#rumskye

“Ready to scream?” He bucked his hips. The tip hit her entrance but didn’t go in. “Gonna make you scream my name all night.”

“Yes,” Daisy moaned as he sucked on her neck. “Brock… yes.”

The next time he opened his mouth, he let out an inhuman shriek which shattered the mood and sounded remarkably like Daisy’s alarm clock.

She sat up in bed, alone and sweaty. Her alarm was indeed blaring. It was eight in the morning and Brock was gone on a routine training assignment until six.

Daisy squeezed her legs together, but the painful arousal would not die down. She stumbled into the bathroom and spent half an hour in as cold a shower as her body could handle. It was all for nothing. She still felt his fingers pressing all her sweet spots, his tongue circling her breasts, his stubble scraping her stomach as he pressed his face deep into her core.

Today was going to suck so hard.

As the hours snailed by, she distracted herself with everything from a jog around the park to a highly irresponsible gorge-fest at the pizza place. When none of it helped, she locked herself in the bedroom and made some quality time with her favorite vibrating friend. It worked long enough for her to turn on the TV and channel surf. She landed on one of the movie channels they paid for and never used. One of the actors looked just like Brock, and suddenly she was back again with his thick cock in her mouth and his fingers on her clit and his teeth nipping her earlobe-

She checked the clock. Ten to one. She screamed into a pillow until her voicebox cracked.

At roughly a quarter past six, the front door unlocked. A deep, masculine sigh preceded heavy steps approaching the bedroom.

“Daisy, you up?” Brock had removed his jacket and was in the process of removing his boots. “Sorry, I’m late. We got caught up in-”

Daisy would never know and never care. With the grace and dexterity of a jungle cat, she was upon him. Strong as he was, he was not prepared to be attacked in the comfort of his own home and backed into the wall for support. Daisy’s hands were everywhere. Up his shirt and in his pants.

“What the hell are you doing?” He lifted his head so she couldn’t kiss him into silence.

Fine then. He could use a few hickies.

“Fuck me now,” she demanded.

Brock stared at her. “Am I having that dream again?”

“You’d better not be.” She got his button undone and pulled down the zipper. His cock was in her hand and even half flaccid, it was glorious.

“Fuck,” he groaned as she worked him into a full erection. “Here I thought I’d get a nap in.”

“Sex first, sleep later.”

He smirked at her. He knew exactly what that look did to her and thank the Lord above for that. “Since when do you order me around?”

In an instant, Daisy was on the bed. Her shirt was in pieces on the floor. His own soon followed. They got each other naked as quickly as possible and, with Daisy’s prompting, skipped all but the bare minimum of foreplay and got to the main event. Brock pushed inside her, slow at first to let her adjust. When she was ready, he pounded her hard into the mattress, fingering her clit until she was over the edge and screaming.

“Brock!” She cried as pleasure coursed through her blood. “Yes! Yeeees!”

He made her come a few more times, not stopping until he was satisfied that she was well and truly exhausted. Sweet afterglow enveloped their bodies. Daisy rested her head on his chest and traced the lines of his abdominal muscles. He always claimed he hadn’t been enhanced with any sort of super serum, but with a body like this and all that stamina, one couldn’t blame her for being suspicious.

“Feel better?” He nuzzled her neck.

“Much,” Daisy yawned. “Might need another go in the morning if you’re up for it.”

“If?” He growled, sending shocks of delicious heat all through her.

“I’m just saying. If you’re too tired after all the excitement today, I’ll understand.”

He grumbled something and she giggled. His fingers found her nipples and he pinched them hard, making her gasp.

For his prey, the clock was ticking down. He’d catch them when he was ready, and they’d die just like the rest.

“Darling, will you please stop playing and just kill them already?”

Brock grinned as his soulmate’s voice sounded over the comm piece in his ear. “I’ll get there, baby. Impatient, aren’t you?” Unlike him, she played quick and dirty, getting fights over as quickly as she could safely manage. Of course, her own particular gifts helped her in that regard too.

