Then something struck me. A realization that came out of left field.
There’s never been a time when I’ve done this and it was just me with a couple of chicks.
Continuing to stare into Brock’s eyes, the rage of lust that blazed there burned me—melded me into something I’d never considered before. Something I’d never thought to consider. That something lit my soul on fire.
The body between his and mine dissolved as I moved in and out of it. I let my head roll back on my shoulders and squeezed my eyes shut to push out the thoughts that should have felt weird or foreign but didn’t. I focused on the feeling of a tight pussy around my cock, a set of soft, thick thighs before me, and a round ass in my hands.
Another moan, long and low, drew my gaze. And there, waiting for me, was Brock’s gaze. His eyes were focused on my face and chest as he fucked Carly’s face.
Did it seem like she was just a vessel for him too? That it was just the two of us in bed together?
The thought that what was happening was between just him and me exploded in a kaleidoscope of sensations lighting up my soul. A spotlight casting all the shadows out of my mind, setting loose something I didn’t know was there but that I couldn’t fucking deny.
The blast of emotion settled at the base of my spine, drawing all my focus other than my gaze. That was reserved for my swim buddy. The tingling in my spine grabbed hold, forcing me into submission.
Spasms racked my body. I slammed my teeth together to hold back the scream that climbed up my throat. It didn’t keep it from bulldozing through my head and taking up residence like marquee lights on Broadway.
BROCK!
“Who is Brock? Hmm?” The stilted, heavily accented voice pulled me from my happy place.
I stared at the man until he chuckled. He patted me on my face.
“See, I knew you’d eventually say something other than your military information.” He turned and left the room, chaining the metal door closed as he went.
I sighed. I was thankful for a reprieve and that I’d not divulged anything too personal. I needed to escape, but I also needed to keep my wits about me.
As if keeping my wits about me has ever been an option with Brock Jones.
That first night in bed with Brock was one I visited often. I visited every moment I’d spent with him. I relished them all, but it was the night I realized I’d found my person. It was also the night I realized just how much of a sense of humor God had. The few fleeting moments Brock and I had snatched over the years were all we would ever have. So, while I’d found my person, I’d never be able to have him and the career I had always dreamed of having.
Everything sucks.
I’d never been a complainer. Brock was the team’s complainer. He complained about everything. Hot, cold, wet, dry…you name it, he bitched about it. He never let it keep him from getting shit done, but he bitched about it while doing it.
I felt justified in my bitchiness, though. I mean, let’s be honest. If anyone had a right to bitch it was me. Instead of being returned to my cage, they’d left me strung up like a field-dressed deer in November.
Thankfully, that’s where the resemblance to the deer ended. I hadn’t been gutted. Yet.
How fucked do things have to be to be pissed you weren’t shoved into a metal crate to bake in the fucking sun?
My shoulders burned, though. Bad. Everything did. Pressure points were sore. I laughed at that.
Sore?
Sore didn’t even begin to cover it. I felt like a fucking Mack truck had hit me at a hundred miles per hour. And now we needed to add crazy to the list of ailments. Because apparentlyI was losing my fucking mind, since I had started talking to myself.
Granny always said the sign of senility was when you talked to yourself, and you answered back.
I wiggled in my bonds, trying to relieve some of the fire that had set up shop in my joints. The restraints offered little movement. Just enough that my joints felt loose and burned, but not enough to get any relief from the position they’d left me in.
Yep. The suck just got worse.
CHAPTER 4
BROCK
SUMMER 2009
