Page 58 of Brick's Retribution

But with Brick, I don't need armor. I can just be myself.

He seems to understand the significance of my words because his expression goes tender.

When he kisses me this time, it's with a gentleness that brings tears to my eyes.

"I've got you," he whispers against my lips. "Whatever happens, I've got you."

And for the first time in longer than I can remember, I believe it.

This man who barely knows me has committed himself to my protection—not just physically, but emotionally.

He sees me, values me, wants me for who I am rather than what I represent.

It opens something inside me, releases feelings I've kept locked away for years.

When I kiss him back, I put everything into it—all my gratitude, my desire, my growing feelings for this impossible man who's turned my world upside down.

We lose ourselves in each other here in the darkness, the danger outside forgotten as we discover this new connection between us.

His hands map my body with care, every touch sending sparks through my nervous system.

When I touch him in return, he responds with an intensity that makes me feel powerful and feminine and utterly desired.

We're careful of his injuries, turning the limitations into an opportunity for slow exploration rather than desperate coupling.

Every kiss is savored, every caress deliberate and meaningful.

It's unlike anything I've ever experienced—not just physical gratification, but emotional connection, two souls finding solace in each other.

"Let me see you," Brick murmurs against my throat, his voice rough with need.

I’m worried about his injuries, but his good hand moves, sliding beneath my shirt to trace the curve of my waist.

I shiver at his touch, my body responding instantly to the heat in his amber eyes. "Your wounds?—"

"Are worth it," he interrupts, capturing my mouth in a kiss that steals my breath. "Every drop of blood was worth it to keep you safe."

The protectiveness in his voice undoes me.

I straddle him carefully, mindful of his bandaged ribs, and his sharp intake of breath has nothing to do with pain.

His hand tangles in my hair, angling my head to deepen the kiss until I'm drowning in him.

"Imani," he groans when I rock against him, feeling exactly how much he wants this. "You're going to be the death of me."

"Not on my watch," I whisper, nipping at his lower lip. "I just put you back together. I'm not letting you go anywhere."

His laugh is dark and full of promise. "Bossy little thing, aren't you?"

"Someone has to be," I breathe, trailing kisses along his jaw. "Since you seem determined to throw yourself in front of bullets for me."

His hand slides up my back, pulling me closer until there's no space between us. "I'd do it again," he says simply, and the rawness in his voice making my heart race. "In a heartbeat."

I kiss him then, pouring everything I can't say into the connection between us.

I undo his buckle and free his hard cock, sinking onto him in one fluid motion.

"That's it," he encourages, his voice strained as I move above him, careful not to put pressure on his wounds. "Just like that, baby."

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