Daisy laughed, brushing off his assessment of her patience. She’d trained as a sniper under May; of course she could be patient if needed. “I can think of about four different things I’d rather be doing right now, yes,” she told him. “Most of which involve getting this job done so we can celebrate the real end of Hydra together. Preferably with a lot fewer clothes, and maybe a hot bath.”

The idea of seeing her gorgeous body, naked and with water droplets trailing over her skin sent a flash of heat through his body. Not that he ever needed more incentive to want her. “All right, baby. I’ll pick up the pace a bit. But you know if I don’t let some of this predator instinct out on the job, I’ll just end up hunting you later,” he reminded her. He had rather a lot of animalistic tendencies after Hydra’s experiments. The hunter’s instinct wasn’t solely confined to his enemies.

Not that his soulmate had ever complained about any of his particular preferences.

She just kept reminding him of how soulmates were always compatible in their desires. Which also made her hotter than hell, that she wanted the same things he did. Nevermind that she was physically beautiful, she had to be on his level mentally too.

“Sounds like fun,” she purred back over comms. A low growl rumbled through his chest; she always seemed to know exactly what to say to get him going, both for his animal instincts and his more human side.

“Can you two please flirt later,” Hunter broke into their banter, sounding annoyed. “Some of us are actually trying to work, here.”

“I just cracked the lock you and Mack needed opened, Hunter,” Daisy informed the other half of their usual team, switching back to her calmer ‘Agent’ tone. She was in the base control center, copying the enemy’s data, scrubbing the system after herself, and removing any electronically locked barriers in their way. They had found several hidden bases this way, and they hoped this was the last - but they would check the logs anyway. “You’re all clear to move ahead.”

“Got it,” Mack’s voice came over the line. “We’re headed down another level.”

“How much longer do you need on the computers, Daisy?” Brock asked, continuing to make his own way forward.

“Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. Think you can wrap up and be back here by the time I’m done?” she asked, tone challenging.

“Watch me,” Brock agreed, accepting readily. There were only another ten people ahead of him, and at least two of them were scientists with minimal combat ability.

“Happy hunting,” Daisy responded cheerily. “I’ll see you all back here when you’re finished.”

The rest of the team signaled their agreement, and Brock returned his focus to the enemy yet ahead of him.

Oh, yes. They would have plenty to celebrate, once the mission was over.

Including on his ass, which she’d been struggling to keep her eyes off all day as they toured the huge facility. Rumlow had a habit of jogging energetically up stairs, which gave her a quite extraordinary view of his ass in his tight combat pants. It was like watching  a pair of puppies fighting in a sack, she thought whimsically, biting her upper lip inwards to keep her laughter from bubbling up.

“So, I think that’s about everywhere,” Rumlow said finally, leading her back into the large kitchen and dining area adjacent to the individual Avengers’ apartments. They’d started off here, dropping Daisy’s bags off in the room she’d been assigned. “Think you can find your way around?” He reached for the Keurig, quirking an eyebrow at Daisy. She nodded, pointing out a capsule she wanted.

“I hope so. It seems pretty intuitively designed, anyway. Shame Stark didn’t install an AI.”

“Well, Vision’s normally here anyway, and there’s no AI even Stark could build which wouldn’t be vastly inferior and probably get on his last nerve. If he has nerves. Synapses? Circuits. I dunno.” Rumlow shrugged, and Daisy helplessly followed the ripple of muscle under his shirt. “Long and short of it is, we don’t need one.”

“Right.”

“Milk and sugar?”

“Hm?”

“In your coffee.”

Whisky-gold eyes glinted, and she had the feeling he knew exactly where her mind was.

“No, thanks.” She took the mug he slid across the gleaming granite counter to her, and took a seat at the breakfast bar. Rumlow took a seat beside her, his huge arm almost touching hers, and sighed as he took a sip of his coffee.

“Mm. Now that’s the good stuff. Far better than the shit which used to be always brewing in the percolator in the STRIKE ready room at the Triskelion.”

Daisy took a sip too, and mentally concurred with his assessment, even as she turned his statement over in her mind. Finally, she couldn’t help but ask.

Except, the words didn’t come out quite as she’d planned.

“So, apart from being sexy, what do you do for a living around here?”

Black eyebrows flew up, and then he laughed, a rasping, sexy crackle which would have made her feel weak at the knees if she wasn’t already sitting down.

