Adam continued talking with the guys, but he never once pushed me away or pulled away himself. It was a mindfuck. A good one. Any time Adam’s hands were on my body or even close to my body, my brain short-circuited. Add in how long it’d been, and I was fucking done for.
“Brock?”
“Huh?” I asked, yanked out of the rabbit hole of mindfuckery Adam had caused.
Foster and Finlay cracked the fuck up. They handed me a bag of cheeseburgers and fries. When I gawped at them like an imbecile, they shook their heads and turned to leave.
“We’ll leave you two to eat. Don’t let Nurse Ratchet know we smuggled those in for y’all. Oh, and one of us will be posted outside the door to make sure Adam’s not bothered unnecessarily.”
Adam somehow managed to groan through a gasp. I wasn’t much better.
Is Foster doing that to give us time alone? Or is there an issue?
When the door closed behind the team, Adam’s brows climbed his forehead. “Gimme the food, motherfucker. I’m malnourished.”
CHAPTER 17
ADAM
SUMMER 2009
Brock passedthe bag of burgers over to me before moving the tray table into place. I set the bag down and pulled out the mouthwatering, greasy, cheesy hunk of heaven. Just the smell was enough to make me drool.
I ripped open the wrapper and sank my teeth into the thick, juicy burger, moaning at the taste and smell.
“That was almost pornographic,” Brock said.
When I looked over, he was adjusting himself. I swallowed around the lump in my throat. The sight of him touching himself reminded me of all the times I’d seen him do the same in the past. It was so fucking erotic, knowing I did that to him.
I cleared my throat and took another, bigger bite, moaning again.
“Don’t eat so fast you’ll get sick,” Brock said, his hand still lying on that big, beautiful dick of his.
Too bad it’s hidden.
After I’d chewed and swallowed, I laughed it off. “I’ve puked my guts up so many times over the last few weeks. What’s one more?”
Brock’s arms came back up to his chest as he folded them before him. He did that a lot when he was upset, like he was protecting himself from whatever was coming at him. Or trying to keep shit bottled up.
I finished the sandwich. The food settled like a rock in my gut. Whether it was due to it being the first thing I’d eaten other than the slop I’d been given while held captive or because of the conversation I needed to have with Brock, I didn’t know.
Pushing the nerves away, I said, “Lock the door.”
“What?” he asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.
“Lock the door,” I repeated.
His face never shifted, but he walked over to the door and did as I asked. He turned back to me, shoving his hands into his pockets.
I took a deep breath. “Come here, please.”
Brock’s face was still clouded by confusion. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
I licked my lips and reached for his arm, pulling his hand from his pocket. I tugged him toward me as I threaded our fingers together. It was like the missing puzzle pieces of my soul slotted themselves into the right spots, completing the picture of the life I wanted.
I stared at our entwined hands, brushing my thumb over his knuckles. Emotion clogged my throat. “I never thought I’d see you again.”
Brock sat down on the bed. His free hand came up to cup my face. He mirrored the brushing of my thumb on his knuckles with his on my beard. He never said anything. I looked up at him.
