Full Hart, page 10
Five weeks later, those two little lines appeared on a stick, and she knew her life would never be the same.
The funny thing is, she had no idea how amazing her life would get after agreeing to move in with Brock so he could help her through the pregnancy and take care of the baby once it was born.
Of course, with a generous offer like that, his lickable abs, fine toned ass, and tongue of a god, it’d taken very little time for her to fall in love with the hard Hart, even though he drove her crazy, and eight years later continued to do so. And the sex—oh mama, the sex just kept getting better.
Her breasts were mashed against his hard chest, but she wanted them in his mouth. She wanted his teeth tugging on her nipples, sinking into her areolas, his lips creating enough suction to cause a hickey.
She wanted hard and dirty. Rough and greedy.
They hadn’t even kissed yet, and they probably wouldn’t.
She wanted his mouth elsewhere.
She wanted it everywhere.
If she wasn’t so hell-bent on the orgasm that was climbing the cliff inside her, she’d grab his head with two hands and force him to his knees and his tongue between her legs.
But the kids wouldn’t be home for roughly another hour. They had time for that.
Stacey had texted when Lassie was driving Krista home that the kids were being good as gold and she offered to take them all out for pizza.
Krista wouldn’t say no to her kids being exercised and fed in a million years. If she did ever say no to an offer like that, Stacey already knew to have Krista committed.
Brock’s pounding was relentless, but his cadence was beginning to wane.
He was close.
His grunts were growing more guttural. More distressed. Like he was holding on by a thin thread, waiting for her thread to snap first so he could let the final fiber unravel.
But she wasn’t going to let him get his release.
Not yet.
She was close, but she’d also gotten very good at skirting the edge.
As a cop, her job was risky, but she rarely took risks she didn’t have to take. She rarely walked on the wild side of life anymore. Particularly not after having children.
But she had gotten very good at tiptoeing along the edge of an orgasm.
It was a torturous bliss she could get lost in until time seemed to no longer exist. Seconds, minutes, hours, she had no idea how long she treaded along the ledge. How long she danced with danger.
But either way, it felt amazing, and she tried to dance along it whenever she possibly could.
With his hips digging into the insides of her thighs, she squeezed her legs around him, pulling him deeper, harder against her. The heel of her foot wedged between his flexing ass cheeks, and she tilted her head forward and scraped her teeth along his shoulder cap, feeling it bunch and flex as she dug in for a bite.
His hiss of pain made her smile, and she released her chomp and swept her tongue across the bite marks.
“Fucking savage, woman,” he grunted out, continuing to hammer into her.
“Serves you right,” she growled, biting his neck this time.
He grunted again, and his thrust faltered.
She laughed. “You’re close, aren’t you?’
It was a rhetorical question. She’d had sex with this man thousands of times. She knew when he was close, and right now, her husband had one toe over the ledge.
He only offered her another grunt.
She laughed again and squeezed her internal muscles around him as hard as she could. His grip on her butt intensified, and she reached between them and tugged on his nipple again.
With a growl, he released her, stepped away from the wall, and she fell to her feet, eyeing him with confusion.
But he gave her nary a second to voice her frustrations before she was gruffly gripped by the hips, flipped around to face the wall, made to bend over, and he was sliding back home behind her.
She scrambled to grip the wall, planting her palms against it to absorb the impact of his pounding.
Her breasts jiggled and swayed beneath her, and her pussy pulsed from the new angle and the way his cock filled her just right. He was able to get so damn deep when they fucked in this position, so damn deep it nearly made her cross-eyed.
His hard chest pressed into her back as he leaned over her, his grunts of passion mixed with frustration, a tune she was very much familiar with, right next to her ear. “You think you’re in charge?” he said, sliding one hand around her and between her legs. “Think you’re the one calling the shots?”
She smiled and her body jolted when his middle finger found her clit and stroked it.
“I’m protecting my family. Protecting what’s mine.” He hammered into her harder, enough to make her teeth rattle against each other.
But oh, she could take more.
She wanted more.
He knew exactly how far to push her and that he could push her just a little more. Never had Brock gone beyond what she would handle or was comfortable with. He knew just how far she could go, just how much she could take, and then he went half a step over that line, which was the sweet spot. The place where her skin tingled, her soul left her body and her pulse raced like a cheetah’s after taking down an impala.
As hard as she tried, the whimper that bubbled deep in her throat broke free, and she squeezed her eyes shut.
He’d taken control of not only her but of her orgasm as well.
She was caught up in a pipe dream to think she could hold on to the reins for long. He always took them.
But nine times out of ten, she was so enthralled in the pleasure that she willingly handed them over to him.
And today was one of those days.
Yes, she was still angry as fuck with him, still determined to make him wait to come as long as she could, but when he raked his teeth up her neck and wiggled her clit between his thumb and index finger, a sob clawed up her throat and little sparks of pure euphoria ignited in her body.
“You’ll come when I tell you to come,” he murmured, dragging her earlobe between his teeth and tugging. “And only when I tell you.” Brock pinched her clit, and her hips jerked back into him, which made him groan.