“Well. I’m an undercover Avenger, of sorts. I’m still tied in with a whole bunch of criminal networks from when I was Fury’s man inside Hydra, and having my face publicly plastered over screens as one of Earth’s Mightiest Heroes is kind of the opposite of good tradecraft.”

“You could wear a mask,” Daisy pointed out.

“I do, when I go out on the kind of missions when they need everyone. I still try to stay away from cameras.”

“Crossbones,” she said with sudden enlightenment. The heavily muscled man in the black skinsuit and skull mask had been spotted a couple of times helping out the Avengers on major incidents; they’d called him ‘an ally’ in press conferences but said nothing more than that.

“At your service, Quake.” He lifted his mug in her direction.

Daisy smiled, taking another sip of her coffee. She almost snorted it back out her nose when Rumlow added;

“Getting back to the more interesting part of your question, so you think I’m sexy, huh?”

Daisy was pretty sure she’d turned an unattractive shade of magenta as she spluttered “It was… it was a slip of the tongue!”

“Freudian slip?”

Those whisky-gold eyes were laughing at her, Daisy thought dismally, feeling like a teenager all over again, one with a massive crush on the hot older guy who thought she was just a kid.

At least, until he leaned closer and whispered “Well, right back atcha, hot stuff,” and winked.

“Do the Avengers have any rules against fraternisation?” she blurted.

“No. I heard Cap actually wanted to put one in our code of conduct.” Rumlow grinned at her. “He was convinced not to push the point. Even he conceded that telling Natasha who she could and couldn’t sleep with was not conducive to his future health.”

“I can see that.” Indeed, telling the world’s best assassins anything about what they could or could not do was fraught with danger. As Secretary Ross had discovered, in a rather permanent fashion.

“So,” Rumlow added, “there’s nothing to stop us taking the rest of the afternoon off and adjourning to your room to break in that new bed of yours. If you wanted.”

She definitely wanted. Leaving her coffee unfinished on the counter, she rose to her feet and held out a hand to him.

Rumlow cursed as a bullet zipped past so close it just about grazed his ear. The trap had been well set, he and his team had no chance of escaping until they were already pinned in the killing zone. Agent Piper, his number two, had the presence of mind to lob a grenade into the only doorway they could see and they’d all bolted through about half a second after it went off… which was the only reason they were still alive. Two of his team, including Piper, were down with wounds that wouldn’t be fatal - if he could somehow get them out of there.

The only thing that comforted him was that Daisy hadn’t come into this trap along with them, that the plan had called for her to sneak into the rear of the facility while the STRIKE unit noisily attacked the front as a diversion. He was pretty sure he’d managed to get a message out before the comms cut out.

At least she’s safe, Rumlow thought, surprising himself with the intensity of the relief that accompanied the thought. He and Daisy had been occasional bedmates for a few months now; it couldn’t be really called any such thing as a relationship, even if SHIELD regulations would have allowed it. Fuck-buddies, he supposed he’d thought of it in the privacy of his own thoughts.

The mere idea of Daisy being caught in this trap with them, maybe having to tie a tourniquet around the spurting bullet wound on her calf just as he’d had to do for Agent Piper, made him feel absolutely sick.

Another bullet whizzed past his other ear, struck less than an inch from Piper’s boot. She hissed with panic, but she couldn’t move any further back under the meagre cover they’d found. Looking at her, at the fear in her eyes, he drew a deep breath, tightened his grip on his assault rifle. Prepared to plunge out of cover and try to cut them a way out, even at the cost of his own life if need be - which it probably would be.

“Goodbye, Daisy,” he whispered under his breath, earning him a curious look from Agent Piper. She saw the way he tensed, saw his finger slip into the trigger guard.

“Rumlow, no…”

He was already moving, thigh muscles bunching to push him upright, bullets spitting with lethal accuracy… when the wall to his left vanished with an earsplitting roar.

Instinctively, he threw himself down on Agent Piper to try and shield her from the falling debris, twisting around to try and see what the hell had just happened - was it a grenade?

