“This isn’t a good idea.” Her whisper floated on the air as she cautiously wove her arms around his neck.
“You’re probably right.” Brock nodded once, breathing in the scent of her—she smelled of citrus, of his soap. “This is a terrible idea.”
“But maybe…” Juliette leaned in and her mouth brushed against his, once. Twice. Testing. He’d traced their outline so many times, her full bottom lip and the delicious dip of her cupid’s bow. “Just for tonight…we can pretend.”
“Pretend what?” he murmured against her mouth, his hand sliding up her spine and capturing the back of her neck, angling her just right
“Just pretend.” Then she kissed him, fully and completely. Her fingers tangled in his hair, urging him closer, until there was no space left between them. Until her soft body pressed againstthe hard wall of his chest. Until she melted into him, became part of him.
Their tongues meshed. Tasting. Devouring. It was like a dance, a give and take of who wanted more, who needed more, who was more wildly desperate for the other. Teeth nipped and her nails scoured him, scraping down his biceps and abdomen. She rocked forward, grinding against his erection, and he swallowed her whimper of desire. Pulses of lust coursed through his blood, so his dick was thick and aching.
Brock turned his attention to the column of her throat, trailing a line of steaming kisses down her neck. She arched then, granting him full access.
“Please,” Juliette whimpered, clutching at him, rolling her hips. “Please, Brock.”
“Tell me what you need.” He released his hold on her neck, letting his hand fall so he could grab her by the waist, pinning her to his lap. He wasn’t going to make the first move, and he wasn’t going to make any assumptions. If Juliette wanted something from him, he was going to hear her say it.
“I need…” She bit the words out, panting softly. “I need you to touch me.”
He kneaded the flesh beneath his fingers. “Where?”
Juliette’s eyes flashed to him, lashes fluttering. Her cheeks were pink from the shower and his scruff, and her tongue darted out, swiping along her bottom lip. She adjusted herself on his lap, easing back a little, letting her legs fall open a little wider. “Between my thighs.”
Damn.
“How long?” It was a gentle demand, but he wanted an answer all the same. His fingers dipped beneath the overly loose waistband of her pants, but he refused to go any further until she responded. “How long has it been since you’ve had a proper orgasm, Jules?”
She bit her bottom lip to keep it from trembling. “Months.”
Brock slid his hand lower to find her smooth and slick, just for him. He rubbed one finger along her center, up and down. “Just pretend?”
Juliette nodded quickly. “Just pretend.”
“Alright.” He shoved two fingers between her wet folds, and she cried out, gasping as her head fell back. He pumped them in and out, hard and fast. A small part of him debated keeping his pace slow, but she was so wound up, so recklessly wired with need, he couldn’t help himself.
She was tight and perfect, clenching around him with every thrust. He curved them, angling them deeper, and she thrashed in his arms. Bouncing and rocking, Juliette was moaning his name over and over. Like a prayer. Like he was the only one who could save her. There was something so damning, so utterly satisfying, about watching her come undone because of him.
When he circled her clit with his thumb, Juliette fractured. She was a dream. A vision. Flushed and delicious, she collapsed on top of him, her chest rising and falling to an erratic beat.
Something twinged inside his chest. An ache. A familiar hurt, one that stemmed from longing. From pining.
Juliette slowly climbed off his lap, tugging up the sweatpants as she stood. She raked a hand through her messy, damp hair, refusing to look at him. Her gaze was focused on her bare feet when she said, “I should…go to bed.”
Brock didn’t have time to respond before she bolted from the living room. He heard the padding of her hushed footfalls down the hallway before they faded completely. When the door to the guest bedroom closed soundly behind her, Brock quietly cleaned up their drinks and snacks, then headed for the safety of the master bedroom—which was gratefully located on the other side of his house.
Because at least Juliette couldn’t hear him moan her name while he fucked his hand.
CHAPTER 17
Juliette didn’t wait for the sun to rise.
She was awake well before the gold of the morning illuminated Brock’s guest room. Her mind had been reeling all night, leaving her in a constant state of half-consciousness. Borderline delirious, if she was being honest. Her body still tingled in all the places he’d touched. She replayed last night in her mind, over and over, remembering the feel of his lips, the taste of his tongue, the absolute expertise of his experienced fingers. She rubbed her finger over her lips, remembering all the places the tip of his tongue had traced. Mouth. Neck. Shoulder. Oh, he knew exactly what he was doing, and even now heat pooled between her thighs again just thinking about it. Sure, letting him give her an orgasm while she was seated on his lap was definitely a mistake. But at least they both agreed to it.
Besides, they were both adults. There was no need for it to be awkward between them this morning.
Except Juliette knew she wanted more of him. And she knew if she asked, he would give it to her willingly. All the more reason she had to leave his house now, before he woke up.
Because there was no way she could face him. No way she would be able to lie to him if he asked her to stay. Not after whatthey shared, not when she knew she wasn’t ready for anything serious. Their little interlude had been a momentary lapse in judgement—she was upset and tired, and in the mood for a distraction.
