Page 29 of Brick’s Anchor

His mouth claims mine like he's been thinking about this as much as I have, like he's been holding back and finally stopped. I kiss him back just as desperately, my hands finding his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his shirt like I'm drowning and he's the only solid thing left.

He lies back, pulling me with him. His hand covers the whole side of my face. So big, so warm, and he never stops kissing me. Never stops moving his mouth against mine like he can't get enough.

I've never been kissed like this.

Never had someone kiss me with this much raw passion, this much desire. My ex kissed me like I was an obligation. Like something he had to do to get what he actually wanted. But Brick kisses me like I'm the entire point. Like nothing else matters except this moment, my mouth and the way we fit together.

Is this what meeting your soulmate feels like?

I never believed in soulmates. Thought it was bullshit people told themselves to feel special. And I definitely don't believe in it now, not after everything. But Brick makes me want to believe. Makes me think maybe there's someone out there who's perfectly matched to you, who understands you without trying, who makes you feel safe and desired and real all at once.

When he finally stops kissing me, we're both gasping. Lying beside each other on his bed, breathing hard, staring at each other like we can't quite believe what just happened.

"I'm sorry," he says, his voice rough. "If I crossed a line. I just… I was afraid you'd leave tomorrow and I had to… I had to go for it."

"You didn't do anything wrong," I tell him. My hand is on his chest, feeling his heart pound beneath my palm. "I liked it."

My eyes drift down his body. Down the broad expanse of his chest, his stomach, lower—

Oh.

Oh fuck.

Brick is fucking bricked. He's got a massive erection straining against his jeans, so obvious there's no hiding it. So big I can see the outline through the denim.

And he's right. Tomorrow I'll call my family. Tomorrow I might leave. Might go home or disappear or do whatever comes next. But tonight, tonight is mine. Tonight I can do whatever the fuck I want. Pour all these emotions: the fear, the anger and desperate need to feel something good, into this moment with him.

I place my hand on his cock, gripping it through his jeans.

His eyes go wide. "What are you doing?"

"What I want," I say, squeezing slightly. "Should I stop?"

"No." The word comes out strangled. "Fuck no."

"Good. Then I'm going to do the same."

His hand moves to my breast, cupping it through the shirt, thumb finding my nipple and circling it. I gasp. Arch into his touch. My hands fumble with his zipper, getting it down, reaching inside.

He uses his free hand to help, shoving his jeans down his hips. His cock springs free—thick, hard and fucking huge. I wrap my hand around it and he groans, the sound raw and desperate.

I start stroking him. Slow at first, learning the shape of him, the weight. He pinches my nipple in response, rolling it between his fingers until I'm moaning into his shoulder.

His other hand slides down my stomach, into the waistband of the borrowed sweatpants. Over my panties. He presses against me through the fabric and I nearly come apart right there.

"Fuck," he breathes. "You're soaked."

I'm a bit embarrassed. I'm dripping, can feel it soaking through the panties I grabbed from the pile Ivy left, but his voice is full of approval, not disgust.

"You're rock hard," I shoot back. "And big."

He pushes my panties aside and slides a finger inside me. I cry out, gripping him harder.

"That's it," he murmurs against my neck. "Take what you need."

I'm grinding against his hand. He's thrusting into mine. We're both grunting, moaning, stealing kisses in between. Neither of us wants to be the first one to stop. Neither of us wants this to end.

I'm close. So fucking close. His fingers work inside me and I'm right there, right on the edge—