the spark seemed to go out of her then. No, worse–it was as if everything that made her who she was got packed up and locked away.

"My mum…" She forced herself to smile, her laugh a harsh bark. "Way to kill the mood. I mean if you've changed your mind?—"

"Nope."

I stared at her expectantly and she shook her head in irritation.

"You've got Heather," she replied finally. "You're never going to be able to understand."

"Try me."

I deliberately kept my tone soft, and she shot me a wary look before sighing.

"Have you ever met someone who refuses to take no for an answer?" We both smiled then, able to bring up many, many customers that fit that description. "Not just ‘I want a service for this much' or ‘that part should cost this,' but a person who bulldozes over legitimate choices when it suits them. I don't like seafood." She put her hand to her chest. "I'm not allergic, but at least half the time it leaves me feeling super queasy. Most people don't want to eat stuff that makes them feel sick that often, but Mum…"

Her head shook back and forth.

"If we were at someone else's place, I wasn't supposed to say anything because it was embarrassing. Not more embarrassing than me vomiting in someone's backyard after dinner, which apparently was just me trying to get attention." My grip on her thigh tightened. "And at home, the boys loved fish, so we'd have it for dinner at least once or twice a week. I'd try to make something else to eat. No. I'd eat the sides but not dinner. No. She'd sit me there at the table and wait me out, long past when all the others had finished their meal, waiting for me to eat what was on my plate. Hours would tick by and I'd be crying…" I moved then, putting my arm around her, wishing to fuck I'd never opened my mouth. "Tears running down my cheeks, and she'd just stare me down. It's not about the fish."

Her eyes found mine.

"It's never about the fish, or the wedding, or having a boyfriend or anything." There was something so very resigned about her tone. "Mum needs to feel in control to be OK. She always does, and she will do whatever she can to make sure that stays true. I've tried reasoning with her and pushing back, explaining how this makes me feel, but she can't take that information in." She let out a shuddering sigh. "She'll choose being in control over me every time. So it's either accept that or feed her a line of bullshit to protect my real life from her scrutiny."

Her hands went to the table, playing with the tablecloth.

"That's why I created imaginary boyfriends." She shot me a sheepish look. "It keeps her off my back, out of my business, tantalising her with the possibility of me finding a husband, without actually requiring me to do that."

"You don't want to get married one day?" I asked, which was probably not the greatest first date question. She snorted in recognition of that.

"Married, kids, they're not on my radar." Her focus shifted to the rest of the restaurant, gazing at the couples and families seated there. "Other people really seem to make it work, but I…" Her eyes flicked up to meet mine. "I just want to be happy, y'know, and I've never been able to see a way people can have those things and enjoy life. It's always poopy bum kids and bickering about who needs to do the dishes and… I don't want that. Do you?"

She didn't want me to answer that question. A future where she didn't wear my ring, nor carry my child? Yeah, I could get behind that, but one without her in it? She wasn't ready to hear that right now, and it just went to show how terrible I was at dating, dragging this shit up.

"I don't need kids or a wife to make me happy," I replied. Just you, was my silent addendum. "Obviously, or I'd have them by now."

"So what's that about?" she asked, rallying quickly as she twisted to face me. "I don't think I've ever seen you date… Hang on, there was that girl back when I was an apprentice. The crazy one!"

"Cindy…" Saying my ex's name was like swearing in church, ill advised. "Yeah, she burned me pretty bad."

Dale, my married former employee? He'd given up on trying to crack onto Jamie when I gave him his marching orders, but it appeared he was fairly indiscriminate in his tastes. I'd gone over to Cindy's place to surprise her, only to be shocked to find him balls deep inside her. My ex tried to rationalise it all, but I didn't stick around to hear her reasoning.

"So is this dating rehab?" Jamie asked. "I need a fake date and you need to learn how to get back in the saddle. Maybe if?—"

I moved in, pressing my mouth to hers.

"We aren't talking about other women while we're together," I informed her. "Fake date or whatever, I'm always one hundred percent focussed on who I'm with."

Her eyelashes fluttered as she stared at me, a question in her eyes, but before we could discuss anything further, the waiter returned with our food. We sat in silence as it was deposited on the table, then I thanked the man.

"So, no anchovies, no seafood," I said, prodding the nearest pizza, "and extra cheese, just the way you like it."

"You had me at cheese," she said, reaching for a slice.