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BROCK FELT HIS BALLS tighten and throbbing cock harden even more before he detonated, releasing himself into Lily’s hot, wet channel. Her pussy milked him as he thrust into her from behind, impossibly tight, gripping him like a vice. Silken arousal drenched his fingers as he rubbed her clit, trying not to collapse right on top of her after his powerful release.
She was wet for him, he thought with a surge of male satisfaction. He’d already made her come twice earlier tonight, once on his fingers while they were still at the bar and once on his tongue as he went down on her in her bedroom. But as she screamed out his name with his cock buried balls deep inside of her, he felt like a fucking god. He’d been with his fair share of women before, but he’d never come as hard as he had now, taking Lily from behind while her gorgeous body bucked beneath him. As she screamed out his name again and again.
He bent down, practically collapsing on top of her, and felt the rise and fall of her back from her panting. Her brushed her long blonde hair aside and gently kissed the back of her neck, followed by her bare shoulder, before slowly pulling himself from her tight sheath. This way this woman responded to him was un-fucking-believable. He was still half hard he was so goddamned turned on.
Lily lay gasping for breath, and as she gazed back at him with her lids half-lowered, he turned and walked across her fancy bedroom to the master bath and disposed of the condom.
God he was so fucked.
He eyed the luxurious spa bath tub and imagined Lily soaking in it, dripping wet. Coming again on his cock as she rode him. He wanted to have her again and again, on every goddamn surface of her immaculate apartment. In every way imaginable. A night with Lily would be a fucking wet dream come true. But hell, a woman like her wouldn’t be happy with a one-night-stand, no matter what she claimed. And he didn’t do relationships. The way his own father had abandoned his family when he was a kid had convinced Brock long ago that marriage wasn’t for him. Ever.
If you weren’t attached to someone, you couldn’t get hurt.
And Brock didn’t fucking do “hurt.”
Not that he was necessarily happy anymore with a different woman every week, but he and Lily had mutual friends. He couldn’t have his way with her all night long and then dispose of her in the morning. Not when there’d potentially be repercussions. Maybe Jake wouldn’t care, but Morgan sure as shit would. You didn’t fuck a woman all night and then chance running into her best friend.
He felt a strange twinge of guilt at the idea of leaving her.
Jesus Christ.
He had to get the hell out of dodge, now. As fast as fucking possible. Maybe if it was just anonymous sex he could’ve stayed longer, but a strange part of him felt protective toward her. Like she’d be better off if he just left her the hell alone. A quickie in her bedroom might not have been what she had in mind, but hell. It was better than him using her all night long. Sure, he’d enjoy worshiping her body for hours on end. Hell, he’d goddamn love it.
But there was no sense in dealing with the aftermath.
When he walked back into the bedroom, Lily had grabbed a silk robe and was slipping into it, her back to him. Already he felt sorrow at the loss of her gorgeous body. He should pull her back into that king-sized bed and kiss every square inch of her, telling her all the ways he wanted to pleasure her tonight. He should wrap her up in his arms and hold her. Hell, wasn’t that what all women wanted after sex? To just be held and cuddle?
Instead he just stood there, feeling like a complete jackass, watching what could have been evaporate into thin air.
She glanced over her shoulder as she tied the sash at the waist, and something in his expression made her face turn to stone.
“I should go,” he said, carefully avoiding her gaze and grabbing his boxers from the ground. He was still half hard, but he tugged his boxer shorts over his cock and stepped into his jeans, willing himself not to walk over there and touch her. He’d be unable to leave if he let himself go near her again. And he knew he couldn’t promise her anything after tonight. Not with his track record with women. Not when his intentions were less than honorable. It would be better for both of their sakes if he just left right now.
Finally stealing a glance her way, he watched as she blinked and took a step back from him, but not before he saw the hurt evident in her eyes. “Just like that,” she said, her voice emotionless.
“You have your fancy brunch in the morning. I can’t imagine you wanting to take me along to that, Princess.”
“Stop calling me ‘Princess.’”
He bent over and grabbed his shirt off the ground. “It wouldn’t have worked out between us. It’s better this way.”
“Fuck you,” she spat out.
He froze. He hadn’t promised her anything, but he was sure none of the other men she’d been with in the past had taken her home, fucked her brains out, and then made a hasty exit. Or that she regularly went home with strange men she met in bars. All the more proof of how different the two of them were. ‘Wham, bam, thank you ma’am’ might not have been his intention, but that’s exactly how it had played out, hadn’t it? Hell, her face was still flushed from the orgasms he’d given her. From the way he’d thoroughly fucked her.
Still, he was doing her a favor by leaving now, before she ended up even more hurt later on. Maybe someday she’d realize that.
“I’ll let myself out,” he said in a low voice.
She crossed her arms and turned away from him without responding, but not before he saw a single tear roll down her cheek. He was this close to saying the hell with it, walking over, and pulling her into his arms. Giving them what they both wanted and making love to her all night. But morning would still come.
Instead he shook his head, grabbed his badge and holster from the nightstand, and walked out the bedroom door, telling himself he was doing the right thing. Muttering under his breath to just leave.
His stuff hadn’t even looked right there—his holster and gun beside her fancy perfume bottles. What the hell had he been thinking coming here?
Passing the discarded clothing they’d left strewn across the front hall made him feel like that much more of a jackass.