Daisy stepped through the dust cloud she’d just created, gauntlets upraised, looking like a warrior goddess to Rumlow’s dazzled eyes. Bullets spanged off the wave of vibration she wielded before her like a battering ram as she strode forward to stand above his and Agent Piper’s fallen bodies.

It wasn’t until they were walking out of there, Rumlow and Daisy half-carrying Agent Piper between them, that Rumlow realized he’d been shot. There was blood pouring in a steady stream down his right arm. He ignored it until they were aboard Zephyr One, and then slipped away quietly to tend to it himself while the medical personnel tended to Piper and his other wounded Agent.

Daisy found him sitting in the ready room, wrapping a bandage around his own forearm.

“Shouldn’t a doctor be doing that?” She came over and took the bandage from him, checking that the wound underneath didn’t require stitches. It really was just a flesh wound, though, and he’d already cleaned it, so she sighed and began to wrap the bandage tightly. “Promise me that you’ll let Jemma take a look at it when we get back to base?”

“I promise,” he said.

It was so unlike him; she was used to him being stroppy and argumentative. She gave him a quizzical look as she secured the bandage. “You okay, Brock?”

He was silent for a moment before it all burst out. “No. No, I’m not okay. I told you it was a trap, told you to abort, and you came right on in anyway.”

“Because you were in the trap!” she snapped at him. “A thank you would be nice, because you were about to get your ass killed.”

“If anything like that happens again, you back off, you understand? You abort. I could have gotten us out of it!”

“No.”

“No?”

“No! I said no! You almost died! Don’t you understand that? I almost lost you!” She was shouting, standing nose to nose with him, and in her deep brown eyes Brock suddenly recognised his own terror.

“I love you,” he blurted out.

Daisy blinked, her mouth still open mid-yell.

“I love you,” Brock said it again.

“What?”

“The only good thing about that clusterfuck today was knowing that you were safe, that you weren’t in that trap with me. That even if I died, you’d be out there somewhere being perfectly you.” He lifted his uninjured arm, touched her cheek lightly. “I don’t know when I fell in love with you, but I did. Hopelessly and irrevocably.”

She gaped at him for a moment in utter astonishment before her hand crept up to cover his, fingers twining together. “If you’d died in there today, a part of me would have died too,” she confessed. “I love you too, Brock.”

Breathing hard, Skye finally wheeled her motorcycle to a stop in front of a dingy metal building. Frowning, she glanced back the way she’d come, the diner’s massive cow sign a smudge on the horizon.

“Really,” she muttered, turning her attention back to the-- shack. It was a really big, kind of dirty metal shack, and there was no getting around that. The sign was right, though. “R&R Metalworks.” And she had to admit, the pipe-and-wire creations decorating the walls were pretty cool. And the yard… well, it was a junkyard, but a pretty tidy one.

Skye lifted her ponytail with a sigh and rubbed sweat from the back of her neck. Wasn’t like there was much she could do unless she wanted to fix the piece of crap herself. Or call--

Wasn’t like there was much she could do.

She pushed the bike around the front, following the faint clanking noises until she reached the far side. The first thing she noticed was the rolled-up metal garage doors. Really! Who uses a metal building in all this awful heat?

The next thing she noticed was a stunning car. Painted a deep velvety red that bordered on black, it looked like it could have driven right out of His Girl Friday. Skye wasn’t even into cars and she kind of wanted to live in this one.

The last thing she noticed was the man working on the car, and once she did, she wondered how she’d ever missed him. Tall, with broad shoulders that were in no way disguised by the sinfully tight black shirt that clung to his muscles. A cart of tools hid the rest of him, but Skye instantly found herself wondering if his ass was as good as the rest. Then he turned.

Skye backed up a pace as his amber eyes locked onto hers, knee knocking painfully against her bike. She had to bite her lip against an impulse to sputter some kind of excuse or denial-- he doesn’t know you were looking! Get it together!

Her certainty faded a little, though, as the surprise on his face was replaced by a crinkle-eyed smirk. He pulled a rag from the tool-cart and wiped his hands as he sauntered over. Skye tried not to swallow her tongue. He moved like a--

Panther, part of her said.

Some kind of mangy, arrogant alley-cat she corrected, annoyed at herself.

