“How are you just fucking sitting there? You nearly fucking died!” I yelled at him as I paced the living room.
Brock was making himself a sandwich in the kitchen. He glanced at me, confused.
“Yeah, I did. It isn’t the first time one of us has almost died, Adam. It won’t be the last.”
He walked past me, chomping away on that fucking sandwich like he hadn’t just almost left me alone in this world. That was the final fucking straw. I fucking lost it. I smacked the sandwich and beer out of his hands and shoved him against the wall, cracking the drywall and leaving a Brock-sized dent behind.
As soon as Brock’s back hit the wall, his face transformed in an instant. The nonchalance and the calm that were so foreign to him disintegrated as passion and lust took their place. Before I could process the change entirely, he grabbed me and pulled me against him. His mouth crashed into mine.
Shock forced a gasp from me like I was a teenage girl. Brock pushed his tongue into my mouth. He licked and sucked the rest of the shocked gasps from me.
His mouth on mine was like Brock himself: crazy, chaotic, no rhyme or reason. There was no pattern to follow. There was no plan in place. He was flying by the seat of his damn pants. He took what he wanted and needed, and I tried my damnedest to keep up. Finally, I gave up and let him lead.
The brushing of our lips, the burn of his longer beard against my shorter stubble, and how he held my face were all at odds. The savage taking, the bite of pain, and the tenderness warred within me. I was so fucking confused.
And hard. I’m gonna have the imprint of my jeans on my cock.
I stepped closer toward Brock’s bigger body, and he flipped us so I was the one leaning against the wall. He slumped down, evening out our height difference. He broke the kiss and stared into my eyes. I wasn’t sure what he was seeing, but the man’s looks finally registered in my idiotic head.
Damn! He’s fucking hot.
He stepped closer, just enough so that our cocks brushed one another if we breathed deep. Which was all the damn time, since we were huffing as we tried to catch our breath after that kiss.
A kiss that changed so fucking much. All the puzzle pieces that made me Adam DuBois started realigning themselves. I could see them shifting, turning, and moving into new places. It was as if the pieces made two different versions of me, depending on how they were put together. One version was the one I’d always been, and the other was kept under lock and key until Brock Jones turned all that chaotic, passionate nature of his on me and me alone.
He rearranged all the pieces that made me who I was into something I hadn’t considered, but wouldn’t give up now that I had it.
Brock’s hands were still cupping my face as he stared at me. I didn’t know what he was looking for, but he worried me.
Does he regret it?
The last time Brock had kissed me, he was drunk as fuck, and the following day, he’d wigged the fuck out. He’d passed out cold, laying open his chin as he went down. My hands had found a home at some point. I squeezed his waist, trying to get a reaction from him. He just gazed at me. Occasionally, he bit his lip like he did when trying to figure something out.
Biding my time, I dragged my tongue across my lips. Brock’s eyes followed the movement wholly. His tongue mimicked mine, and I realized why he had become so enraptured with the movement.
Watching him lick his lips turned the temperature up in my groin.
My breathing sped back up, and I asked, staring at his mouth, “You okay?”
He chuckled softly, a slow, sexy smirk spreading across his face. “I should probably be the one asking that question.”
Where’s this easy banter been with the women I’ve fucked? I’ve never laughed with a sex partner before.
Fucked? Sex partner?
My dick yelled at me. He’d been without since Carly. He was a miserable, depressed fellow. He didn’t seem to give a shit that the person making him stand at attention was a freaking dude or that it was Brock.
I ignored that voice in my head, the one on my shoulders and the one in my pants, and I smiled at Brock.
I could feel the heat in my face as I laughed softly. “I’m good.”
And I was. As strange as I thought kissing Brock or him kissing me would be, I’d thought of it so fucking much since that night with Carly.
Brock licked his lips again, and my cock surged at the sight.
Down, boy!
But my cock refused to listen. He wanted. Hell, I wanted. I hungered. So, I leaned forward, keeping my eyes on his until I became crossed-eyed.
