“Mr. MacKenzie, we were fully compensated prior to arrival. It has been a lovely evening.” Vic moves quickly, preparing our plates of gorgeous desserts then closing the insulated container. “And we bid you both good night.”
“Lock the door on yer way out, mate.”
“Oh, mate,” I murmur. “You’re slathering on the hospitality tonight.”
Brody strokes his beard then picks up his dessert fork.
“I’m gonna enjoy this, and then I’m gonna enjoy the sugar between yer thighs.”
“We can’t have a discussion, then jump in the sack. I’ll let what you said sink in. For now, good night, Brody.” I pause a beat, seeking any sign of his next move. He’s eating, eyes half-closed, and a lengthy groan emerges from deep in his abdomen. My sex squeezes shut.
I arise from the chair. Okay, you are from Beantown. You bow to no man. By the timeI enter the house, the clammy surface of my palms has begun to dry. I stroll through the kitchen and into the open area that leads past the living room.
In a flash, a hard hand is tangled in my hair, and I’m pressed against the grand piano.
“Palms there.” Brody points, hand locked around the back of my neck.
“Let—”
“Put them there, now,” he says.
The low rumble of his voice sends me reeling to follow the order. I drop my palms onto the silky-smooth surface. His boot sweeps between the inside of my feet, pushing me into a wider stance.
“I told ye, Justice,” Brody postures at my side, “this relationship shite is new to me.”
I argue, “We aren’t—”
“Are ye saying something?” Brody’s harsh tone cuts in.
I glare at him. That’s a trick question.
“Thought so.” He clicks his tongue, rights his stance behind me. “I haven't been this hard in such a long time—not since ye denied me. I like how the ache feels, though.” Brody presses against me. The hard edge of the piano bites against my stomach from one side and his cock gorges me from the other.
As I stare at the look of sex in Brody’s eyes, my thong melts into my swollen lips.
“This is your brother’s house, Brody. That’s all I’m trying to say. We really shouldn’t . . .” This is futile. I’m telling a murderer he can’t commit the simplest of crimes. My stomach is a tumble of dread and anticipation. I’m still afraid that if I give my heart away again, he won’t reciprocate with his own. Yet, I savor the memory of his body rocking over mine.
“Aye, yer silence says it all. That mouth of yers got ye into this trouble anyway. Now,” Brody says, still clasping my neck, as he claims a seat on the piano bench, “kneel before me, lass.”
As he helps me to my knees, Brody positions me between his legs.
He whispers in a husky voice, filled with the authenticity and pride of a true Scot. “Sook me good, Justice. I may forgive ye.”
Rebellion etches across my face. With the tiniest sadistic bone in my body, I retort, “Hello, Brody? What do I need pardoning from?” I need the pain, the hurt, the hard fuck to clear my mind of any fearful thoughts of you leaving.
He plays straight into my hand, looking at me as if I have the audacity, the gall, the nerve, and an ocean full of gumption. As if he stripped his heart bare to me the other night instead of the reverse.
“Ye may look so innocent, but,” he pauses, with his fierce, feral eyes sliding over my entire body, “ye have never been in more trouble in yer entire life, Justice. Time to pay for yer transgressions.”
Brody’s so damn charismatic. I hitch on every single intake of oxygen as he reaches between us, inside the elastic waistband of my yoga pants and panties. I widen my posture, giving him free rein to clasp my heated mound in his hand.
“Lass, ye will soon beg me to stop. When I do, ye will bloody beg for me to feck ya harder. And when I do,” his fingers find the entrance of my slit, collecting the honey gathered there, “ye will beg me, beg me, beg me.”
Through lustrous lashes, I glower up at him. My sex is a liquid tattletale that I crave his filthy obscene antics. I can imagine it now, my throat falling victim to hard screams, shouts, and the depth of his pounding dick. When I can hardly speak, my body spent from orgasm, I beg him for a moment.
Brody clasps the back of my neck again in one hand and unsheathes his cock with the other. The smooth yet veiny ridges feel so right to me. Captivated by his dominating aura, I curl my fingers around the base of his shaft. My tongue finds the sensitive spot beneath his head, and my tongue gives it a couple of flicks.
Brody’s alluring face contorts into a mocking grin. “Lass, that’s brilliant. Get back in my good graces.”
My tongue swirls the fat head of his dick, dipping into precum oozing from the tip. I’m about to engulf his rod into my mouth when Brody pulls out, grabs my braid, and slaps me on the side of the face with his erection.
“Och, ye missed this.” He pops my mouth again. Brody reaches between us, forces his way back into my panties and slips a finger deep into me.
To stop my cry of pleasure, I dig my fingernails into his thick arms.
“So wet. Each time I smack yer face, yer cunt drips,” he growls against my neck, pumping his finger in and out of me. Brody hooks his finger around, skillfully working my G-spot. A gush floods his fingers. I gasp as he runs his wet, sticky fingers along my cheek and licks the trail with his tongue.
When his lips rise into a smile, my stomach flutters in a familiar way. I miss this—us. In an arousing, commanding tone, he orders, “Now, we have a few things straight. I’m taking ye home, Justice, and I will bite, eat, feck every last ounce of defiance out of yer body.”