“You’re such an asshole,” she ground out. “Such a fucking control freak.”
“And you love it.”
Goddamn him, she truly did.
But she also hated it.
Because she was also a control freak.
They were always butting heads. Always.
But what made their marriage, their partnership work so well was that at the end of the day, they never went to bed angry. And as much as everyone else who knew him would say Brock was a tight-lipped beast who barely spoke when Krista and Brock had a problem, they talked it out. Or fucked it out, like right now.
He wiggled her clit between his fingers again, pausing his thrusting to just exist inside her to the hilt, pulsing against her walls but otherwise not moving.
In frustration, she grunted and wiggled her butt against him before trying to pull forward and ride him herself. But the position he was in, hunched over her and holding her in place, made any major movements impossible.
She was at his whim.
And he knew it.
His chuckle sent a waft of warm air skittering across her bare shoulder. “Do you want to come?”
He damn well knew she did.
Brock cleared his throat, still not moving even an inch. His cock, however, flexed inside her, and her eyes threatened to roll back into her head. “I asked you a question.”
Dear sweet baby Jesus. He knew how that authoritative tone and demand would just push her closer to the edge. He fucking knew it. And he was using every tool in his arsenal to prove a point. That he was in charge of this family. That he was in charge of her. Orgasms and all.
But he also knew he hadn’t married a shrinking violet, and with a growl, she felt all the way down in her baby toe, she tore out of his grasp and away from him. The hollow ache inside of her from no longer being filled by his cock was something that actually made her heart hurt.
Rounding on him, she shoved him hard in the chest, knowing full well that he was only going to move if he wanted to. But he obliged and fell back onto the bed, inching up enough so that when she climbed on top and straddled him, she wasn’t at risk of falling off the bed.
His hands rested on her hips and impatience shone in his green eyes as she lifted up and hovered over his erection. The head of his cock was notched at her center, but she didn’t sink down.
No.
With a wicked grin, she swirled her hips around, relishing the way her sensitive entrance was teased by his thick crown.
If she did this for another minute, she could easily come.
She was that close.
Teetering so precariously on the edge that the rocks beneath her feet were beginning to crumble and fall away.
Brock sucked in air through his teeth and growled, his grip on her hips tightening as he tried to encourage her to take him.
But the anguish in his eyes was intoxicating, and rather than sink down, she slid backward a few inches and lifted higher onto her knees. Gripping his cock in her hand, she slid the bulbous crown back and forth between her pussy lips, using it like she would a vibrator to tease and rub her clit.
Brock’s nostrils flared, and his fingers dug into her hips.
Their eyes locked, and when she swirled the head of his cock around her clit once more, the heat that had been building in her belly ignited into an inferno, and fireworks went off inside her.
Quickly, she angled him back at her center, taking him to his base and grinding down hard so she got every single inch of him.
Just as she knew it would be, her orgasm was intense. Mind-altering. Life-affirming. Soul-claiming. Her toes curled behind her, her nipples tightened to painful points, and her pussy pulsed like it had its own heartbeat.
Her eyes were closed, but she opened them when Brock’s hands found her breasts and he scraped his thumbnail over her tight buds, the jolt of pain and blossoming pleasure making her moan.
“You gonna let me come?” he asked, giving her nipples a twist as if he were trying to snap his fingers.
She gasped, then whimpered from the second snap of pleasure, the high from her orgasm taking its sweet time coming down from the summit.
She smiled lazily and squeezed around his cock. “A nice wife would, wouldn’t she?”
He grunted. “She would.”
Krista flexed her hips and rocked against his pelvis once, twice and three times, then, when the orgasm took its final bow before the curtain dropped, she lifted up on her knees again and climbed off him. “Too bad I’m not a nice wife then, eh?” She slid onto her butt on the bed and stood up, but she hadn’t even made it two steps to the bathroom before he had her by the wrist, whipped her around to face him, and crushed his mouth to hers.
She smiled as he forcefully thrust his tongue between her lips, then she bit his bottom lips enough to feel the growl rumble his throat.
“You love it when I come inside you,” he said, pulling away from her mouth, flipping her around again and bending her over the bed. “Always makes you come again.” He slid inside her once more, and when her sensitive clit hit the edge of the bed, she saw stars.
His grip on her hips was tight but not brutal, and in about five pumps, he was coming. And just as he predicted, so was she—again.
When he finally finished and her second climax waned, he pulled out of her, and she stood up and spun around to face him. His face was dark and stormy, but the love that glittered back at her in those intense green eyes would be unmistakable a mile away.
“I know you’re doing what you think is right, but you’re going about it the wrong way,” she said, the anger in her tone having sloughed off with that last toe-curling orgasm. She reached up and cupped his cheek, and Brock instantly leaned into her touch. “Promise me you won’t do something like that again. Don’t break into Grant’s house. Give your mother the benefit of the doubt. I’m not saying you need to start calling the man Dad.”
