Page 72 of Alpha Brock
“Well yeah. You kinda flipped out on me at the bar, can we circle back to that?” I unfold my arms, resting a hand on my hip. “What the hell was all that about?”
“I… I don’t know, Astrid. I felt like I was reliving some fucked up version of my past.” His eyes come to mine again, and the vulnerability in them nearly knocks me off my feet. He’s actually opening up. Actuallytrying.
Brock sucks in a breath, tugging his hair back with a hand. “I’m really fucking sorry for flipping out on you. I’m just not equipped to handle this kind of shit. Anna ruined me for it. We were always fighting about dumb shit, and I just… I fuckingcan’t.” His eyes flicker away again.
“And I’m not Anna,” I say, the words bitter on my tongue. They’ve been stinging the back of my mind since he said them that night; that I don’t compare to his first love. “Right? I’ll never be able to measure up to her.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Brock scowls, reaching out for me. He snatches me around the waist, pulling me into him so forcefully that I collide with the hardness of his chest. My legs immediately part to straddle his lap, like it’s the most natural thing for our bodies to fit together like this.
“Jesus, is that what you really think?” he grumbles, cupping my face in one of his giant hands. He stares into my eyes, the forest green of his own yanking me into their depths. “She doesn’t hold a fuckin’ candle to you, babe.”
My heart squeezes in my chest. I sink my teeth into my bottom lip, watching Brock as he furrows his brow, his expression stoic.
“Listen, when I said you weren’t Anna, I meant it as a good thing,” he says, his low, gravelly voice stroking something deep inside of me. “Like I told you before, you get me, she never did. The more time I spend with you, the more I realize how fucking toxic she and I were for each other. I thought it was right, but now I know more than ever that it wasn’t. But you and I…”
Brock heaves a sigh, running this thumb back and forth across my lips. “You could never be her because you’re toogood. Too good forme, that’s for damn sure.”
“Stop,” I whisper, looping my arms around his neck. “Don’t say things like that. You can’t tell me what’s good or bad for me, or what I want.”
Brock shakes his head. “I don’t know what the fuck I can offer you, Astrid,” he breathes, his brows pulling together. “I’m a goddamn mess. I could fucking die tomorrow. But I’m yours, if you’ll have me.”
I take his face in both hands, and again, I’m fucking speechless. “Brock…” I say his name, but my throat’s tight and it comes out hoarse.
It may not be the most eloquent declaration, but it’s perfectly him, and it totally hits me right in the feels.
“Sorry,” he sighs, raking a hand through his hair again. Almost nervously, like he’s not Brock Masters, the big bad wolf himself. “I’m not really theshare your feelingstype. I’m no good at this heavy emotional shit.”
I giggle, moving my palms down to rest on his chest. “You’re doing great.”
“Yeah?” he asks, sliding his hands up my waist underneath my sweatshirt.
I tilt my head sideways. “Well, your delivery could use some work, but it’s a solid start,” I wink.
He growls, taking me in his arms and flipping me over, pinning me underneath him on the bed. His hand comes to my throat, gripping it loosely as he lowers his face over mine. I feel the warmth of his breath on my lips as his wolf peeks at me through his eyes, golden flecks sparkling in his irises. When he speaks, his voice comes out in a growl that’s almost more animal than human. “Clothes off. Now.”
“Wh… what?” I pant, his grip on my throat restricting my air ever so slightly.
He loosens it, lifting his hand off and crawling backwards off of me, rising to stand beside the bed. The way he’s staring down at me is predatory; he’s the hunter, I’m the fox. And I’ve never wanted to get caught so badly.
“Now,” he repeats, kicking his own shoes off, his eyes still fixed on me. “If this is my last night on earth, then I want to spend it with my face buried between those thighs.”
Damn him and his dirty talk. A flood of heat rushes to my core, my face flushing as I kick my shoes off and yank my leggings down. I pause just long enough to see his shirt come off over his head, practically drooling when those perfectly chiseled muscles come into view. Then I’m frantically tearing off my own shirt, unhooking my bra, tossing everything away until I’m laid bare for him.
“Fuck…” he murmurs, his eyes trailing over my body as his chest rises and falls with heavy breaths. Brock reaches out to grab my foot, yanking me closer. I let out a squeak as my body glides against the covers, and then he’s lifting my ankle to his mouth, his tongue darting out to lick my skin.
I shiver as Brock begins licking and kissing and nipping his way up my leg, leaning over me as his mouth comes to my hip, my belly, the swell of my breast. I bury a hand in his hair as he sucks on my nipple, rolling it between his teeth, my back arching off of the bed. Then he’s licking along my collarbone, my neck, the seam of my lips. I feel his hardness pressing insistently against my thigh as I draw a gasp, my lips parting to let him in. He doesn’t kiss me gently; he kisses me like I’m his last meal and he wants to fucking devour me. One of my hands tugs at his hair, the other claws at his back.
Then he’s moving back down again. His teeth sink into the flesh of my breast and a breathy moan escapes me as I ride that fine line between pain and pleasure. His hand slides between my legs, this thumb brushing my clit as he sinks a finger inside of me. I squirm in pleasure as he pumps it a few times, then pulls it back out, his eyes trained on mine as he brings it up to my lips.
He slides his finger into my mouth and I suck myself off of him as he growls in satisfaction. “See how fucking good you taste?” He returns his hand to my pussy, delving the same digit back into my tight channel. When he slides it out again, he brings it to his own mouth, holding eye contact as he sucks my juices off of his finger. I don’t know why it’s so damn hot to see him do that, but my whole body’s suddenly blazing, slick with sweat and anticipation.
“Brock… please…” I pant, fisting the sheets in my hands, writhing on the bed.
He cocks up an eyebrow. “Pleasewhat?” he grumbles, sliding his hands down to my thighs and holding them apart. “Please lick your pussy?”
“Yes!” I gasp.
He lowers himself so that his mouth is at the apex of my thighs, but he’s barely brushing against me. It’s fucking torture.