Fire In You: Volume Six (Wait for You Series)

  Realizing how strongly I felt was scary as hell, but I didn’t want to dwell on it. I didn’t want my fears and crap to hold me back in this moment, because I wanted to do something incredibly naughty considering where we were.

  I don’t know what gave me the idea. Maybe it was knowing how hard he was when I walked in. It could’ve been what he said about helping me get out there and live. Or it could’ve been the fact he’d actually take me to a festival that centered around an exceedingly large catsup bottle.

  It could’ve been all those things, because what I wanted to do wasn’t like me. Not at all, but I didn’t want to think about that, because what was “like me” didn’t matter.

  I moved before rational thought could stop me or I could fear that someone, anyone could bust through the door. I moved before I let myself truly process that I was opening myself up to a whole world of hurting by acknowledging that I was in love with Brock.

  Dropping down to my knees in front of him, I placed my hands on either side of his knees and spread them apart. His ragged inhale was like a shot of thunder as I slid my hands along the inside of his thighs, and I took a deep breath. I cupped him through the pants. He was hot and hard, straining the thin material.

  “Fuck,” he groaned. His hands dropped to the arms of the chair, and when I peeked up, I saw he was white-knuckling it. He breathed heavy as I lifted my gaze to his, wondering if he’d stop me. “I’m all yours,” he gritted out.

  The statement excited me beyond belief, but knowing that my touch was doing this to him, setting his jaw in a hard line and making his chest rise and fall powerfully thrilled me.

  Lowering my gaze, I stroked him through his pants, reveling when he let out another rough sound. A strange and wonderful warm haze invaded me as I reached for the band. My hand shook as I tugged on his pants.

  Brock rose, aiding me along as I inched his pants and the tight, black briefs down, exposing the rather impressive length.

  Holy wow . . .

  He was thick and long and perfect, and I . . . I wanted to taste him.

  “You keep staring at me like that, this will be over before we even get started.”

  The right side of my mouth curved up. “We . . . we wouldn’t want that, would we?” I wrapped my hand around the base of his cock. He kicked against my palm, burning hot and smooth like silk over steel.

  His head fell back and his hips punched into my grasp. I moved my hand, slowly dragging it up and the back down. Awed and fascinated, I felt him from the base to the gleaming tip. He breathed heavily and ground out my name, “Jillian.” Tiny hairs all over my body raised as a far-off part of me never foresaw this, never could imagine that I’d be on my knees in an office, about to do what I was getting ready to.

  Stretching up a few inches, I lowered my mouth, closing my lips around the tip. The salty taste of him teased my tongue. Hoping I was doing this right, I moved my hand as I brought him deeper into my mouth.

  “Fuck,” he growled, hips flexing as I swirled my tongue along the broad head of his cock. “Jillian, I . . .” He seemed to lose track of what he was saying, because he swore again and his large, powerful body tightened.

  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.

  But Brock wasn’t the girl in my history class and he sure as hell wasn’t Ben, so I did it.

  I could feel the right side of my lips curve up while my left side simply twitched and did nothing.

  Brock’s gaze swept over my face and settled on my mouth as he slid one hand up, around my neck. His thumb massaged the space just below my pulse.

  “I think there’s something you need to understand,” he said, his gaze flicking to mine. “Your smile was beautiful before. Could light up a fucking room and could bring a smile to my face seconds before I stepped into the Octagon. Your smile is different now, but even more beautiful now.”

  “Come on,” I said wryly, starting to pull free. My smile didn’t make me an ogre, but it wasn’t beautiful.

  “It’s true.” He kept me in place with just a hand at my neck. “You know why? It proves what you’ve been through and what you’ve survived. That smile is a fucking miracle. Just like every breath you take is. That smile is nothing to ever be ashamed of. It’s a smile to be fucking proud of.”

  Oh wow.

  That was more than sweet. That was a beautiful thing for him to say.

  “You feel me?” he asked.

  “I feel you,” I whispered back.

  “Good.”

  Lowering my gaze, I didn’t stop the smile that now tugged at my lips. I let it happen as I willed the knot in my throat to disappear. I cleared my throat. “First the doughnuts and now the whole beautiful smile thing? Are you trying to get laid?”

  His richly colored eyes glimmered with amusement and something more, something lavish and promising. “Is it working?”

  A laugh escaped me, and I shook my head. Rising up on the tips of my toes, I kissed him. His arm swept around my waist, holding me in place as the kiss deepened and consumed me. A wonderful heady warmth slid down my throat and over my chest.

  Brock lifted his head, putting a little distance between us. “Yeah, we’re going to have to stop.”

  “Why?” I asked, breathless.

  “Because if we don’t, we’re never going to make it out of here.”

  I wanted to ask if that was such a bad thing, but I grinned and slipped free. After shoving two doughnuts in my mouth, I went and found Rhage hiding under the bed. It took some coaxing to get him out. Eventually I had to wiggle his toy mouse in his face and then I snatched him up once his upper body appeared.

  He was not a happy camper, struggling in my arms as I walked out into the living room. I kept his legs pinned.

  Brock arched a brow when he saw me. He’d already taken out the super-cute paisley print weekender bag. “You doing okay over there?”

  “Yes,” I sighed, walking to where his carrier was. “He’s just an ass.”

  He chuckled. “Need help?”

