I dragged my hand and tongue all the way to the tip and then I lifted my mouth. “Am I . . . am I doing it right?”
His midnight eyes were blazing. “You couldn’t do it wrong, Jillian. There is no way you could do this in a way I wouldn’t love it.” My lips curved into a smile, and he throbbed in my hand. “Christ. You holding my dick, sitting there and smiling up at me without worrying about it, is going to kill me.”
Heart thumping, I let instinct take over. His hips jerked again as my mouth closed over him once more. Heat swamped me, and I ached as if he was doing this to me, and the arousal heightened when I felt his hand close around the back of my head, his fingers curling through my hair.
His grip tightened and a prick of heat coursed over my scalp, dragging a moan out of me that reverberated through him. His hand stilled. “You liked that?”
“Mmm,” I murmured, realizing that I did like that little bite of pain.
“I’m going . . . to have to remember that,” he said.
The illicit promise spurred me on, and his hips powered up. Brock shook as he gripped the nape of my neck, trying to pull me off or hold me there, I wasn’t sure, but I wasn’t going anywhere. His entire body tensed around me and I heard the harsh punch of air coming out of him seconds before he pulsed into my mouth. When he finished, my jaw ached a little, but it was worth it. I kissed the blunt tip and then carefully let him go. Grabbing his pants and briefs, I inched them back up until he was covered.
Then I lifted my gaze to him.
His eyes were half-closed and his striking features completely lax. A long moment passed and I realized it was the first time I’d seen him like this in a long, long time, and he looked so beautiful, so at rest.
Then those eyes opened, and Brock moved wicked fast. One minute he was standing and the next, he towered over me, a hand at the back of my head and his mouth on me.
Brock kissed me deeply, branding my lips and scorching my senses, and then pulled me to his chest, folding his strong arms around me. “Now that is how I want to end every work day.”
“Every?”
“Every.”
* * *
Three hours and twenty-two minutes after I’d left Brock’s office, it sort of sunk in that I’d given Brock, who was really my boss, a blow job, on my knees, in his office . . .
Of what was technically my father’s business.
Holy shit.
I’d gone—God, how long? With the exception of that Friday night, three years with only mechanical action, and I literally went from zero to porn star status in like forty-eight hours. That was crazy.
And kind of impressive.
A tiny, hidden part of me was kind of proud. Knowing what I did in there made me feel empowered—sexy. I hadn’t felt sexy in like, well, forever, it felt like.
But it was Brock’s influence. He just had that magnetism that had made a score of really smart women willingly do really bad and not so smart things. What if someone had walked into his office? What if it had been Paul? He already had about a pinky’s worth of respect for me.
I was going to blame Brock for my behavior.
As I packed Tuesday night for the trip home, I was a little nervous. It wasn’t that long of a drive. A little over three hours, so the chances of Rhage doing something horrific to Brock’s Porsche were slim. At least, I hoped, but I was more worried about how my family would perceive what was going on between Brock and me. Us riding up together already had to have the whole group gossiping like a bunch of old women.
Mainly because we hadn’t labeled what we were, even though Brock obviously had plans for us in the future—plans that involved catsup bottle festivals.
So I figured we’d play it cool. Like we were friends and nothing more at this point. Maybe I’d tell my mom we were dating. That didn’t sound too serious. I just didn’t want them to think we were together, together in case everything spectacularly blew up in our faces.
Like I couldn’t help but expect it to.
I hated that part of me, but that didn’t change the fact that part existed nor erased the shadow of unease that warned me that what was happening between us wasn’t real.
* * *
Brock arrived early Wednesday morning, a baseball cap pulled down low, shielding his face as he stepped into my apartment carrying a bag of fresh doughnuts and coffee.
“You’re amazing,” I told him, still half-asleep as I snatched the bag out of his hand.
“That I know.”
Peeling open the carton, I practically moaned at the sugary goodness that awaited me.
“Since I’m amazing, I should get a kiss.” He reached up, turning his hat so it was on backward. “Don’t you think?”
I thought that maybe he didn’t need a reason for a kiss. Tipping my head up, I waited but he stopped short. I opened my eyes.
“Smile for me.”
I bit down on my lip. “Brock.”
“Come on,” he coaxed, grinning. “I brought you coffee and doughnuts. I get a smile and a kiss.” When I didn’t move, he placed his hands on my shoulders and squeezed gently. “Smile, Jilly.”
Rolling my eyes, I didn’t know why it was such a big deal for me, because I knew he’d seen my smile over the last couple of days. However, I hadn’t really been thinking in those moments.
I could do this.
I could smile for him.
I mean, the guy had seen my vagina all up close and personal, so I really couldn’t be embarrassed over my wonky smile. But I couldn’t help but remember the girl who sat next to me in World History after I returned to school. She’d asked if I had a stroke. The question hadn’t been malicious. She hadn’t blurted it out. It seemed like it had been building in her for weeks to ask. She’d even followed it up by relating to how her grandfather smiled after he suffered a stroke. I also couldn’t help but remember how Ben had never asked me to smile for him.