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she’d asked him to “fuck her” moments earlier—but fuck was a word he so seldom heard from her sexy mouth. He wanted to hear it more, every day for the rest of his damn life.
    He took her with every ounce of power and strength he possessed, with all the love he’d never been able to purge. “Viv.” His voice barely sounded like his own, too deep, too breathy and way too soaked with emotion. “My Viv.”
    She screamed as her orgasm exploded around his cock, her pussy quivering uncontrollably. Her sex was so wet, so hot, so damn perfect it sent him rocketing toward the edge to join her, but he wasn’t quite ready yet.
    He slowed his pummeling—the hardest fucking thing he’d ever done—and stared at his lover. Her head jammed back into the pillow, showing off her beautiful neck. Her eyes rolled back in her head, her mouth hung open as her orgasm consumed her. Pants and mewls of pleasure slithered between her lips.
    He could fucking watch her come all day.
    When her body finally went soft, sweaty and boneless on the mattress below him, he forced his right hand between them. The angle was terrible, but it didn’t take him long to find her clit. Eager fingers stroked the bud until—
    “Fuuuuuck!” Her body still so sensitive, the simple touch set her off again. Just like he’d hoped. “Brock,” she panted, groaned, moaned. Over and over and over. Completely lost in the land of Eroticaville. And all because of him , his touch.
    Finally, after all the years of pretending, Vivian Michaels was hot and wet for him . The thought kept his hips pumping, forcing her climax so high every muscle in her body went rigid. And he wasn’t far behind her. Two more thrusts and he was done.
    He tossed his head back and cried out her name, his cock erupting in a fiery rush of pleasure, filling the condom he wore. The world shifted on its axis, and he plunged into a realm where only gratification and Viv existed. Hot, intense pleasure with the only woman he’d ever truly loved, joined in the oldest, most personal way ever conceived. With such a perfect, intense moment binding them together, it was easy to believe their connection was strong enough to withstand anything life might throw at them. His lifestyle. Her divorce. Or even the secret he’d promised his brother he’d take to the grave.

Chapter Three
     
    Vivian lay pressed to Brock’s side, his arms and down comforter wrapped securely around her. It felt as if her brain were wrapped in a thick, pleasurable blanket of fog, and happiness saturated every atom of her listless body, her mind so fuzzy and barely functional she could hardly form coherent thoughts.
    But she’d never been more alive.
    Her.
    Brock.
    Finally!
    Every erotic detail of the encounter crashed back in a tidal wave of memories. She couldn’t help but smile against his chest until her cheeks hurt. Her plan. Her arrival. Her proposition. His acceptance. The table. The bedroom. The multiple orgasms.
    Oh my.
    All her questions, all her doubts had been answered in one glorious coupling. She most certainly loved Brock. No way in hell what she was feeling now could be classified as chemo-induced anything.
    She snuggled closer. She’d probably burrow right into his body if she could. In all the time she’d spent in his arms before now, it had never been body-to-naked-body. There’d been hospital beds, IVs, chemo and a bastard of a husband between them. But there was nothing between them now. At least she didn’t think there should be.
    So why did it feel as if there was?
    Something deep inside was screaming at her. She knew Brock cared for her. She could feel that in every caress, every kiss, but something kept eating away at her. She couldn’t explain it but something had been off. Not the entire time, just from when they’d made it into the bedroom.
    Had she done or said something to upset him?
    Back in the kitchen, he’d been all authoritative and, dare she say it, dominant in his seduction. But