“So,” he rumbled as he stopped in front of her, and oh god, his voice. “Problem?”

“No,” she snapped, “I wheel heavy hunks of metal around for the fun of it.” Oh god, why is he so hot?

Surprise flashed over his face again, and this time it wasn’t a smirk but a full grin that replaced it. The expression made him look downright boyish for a moment. “It’s mostly plastic, but I guess everybody needs a hobby, Miss--”

“Skye. Not miss anything, thanks.” She took a step back, something about that grin made it hard to breathe with him so close.

“--Skye. So what’s up with the bike?”

Skye threw up her hands. “If I knew I wouldn’t be here. It makes a weird noise and it doesn’t go anymore.”  His grin got even broader as she spoke, and she didn’t miss the glint of humor in his eye. “Hey, I do computers, not mechanics!”

He chuckled, a low noise that made goosebumps dance down her arms. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, a couple of hours and it’ll be good as new. Promise.”

Skye nodded uncertainly after a moment. “Right. Uh. Cost? And do you have a waiting room?”

“Won’t know ‘til I get into her. Not much a waiting room, but you can hang around if you like. Might take a bit, though, if you want to head back out. Diner’s open ‘til… eight, I think, but it probably won’t take me much past six.” He nodded his head to a pair of rickety-looking plastic chairs against the wall as he spoke. Skye eyed them with distaste. It was even hotter standing in the doorway of the building than it had been during the long walk outside; she could feel a bead of sweat winding a slow, ticklish trail down her spine.

“Wait-- you haven’t even looked at it! You can’t possibly know how long it’ll take!”

The mechanic threw her a wink. “Just grab a bite to eat at the diner and be back around six. Tell them Brock sent you, Marci’ll give you a discount.”

Skye took another step back, narrowing her eyes at him. Finally she decided to take his advice. Maybe leaving her bike here with a complete stranger was a terrible idea, but it couldn’t be any worse a one than sitting in a sweltering metal garage for five hours. At least the diner had AC, and this time she’d get to enjoy it for more than five minutes.

***

By the time Skye had trudged back to the garage through the late summer heat, a bank of low, gray clouds had slipped across the sky. Rather than providing any relief, they just seemed to be trapping the heat in, and dumping humidity down along with it. She was soaked in sweat when she rounded the corner into the metal building, but she stopped cold as she took in the sight before her. The mechanic-- Brock, try not to objectify him TOO much-- had stripped off that sinfully tight shirt and she couldn’t help but stare at the sweat-sheened shifting muscles in his back as he worked at something on the motorcycle. The muscles cording his arms flexed as he turned a wrench, and Skye couldn’t help but think about how easily he could pick her up and--

Bad Skye. Stop that.

She must have made some kind of sound without realising it. His movements stuttered to a stop and his head snapped up, giving her a look at his mussed hair, like he’d been running his hands through it, boy wouldn’t she like to run her hands through--

Stop!

She was blushing. It didn’t take the amused look on his face to tell her that, and the way it slid into a wolfish grin as he blatantly looked up and down her body didn’t help. Skye had to dig her fingers into her thighs to keep from crossing her arms over chest. Let him look, she told herself. Not like you weren’t getting your fill.

“So,” he said as he stepped back from the bike, “like I said. Couple of hours. Fifty bucks. You’re good to go, but you might not want to head out tonight.” He shrugged. “Clouds like that, you might find yourself in a hell of a rainstorm. Or not. This time of year you can never tell if they’re going to dump on you or not, honestly.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she muttered, dropping her gaze to the floor and moving toward the counter next to the sad little ‘waiting room’ chairs as she dug for her wallet. “You take card, right?”

“No,” he shot back, rounding the counter. He still hadn’t put a shirt on and Skye looked anywhere but directly at him as he tapped at the register. “This is actually 1816, we only take doubloons.”

Surprised laughter burst out of her, and she met his eyes without meaning to. His serious facade cracked into a smile a moment later. “Sorry, I spent them all at Tortuga.” She wiggled her credit card at him. “Visa?”

“You didn’t come prepared?” He clicked his tongue. “Shame. Well, I guess if I have to...”

