Page 59 of Brock’s Mate

“Maybe you’re right. I guess I’ll have to hold off on that.”

But she tortured him in other ways, until he was writhing and moaning.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “Woman, you are making me crazy.”

She just smiled, finally reaching for a condom. Oh, yeah.

Brock pushed himself up so he was sitting against the headboard, sticking a pillow behind his damaged ribs. Desi opened the condom with her teeth—which was hot as fuck—and then licked his shaft all the way from the base to the tip before beginning to sloooowly roll the condom down.

Her eyes went wide. “Glitter condoms?” she asked.

Fuck Colt and Remy. “Don’t ask,” he said. And then, in case she thought he was talking about another woman, he added, “The twins. Doing everything they can to rescue my sex life. The condoms are flavored, too, if that interests you at all.”

“Not at the moment.” Moving carefully, she straddled his lap and guided herself down on him.

Oh, hell.

He sank deep, deep into her, losing more of himself the farther he went. Finally he was able to touch her, and he couldn’t get enough—cupping her perfect breasts, teasing her nipples, finding her hot wet core and caressing her clit as she slid herself up and down his shaft.

He felt her reaching out tentatively with her mind, and met her halfway, suddenly wanting her to understand what he was feeling.

Their minds slid together, and then he was lost in sensation and emotion. She loved giving to him, he realized with a small shock of surprise. She wanted to make him stop hurting. Needed it, the way he needed to make other people stop hurting. To make her stop hurting.

He pulled her to him in a deep kiss as they moved together, needing to touch every part of her he possibly could. Now he couldn’t tell where he ended and she began—all he could feel was heat and light and the caring that flowed between them, giving and receiving equally, reveling in each other’s pleasure, kissing away each other’s pain.

The emotion built and built until it was almost too much for him, and then it turned into a great, rolling, unending climax, going on and on until he crumbled into nothing, all his boundaries gone.

But she was there, holding him together, putting all his pieces back together, making him whole.

Chapter 23

Desi woke the next morning to a repetitive tapping sound.

She rolled over and opened her eyes, trying to figure out where it was coming from. Brock was still dead to the world—which meant that either he really needed the recovery sleep, or he felt safe enough here that odd noises didn’t register as dangerous in his sleeping mind.

Or both.

The noise came again. Tap, tap, tap, along with the whir of a small motor. It was coming from the balcony door—turned out the bedroom also had balcony access.

Desi got quietly out of bed and found her t-shirt on the floor, slipping it over her head. If someone was trying to break in, she’d rather not be naked when they did. Standing to the side, she gave a quick yank and pulled up the blinds that covered the door.

There was a drone hovering on the balcony. Hanging from it in a little harness was… a rubber duckie? Wearing a ninja costume and a mask. To conceal its duckie identity?

The drone moved slightly, which made the duckie’s bill hit the glass door again. Tap, tap, tap.

What the fuck?

Desi called softly, “Um, Brock?”

At the sound of her voice, the drone shook—as if it were excited—and the duckie tapped harder. Brock stirred and opened his eyes.

“Whaa—”

He broke off as a fleet of about half a dozen drones rose above the balcony railing. Mini-blimps, to be exact.

In the shape of penises.

They started doing a little dance in mid-air.