Page 39 of Triple Protection
"Nothing. I'm simply here as your book sherpa. Load me up, baby." He says with a wink as he holds out his free arm. I smile up at him. My heart has never been lighter. I want to argue with him, but this is his date, so I leave it.
After about an hour, I've finished my coffee and loaded him up with about 20 books. As we check out, he crowds me against the desk, pressing his chest and his hips into my back and ass. That ache is back as I remember how many ways he's used his body to pleasure mine over this past week. The comforting feel of his weight on top of me, pinning me to the bed. His thick fingers, and talented, greedy mouth. The way his thick cock stretches me so completely. The way he worships my body without shame.
My breathing starts to quicken and my vision starts to blur. He bends forward, tracing his lips up my neck before the young woman with short blue hair checking us out coughs an interruption and gives us our total. He steps back then and quickly pays, a knowing grin on his face.
We carry our haul back to the SUV, but instead of getting in, he picks two of the books from the bag, and opens the back part of the car, pulling out a picnic basket and blanket. He slips the two books into the basket before closing the back gate. I pull the blanket from him so he can carry the basket and follow him in the opposite direction to an open park. It's at least 5 acres and has a playground, some tall trees and a few frisbee golf baskets. Because it's a school-day, though, it's completely empty.
Brick leads us up to a gorgeous, tall jacaranda tree and lays the blanket down in the shade. It's early November, so it's just starting to get chilly at night and in the shade, but today the sun is overwhelming. I lay out the blanket for us and Brick sits, a little awkwardly, with his prosthetic. He opens the basket and starts to spread out what he brought. It's nothing fancy - bread, cheeses, fruit, cured meats. And a bottle of champagne with plastic cups.
I stare at him while he works, his brows furrowed in concentration. This man is such a treasure. Not only is he wickedly handsome, but he's sweet, and thoughtful and passionate.
"What?" he asks. I'm not sure what my face says, but he's turned concerned. "You hate it." He frowns at the food. "It's not enough?"
I shake my head and stop myself before I touch his arm. "No. Brick, no. I just can't get over how wonderful you are. I don't know what I did to deserve you, and honestly, I'm torn between wanting to share with the world how amazing you are and wanting to keep you all for myself."
His face softens. He leans forward and runs his fingers through my hair. "I've been thinking about this for a while, but I think... I think I was made for you. That... whatever happened in Iraq, and what happened when we got back...it was always supposed to be you." He shakes his head and runs his hand over the back of his neck. "I'm not explaining that well."
"No, I know exactly what you mean. I feel the same way." He smiles at me gratefully and leans forward to kiss me, sweet and chastely.
I scoot closer before picking up one of the pieces of cheese and holding it out to his mouth. I press it gently against his plump lower lip before he opens for me and bites. We spend the next 45 minutes teasing ourselves and each other while feeding each other the meal. The heat in his eyes grows until his pupils are blown out and his eyes are more black than brown. He watches my mouth as bite down on the cheeses and fruit, his breathing heavy. I watch his tongue as it peaks out to lap the grape juices from his lip. I squeeze my thighs together, a move he notices, and he moans.
"I'm not fucking you in public." He growls.
"Then you better stop looking at me like that." I retort.
He pulls back, adjusts his erection, and lays back against the blanket, throwing a meaty, tattooed arm over his eyes. I resist the urge to mount him like a horse and lie beside him. Once we've both sufficiently calmed down, we break out the champagne and our books and read. Brick leans back against the tree trunk, while I rest my head in his lap. We spend a delicious hour simply being together. He's a man of few words, and I can respect that. He speaks when it's important, and instead shows me what matters the most through his calm presence, his thoughtful actions, his unwavering loyalty.
The words on my page go blurry as my mind starts to spiral. He'd make someone an amazing husband one day. That thoughtcauses a pang of regret to slam through me. Our time together is limited. Yes, we've been living in our own little bubble for a while now, and it's been heaven on earth, but what happens when they get a new assignment? They're not mine. They're on loan. Sadness and insecurity washes over me. We're enjoying each other right now, but I'm not theirs and they're not mine. They'll move on, guard someone new, maybe fall in love with someone else?
Is that what we're doing? Falling in love? We're having sex, sure, and I think I've already fallen for them. But I have no idea if they're on the same page.
As if he could read my spiraling mind, he sets down his glass of champagne and lazily runs his fingers through my hair, not lifting his eyes off his book. He's reading a smutty romance novel and crinkling his nose during certain parts, but not complaining.
I look up at him, resting my book on my belly and think of love languages. In one afternoon Brick has given me gifts in my new books, given me an act of service with the picnic, words of affirmation, if not a bit clumsily, quality time together reading and now physical touch with his fingers through my hair. My spiraling negative thoughts still before evaporating completely. I don't know what the future holds, but I do know this man loves me. He shows me every day.
My cell phone dings and I let out an involuntary groan as I read the text message from my sister, reminding me that my presence is expected for Christmas dinner at 6pm at the Admiral's estate.
"What's that, Babygirl?" Brick asks, his voice washing over me like a warm hug.
"My sister. Just about Christmas dinner. I spend all year dreading it."
"One of us will go with you. We can be your buffer."
Liam and I had already talked about him coming, but the idea of talking to my sister about it, or insisting on something, makes me anxious. The Admiral always throws in a passive aggressive comment about my chronic spinsterhood and no prospects of grandchildren. Not that I would bring any child around such a narcissist. Joke's on you, Dad. My chronic spinsterhood has been blown out of the water by not one, but three men. I chuckle. He'd shit a brick if he knew.
"I will. I'll bring Liam. He's the more chatty of the three of you." Brick smiles in response.
My nerves prick us, and I take a deep breath. I've never, in my 36 years on this Earth, have pushed back, said 'no', or demanded anything of my family. I wasn't particularly smart or talented. I was pretty, and I was a good girl. I got along, I followed instruction, I tried to not be a burden. But look what that got me? Two decades of utter loneliness, an inability to set boundaries, and a life of surviving, not thriving.
My hands start to sweat as I take another deep breath. Brick's meaty hand wraps around the base of my throat. Not enough to hurt, or cut off blood or air flow, but enough to get my intense attention.
"You've got this," He says calmly, staring into the depths of my soul as if he's talking to it, not me.
I lick my lips and nod.
Me: I'll be there, but I'm bringing a date. Please tell the Admiral to prepare for a plus one.
I hit send and watch as three little bubbles appear and disappear - appear and disappear. Finally, I'm gifted a thumbs up emoji back.