Swept Away (37 page)

She missed his kisses when they trailed over her jaw, down onto her neck, but she got over it
as the scintillating delights echoed downward. She arched her neck and lifted against his thigh,
unable to help herself.

His breath came raspy as he drew back to ease the strap off her shoulder. Her breasts ached
with missing his touch, and she wanted to beg, beg for more, beg him to stop going so slow—
but she bit her tongue and realized that sometimes slow was good, because she felt every
nuance of every move he made so much more. His fingertips, grazing her arm. His lips as he
lowered one soft, sweet kiss high on her chest. His eyes, burning into hers, then shifting
downward as he lowered her top over her breasts. A long, slow moment later, he helped her free her arms until the cami rested around her torso.

He looked at her breasts the way she looked at a work of art, and her nipples grew even harder
beneath his scrutiny. Kiss them, please kiss them.

But he didn’t. He studied them, then brought his hands slowly up to cup their sides, his thumbs
spanning the lower curves. He softly molded them, and she sighed. He raised his thumbs to
rake across the pink peaks. She let out a thready breath.

Slow was torturous. But slow was good.

He massaged them, thoroughly, leisurely, then tweaked her nipples between thumb and forefinger, soft—again, again.

She moaned at the hot sensation such a gentle motion produced inside her, then lifted her hands
to press them flat against the wooden headboard behind her. Offering her breasts up to him
completely. Basking in the wonder of his touch.

Once more he kneaded her flesh in his capable hands, sinking to kiss her mouth, press his
tongue between her lips, intoxicate her further with all that he was. A perfect male specimen.
But not just a specimen—that would be so much easier. No, he was Brock. Bringing her to life
even as he buried her.

She returned the slow, sensual kisses, her lips brushing across his mouth. But then the kissing
ended and she sucked in her breath, anticipating. When he finally delivered a gentle lick across
the distended peak of one breast, she released a moan that came from deep inside. And when he
closed his mouth over her, his tongue still diddling the very tip of her nipple, she let out a low
sob. When he sucked, drawing her deep and holding on, the small of her back contracted,
sending a low ache of pleasure all through her.

Her breath seemed the loudest thing in the room. He breathed heavy, too, and she felt in perfect
unison with him, no longer frustrated by the slowness, but only experiencing it with him, every
tiny detail and sensation.

Below, he eased her panties past her knees and she kicked them off. He was already naked, and
his arousal still hard and hot at her side. She wanted him inside her more than she wanted to
exist at that moment, so she reached for him, pressing her palm across the column between his
legs. He let out a short groan, then looked into her eyes, and she felt that wild blood in her
veins that he’d been talking about. All for you, lover. All for you.

His fingers slipped between her thighs, replacing his knee, and she let out a deep, “Ooooh.”
“So wet for me, kitten.”

Then he pushed his way inside in one slow, deep plunge that filled her to overflowing. “Oh
God,” she whispered.

“So tight.”

“Maybe that’s because you’re so big.”

He flashed a lusty grin. “You know the way to my heart.”

“It’s true,” she said between heavy breaths. “Bigger than anyone else.”

He drew back with a sexy but skeptical look. “That’s a real nice thing to say, but probably a
stretch.”

She giggled softly amid her passion. “No, I just mean bigger than anyone else I’ve been with.”

“Mmm, now that I like to hear.”

“Hmm?” He was moving in her now, slow, deep.

“It doesn’t matter to me how big you are.” She felt each thrust to her core.

“Well, it matters to me. I want to fill you up. Make you feel more than any other guy ever has.”

“You do, you do.” She lifted against him, feeling as incredibly full as he wanted her to. “But it
has nothing to do with size.”

He didn’t stop moving—in fact, maybe he drove even deeper now—but he looked at her, long
and hard, and she peered back, at once regretting the words but glad she’d been honest,
because she was getting braver and wanted him to know the strength of her emotions for him.

He never replied, only kissed her—deep, slow tongue kisses that made her feel like he was
inside her in a whole different way—and she understood that what she’d always suspected was
true. Sex with a man you were in love with was the most profound physical experience on
earth. She’d waited and waited to have this, to know this fulfillment, and finally Brock was
making it happen, taking her to an entirely different plane, filling her with more than just his
body.

After a time, he withdrew, leaving her to feel empty until he rolled her to her side and entered
her again from behind. “Oh,” she said, amazed that the fresh intrusion could still be so
powerful even after having just had him inside her.