Skye shook her head, still chuckling as she slid the card through the reader. The laughter faded as the machine responded with a harsh beep.

“Um?” Biting her lip uncertainly, Skye slid her card through again, only to be rewarded with the same sound and DECLINED scrolling across the display. “What? Hold on.” Yanking her phone from her pocket, she tapped rapidly at the screen until her bank accounts were front and center.

Checking: $-43.26

Savings: $0.00

“Oh my god,” she breathed. She scrolled down to her credit cards, tears stinging her eyes as she realized they were all maxed out. Every single one. Scrolling back up, Skye opened the details of her checking account with a sinking heart.

Withdrawal after withdrawal showed on the screen, each of the transactions listing the last four digits of her ex-boyfriend’s card.

“Miles,” she snarled, fighting back tears.

“...something wrong?” Brock tapped lightly on the wooden counter between them.

“My-- um.” Skye swallowed, setting the phone face-up on the counter. “It looks like my ex cleared out my accounts.” She took a deep breath. “I can’t pay you. I mean, right this second. Right now. I can’t pay you.”

An awkward silence hovered between them. Skye ducked her head, letting her hair fall into her face.

“You could always pay me some other way,” he said, voice pitched low. She jerked her head up, staring at him with wide eyes. She took one trembling breath and felt a tear slip down her cheek. His eyes widened and he backed up, waving his hands in front of him. “Shit! It was a joke! Shit, shit, don’t cry, I’m sorry! That was really inappropriate, I’m sorry. Look, just let me take a copy of your license and you can pay me after you sort shit out with that dickwipe that stole your money. Aw, fuck. Please don’t cry.”

As he spoke, Skye turned away, scrubbing furiously at her eyes. Stupid! She’d trusted that asshole to cut up his cards like he said he would. God, when would she learn? He was like a bad taste she needed to get out of her mouth--

--oh.

Skye rolled her shoulders back, wiping away the remaining wetness on her face as her tears abruptly stopped. Fuck Miles. She wasn’t going to cry over Miles. She was going to get the taste of him gone. “Ok,” she said.

“Uh,” Brock responded eloquently. “What?”

She turned back to him. “I said ok. You want to barter? We can barter.” She grabbed the hem of her shirt and yanked it off in one smooth motion, shaking her hair free and momentarily reveling in the slight relief of bare skin.

“Shit,” he breathed in a tone that bordered on reverential. The blush crawled back up Skye’s throat and cheeks, but she refused to let the embarrassment show. With the same determination she started unbuttoning her jeans. Brock watched her in a daze, eyes trailing the zipper as he slid it down. Then he shook himself and vaulted over the counter.

“You are absolutely fuckin’ sure?” He loomed over her, and his golden eyes bored into hers with an intensity that took her breath away. Skye’s fingers stilled. “You had better be one-hundred-percent goddamn sure, Skye, ‘cause if this is some kind of bullshit game of chicken, you can get the fuck out right now.”

Skye stared straight back at him, quirked her lips into a tiny smile, and pushed her jeans down. Brock closed his eyes, exhaling harshly and shaking his head. “Bad fuckin’ idea,” he muttered, and then she found herself lifted by an iron grip on her hips and deposited onto the counter. Brock yanked her jeans the rest of the way off with one hand while the other snaked up behind her back to unhook her bra.

“One-handed? That’s impressive.” Skye laughed lightly as he pulled the undergarment off her.

“Don’t know what kind of losers you been sleeping with, gorgeous.” He hooked his thumbs into the side of her panties. “You fond of these?”

Skye looked down. It was a nice pair, spring green with soft white lace that skimmed her thighs. They’d been a present from Miles. “Nah.”

She barely even felt it as he ripped them off.

Brock straightened up and moved back, drinking in the sight of her naked in his shop. “You look like a pinup,” he said, grinning wolfishly as her skin flushed. He stepped between her legs. “You really want to do this?” When she nodded, he slid his hands around her waist and leaned down to slip his mouth over one hard nipple.