He instantly bristled when she said that and pulled away from her hand, bending down to retrieve his clothes.
She huffed out an exasperated sigh. “At least give the man a chance. And your mother deserves some credit for knowing how to pick a decent companion. She picked your father, didn’t she?”
Brock stood back up to his full height, all his clothes in his hands now. “And he was the love of her life. Now she’s trying to replace him. She’s trying to replace my father in her house, her bed, and her heart. I would never replace you. Would you replace me?”
His lips twisted, and his nose twitched. The man was one loose brick away from a full-on crumble.
Her heart broke at the thought of what he must be feeling right now, especially since Brock had been in the car with his father when he died. It was a trauma he’d never fully recovered from. And perhaps for all these years, he’d somehow taken solace in the idea that since his mother had never brought any men home or dated to his knowledge (even though Krista and her sisters-in-law all knew that Joy went on dates), she had also never recovered. That they were both forever caught up in the grief of their loss and that Zane Hart was irreplaceable.
But now, in Brock’s eyes, Joy was finally able to replace Zane, leaving Brock all alone in his grief. Perhaps he even thought that because he’d been the leader of the family for so long, the patriarch, that by finally introducing everyone to Grant, Joy was trying to replace Brock as the head of the family as well.
It wasn’t a far-fetched thought. Even though she’d only met Grant for a few moments, she’d been around enough alpha-male protectors to know that Joy was dating one. The testosterone that filled the air in Joy’s house yesterday was as thick as an autumn fog. Brock was the silverback, and he felt like another male was coming in and trying to take over the family.
Of course, he would get his back up. Of course, he would feel threatened and alone and like his mother was trying to replace him—and his father.
Tears stung Krista’s eyes, and her throat grew tight. She stepped toward her stormy husband, took the clothes from his hands, and let them fall back to the floor. Then she wrapped her arms around his big frame, pressed her cheek to his heart, and held him.
Slowly, she felt him relax, and his arms came around her, too. His cheek rested on the top of her head, and when a shudder coursed through him, she knew he was finally letting all that anger he felt burning inside twist itself into what it really was—pain. Confusion. And of course, sadness.
They didn’t say anything.
Not a word.
The anger that had buzzed between them since they arrived home had evaporated, and all that remained between them was pure love and understanding. She wouldn’t always agree with her husband’s tactics or the way he went about things, but she would always support him and knew that everything he did was done to protect those he loved the most.
She wasn’t sure how long they stood there, wrapped up in each other’s embrace, but when the doorbell chimed and there was impatient knocking and yelling at the door, they pulled apart, smiled up at each other, and went about getting dressed.
She was on his heels when he bounded down the stairs to open the front door for Zoe and Zane, but just before he turned the knob to welcome in chaos, Brock glanced up at her, graced her with one of his rare but heart-melting smiles, and said, “I love you.”
Chapter 11
Chase & Stacey
It was Monday afternoon, and after picking Thea up from preschool and Connor up from school, Stacey joined the convoy of her sisters-in-law downtown to the Empress Hotel to see the gingerbread house display.
Since she joined the Hart family, it had quickly become a tradition. Sometimes the men came, but most of the time, it was just Stacey, her sisters-in-law, mother-in-law and, all the children. They’d all grab a hot chocolate and delicious candy-cane-flavored cookies from a kitschy a delicious bakery on Government Street and nibble and sip as they walked to the Empress.
As she always did, Stacey had invited Chase to join them, but he was on an assignment. Apparently, some celebrity was visiting the island and had fallen ill and was now at Victoria General Hospital. But because of the nature of the ailment and how it could ruin their career, they hired a security detail to stand outside their room so no lookie-loo media or overly curious Georges uncovered the secret.
Stacey had probed Chase for clues on who was in the hospital and what ailment they had for a solid five minutes, but her husband was the utmost professional and refused to even say whether it was a man or a woman.
Of course, she had her guesses and waited for his eyes to shift or lips to twist and confirm her suspicions, but the man’s poker face was top-notch, and she got nothing out of him.
This was one of the few times she was cursing herself for being a nurse at a dermatology office rather than a nurse at the hospital. If she worked at the hospital, she’d for sure have the skinny on the VIP patient in no time. And since Pasha was still on maternity leave, she would be of no help either. She was also a pediatrician and definitely wouldn’t reveal anything about a patient even if she knew who the celebrity was.
Stacey would just have to pay attention to her newsfeed and see if anything popped up there, then quiz her husband more when he got home.
Chase’s lack of excitement about playing bodyguard to a celebrity could be felt around the house before he left. He’d dragged his feet leaving and said he’d be home late after Heath relieved him at midnight.
Did Pasha know about Heath’s graveyard shift?
Banishing her wandering thoughts and relieved that her children were for once not bickering in the back seat of her minivan, she breathed out a sigh of relief that she’d found a parking spot in the parking garage and pulled into the stall. Krista was behind her in her SUV, and Pasha was behind Krista. Lydia said she was running late, and Joy was apparently already downtown and would meet them all at the bakery.