It was only as she let her eyes open that she realized she faced the mirror on the door of the armoire. Brock dragged his teeth slowly down her earlobe as he met her gaze in the glass.
They’d kicked the sheets down so their bodies were bare, although they were only visible in
the mirror from the waist up.

She bit her lip when he kissed her neck, then let her eyes drift shut again.

“Don’t close your eyes, kitten.” He curved his palm over her hip, driving into her deep.
She opened them, met his gaze once more in the old glass. “What?”

“Look at me. Look at me while I move in you.”

She obeyed the command, although it was difficult at first—she’d never realized how often she
let her eyes close during sex. Every time it happened, however, Brock said, “Open them, kitten.
Look at me. See me.”

And then their eyes would meet, and he would thrust into her, still slow, but hard, hard, and
she’d see the passion in his face, and on hers when she cried out. He was making her see it,
forcing her to experience it raw, as it really was. She’d never undergone anything so intense.
His eyes burned on her, filled with lust and heat and something deeply primal. The pleasure
was almost overwhelming—she had to clench her teeth to bear it. She’d thought she’d felt
close to him before, thought she’d known true intimacy with him—but looking into his eyes as
he made her moan with each thrust was by far the most intimate thing she’d ever done with a
man.

Fitting that it was him, she thought. The one man she’d always wanted. The man who was fulfilling all those long-ago dreams better than she ever could have anticipated.

She watched him cup her breast, stroke her between her thighs. She watched her own face
contort in the sweet agony that was passion when she came. She watched his lip curl in
perhaps the darkest moment of pleasure when he said, “Now, baby, now, I’m exploding in
you.” And it was only after those last hot strokes that they both finally let their eyes fall shut.

As Kat lay recovering, it struck her how... wholly into this she had been. Normal for most
people, she presumed, but for her...

She let out a sigh, releasing the strange truth that, sadly, all other sex before him had somehow been wooden, an act, a masquerade of sorts. There had always been at least one moment during
sex where she thought about what she was doing—considered her next move, how to touch,
what to say, how to be the woman a guy wanted.

And with Brock, she just was.

In other sex, moments occurred when she somehow stepped back mentally and noticed a guy’s
imperfections, or her own, moments when she was keenly aware that she was not swept away
by passion, that it wasn’t perfect, maybe far from perfect. There were instances when she
perhaps wondered what she was doing with that particular guy, or when she wished for some grander passion—but it didn’t come.

Now, with Brock, the passion was grand, she was swept away, and it was perfect. This was
the sex she’d waited for her whole life, the man she’d waited for. And she had to smile to
herself, realizing she must have had damn good instincts back in high school, since even then
she’d known he was the one.

The one?

Whoa. That was a terrifying and sobering thought.

Push it away. Don’t let anything mar this perfection.

She did so, fast. Because this was too good to ruin with useless yearnings.

She turned to look at him in the bed next to her to find he’d fallen quickly asleep, as men were so wont to do after sex.

Weird, she even liked that. That he was such a male. And that maybe she’d exhausted him. Cuddling would have been nice, but in that moment, the truth was, she’d have loved him no matter what he did—because she just did. Love him. There was no help for it. Only a certain
acceptance coming over her.

She loved him, and she couldn’t stop it—and maybe it wasn’t horrible, maybe it was good.
Maybe it was wonderful.

Maybe he’d liked what she’d said about size having nothing to do with the way he made her
feel. Maybe what he’d said at dinner about appreciating all of her meant... something.

She didn’t know the answers, but she made a decision. Even though she knew Brock wasn’t
the relationship type, even though she knew he lived a fast-paced secret agent kind of life, even though nothing indicated he was ready to change any of that—she wasn’t going to look on her love for him as an ending, a closed door. Instead, she was going to think of it as a beginning.
Something good, precious. A new start.

And maybe, just maybe, something good would come of it.

After reaching up to turn off the lamp, she leaned over and sealed the wish with a tender kiss to
Brock’s cheek. I love you. I love you so much. And I’m not going to run from it anymore.

Chapter Fourteen

The next morning they slept in, but when Kat finally got up and dragged herself to the
bathroom, Brock announced through the door that he’d just found some Pop-Tarts hidden behind something in an overhead cabinet. Not even expired, either!

So now they took up their usual spots on the beach, nibbling on freshly toasted blueberry Pop-
Tarts and life felt more than a little wonderful. For today, at least. Only one more night on the
island remained, but last night had been the most incredible experience of her life. She
glanced over at him, her stomach tightening from the memory.

“So about last night,” he said over the sound of the crashing waves a few yards in the
distance. He flashed a sly look in her direction, and she thought it was almost as if he’d read
her mind.