Skye moaned, throwing her head back. His tongue was hot as it lapped over the peak before he sucked firmly. Her eyes fluttered shut and her legs fell apart almost of their own volition. Without removing his mouth he dragged a palm up her side, fingers grazing beneath her breast before reaching the other nipple and rolling it between finger and thumb. Skye moaned, the sensation sparking through her body in a wave of pleasure that settled as a rising, needy pressure low in her belly. His assault was merciless, tongue and fingers working in tandem until Skye thought she might come just from that. She slid her fingers into his hair, tugging impatiently until he released her nipple with a pop and followed her pull by dragging his mouth up her neck to whisper into his ear.

“Something you want, pinup?” His voice was a low rasp that went straight to the pooling heat in her belly.

“Kiss me,” she gasped, “and then--”

His lips crashed into hers. He kissed insistently, like he wanted to get as much in as possible before it stopped, licking into her mouth when she moaned. Hooking one arm around her waist, he yanked her off the counter without breaking the kiss until he was holding her flush against him. Skye flung her arms around his neck and instinctively wrapped her legs around him, grinding against the hardness that suddenly pressed against her core.

Keeping his arm locked around her waist, Brock worked his other hand between their bodies until he could press his thumb against her clit. Skye nearly screamed into his mouth as he circled around the sensitive bundle of nerves, followed by two fingers pushed inside of her. Brock kept kissing her through all of it, even as he crooked his fingers and she clenched around them. She couldn’t contain the scream now, pleasure shattering through her as she came apart in his arms. And he kept going, softening the kiss and then pulling away as he continued to thrust his fingers into her. Dragging his mouth back to her ear, he whispered roughly: “Come on, babe. Come for me again. I wanna hear you.”

Skye couldn’t manage a response, clinging helplessly to his shoulders. A few moments later she fulfilled his request, coming hard around his fingers as she moaned his name.

Brock careful withdrew his fingers, wiping them on his pants before settling her gently back on the desk. Skye kept her grip on his shoulders, the only thing that was grounding her at the moment, and panted.

There was something smug in his expression as he let his gaze drift over her body. It prompted a snap decision when he raised an eyebrow and let his tongue flick over his lips. “So, can I eat you out?”

She put a palm on his chest and pushed. He stumbled back. Skye had no illusions that he was doing anything but humoring her, but she slid down from the counter on shaky legs anyway and pushed him again, and again, until the back of his knees hit her bike.

“Pants,” she said. “Sit.”

The smugness was gone, replaced with a surprised eagerness. “Yes ma’am.” He stripped his belt and pants off faster than she’d ever seen anyone move, swinging his leg back over the bike so that he was straddling it backwards and leaning against the handlebars.

Oh god, talk about looking like a pinup.

With more confidence than she felt, Skye moved forward and bent over him, taking his cock in one hand. It twitched as she touched it, and she could feel the groan that rumbled through his body as she stroked slowly up and down, savoring the pleasant texture. A few minutes of the torturously slow movements had him bucking lightly into her hand and breathing heavily. When she decided he’d had enough, Skye leaned further and took him into her mouth.

She’d never much liked doing this, but there was something about Brock that made her feel a little wild and adventurous, and the way he moaned so loudly it echoed off the walls send a thrill racing through her. She kept up her slow pace, dragging her tongue up the shaft as she sucked and her eyes fluttering closed as his hands found her hair. He didn’t pull, just rested them there, light pressure that was somehow amazingly comfortable. He seemed happy to let her run the show. Trying not to smile, Skye sped up, tightening her grip around the base of his cock as he struggled not to thrust up into her mouth. He moaned again and started cursing, utterly filthy things spilling out of his mouth all tangled up with pleading and encouragement. Skye couldn’t help but laugh, and he moaned even louder as she did, finally spilling into her mouth.

Brock pushed himself upright, sweaty and wide-eyed as he looked at her. “Christ,” he managed, and then made a strangled noise as after a moment of indecision Skye swallowed.

“Nope,” she responded cheekily. “Pretty sure there’d have been some miracles by now.”

He laughed, slumping back against the bike. Skye lower herself to the cool concrete floor, utterly lacking the energy to hold herself up any longer. For long moments the only sounds were the distant croaks of frogs and the sound of crickets.

Brock broke the silence first. “You got a place to stay tonight?”

“Nope.”