  “I got it.” Having a ton of experience at shoving the cat into the carrier, I knew I just had to keep him from grabbing onto the sides. Once I had him in, I tossed his toy mouse inside and latched the door. A second later, Rhage’s disgruntled face was pressed against the bars.

  “It’s like cat prison,” Brock commented.

  “This cat needs to go to prison.” Rhage hissed as I picked up his carrier. “Ready?”

  Brock’s grin was small, but it twisted up my insides. “Been ready.”

  * * *

  Normally, being a passenger during a trip that was longer than an hour would put me right to sleep, but I was more interested in talking to Brock than I was in dozing. We’d chatted about how we were going to broach the subject about converting some of the space into a dance studio. Avery and Teresa had gotten early numbers back to me, and I felt confident enough with them that we were ready to talk to my dad. Then our subjects turned to less serious things.

  He peppered me with questions ranging from working at the insurance firm to what the last book I was reading was about. About halfway through the trip, I got a text message from Abby.

  My stomach dipped as I read it and glanced over at Brock. “It looks like a bunch of people are going to Mona’s tonight. Abby knows I’ll be in town, so she’s invited me.”

  Half of Brock’s face was hidden by the cap he wore. “Do you want to go?”

  I wasn’t sure. I hadn’t been to Mona’s since the shooting. I had no idea what it would be like going back there, but I wanted to see Abby and everyone else. I planned on doing so anyway, but underneath the unease was a trickle of excitement. “Do you?”

  “Not up to me,” he replied.

  “That’s not real helpful.”

  One side of his lips kicked up. “Babe,” he said, and a secret part of me sort of loved it when he called me that, because it was something he’d never done before. “If you want to go, we can go. If you want to stay home and chill with your family, we can do that. If you want to go by yourself—”

  “I don’t want to go by myself,” I cut in.

  He glanced over at me. “If you did, that’s cool too.”

  Nodding, I glanced down at my phone. “Abby said Colton will be there. Roxy is working, so Reece will also be there. Obviously Jax and Calla will be there.”

  “Cool.”

  My fingers hovered over the phone. “I think Steph and Nick were actually in Martinsburg with her mom, but everyone else will be there. Even Katie.” I hadn’t seen Katie in forever, it felt like. “It would be cool to see all of them.”

  “Totally up to you.”

  Nibbling on my lower lip, I was still for a second, and then I decided to act off the excitement instead of the dread. “I think we should go. For a little bit? I mean, that’s if you really want to go with me.”

  “Do you really have to wonder if I want to go with you or not?”

  I peeked over at him. “Well, if we show up together then people might think . . . things.”

  “Do I look like I care about what people think?”

  No, he didn’t, but I had no idea what he meant by that in terms of us being together or not. “Okay then,” I murmured, sending Abby back a quick text saying I might be there. I didn’t mention that Brock would be with me, because I didn’t want to open that Pandora-size box of questions at the moment. “I guess we have plans for later.”

  “I guess we do.”

  Placing my phone back in my purse, I twisted in my seat and checked on Rhage. “So, I’ve been wondering about something,” I said, looking to change the subject. “Why did you retire? You still have a couple of more years left in you.”

  He chuckled. “The way you say that makes it sound like by the time I hit forty, I’m going to be useless and should be put down. You know, that’s not a long time off from now.”

  “Well,” I drawled the word, teasing him.

  One hand on the steering wheel, he shrugged a shoulder. “I was . . . getting tired.”

  I stuck my fingers through the little holes in Rhage’s cage, touching his paw. He immediately withdrew. “Physically or . . . ?”

/>   “Physically and mentally,” he answered as I gave up on the cat and twisted back around. “You know how it is,” he continued. “The constant training that sucks up the entire day. The traveling wasn’t bad, but worrying if you were going to lose your endorsements to the next big deal or if you were going to get hurt again can really wear on you.”

  All of that was completely understandable. I wasn’t sure if fans knew how much of their lives the fighters gave up to fight even two or four times a year.

  “And even if you’re not worrying about serious injuries, you get tired of your nose likely getting broken once a year.” He grinned as he reached up, feeling along the back side of his left ear. “Or cauliflower ear.”

  “Yours isn’t bad.”

  “I’m lucky.” His hand dropped. “But yeah, you know, in my last match I felt it—felt it in here.” He placed his right hand to the center of his chest. “It was just a sharp, stabbing sensation. I didn’t tear the muscle again, but damn, there was a second when fear punched the air out of me. Did not want to go through that again, and I knew that tiny bit of fear meant it was time for a change. You can’t get in there with anything holding you back. The moment you find yourself hesitating, it’s time to bow out.”

  The idea of him tearing that muscle again terrified me. It could still happen. Especially since he still liked to get on the mats with new recruits. “Do you miss it?”

  “Sometimes, but I was ready to move on. And I think being ready when I left makes it all okay.”

  Something occurred to me as I listened to him. He’d said he broke off the engagement with Kristen about a year ago. His last match was probably six months to a year before that.

  Asking about Kristen felt weird, but the curiosity was too much. “How did Kristen take you retiring?”

  If my question caught him off-guard or if he was uncomfortable with it, his expression didn’t show it. “I think she liked the idea of me being around more and we could actually do things together. When I was actively fighting, it was like having a ten to twelve hour a day job. I was always training, so it didn’t leave a lot of time to go and do things.”

  I studied him closely. “You say that like once it happened it was a different story.”