Chapter 14
Justice
“Forget I said that, but don’t forget this.” Brody’s Scottish brogue, rugged charisma, and dirty mouth create a trifecta of electric volts coursing through me. His large hands are incredible, surprisingly gentle while dominating my plump curves. Brody kisses me. Hard. He groans into my mouth as his tongue collides, tangling with my own. An invisible thread pulls, tugs, binding me to him. I’m grounded in the gravity of him. For the sweetest moment, he becomes my anchor. His hardness stiff at my lower abdomen, Brody widens his stance. The rigidity of him is taut against my sex. I thrust my hips, sucking on air, suddenly angry that our clothes are the dreaded barrier between us. Shivering in fervor, my hands grip at his muscular ass, tugging him. The force of his protective body against me is like heaven, wrapping around me, consuming me.
“I need ya now, Justice.” His palms bind my wrists, bringing them flush against the wall above my head. He’s murmuring how he hasn’t fucked in days. How he’s going to slaughter my lovely pussy.
Oh yes! I’ve never heard such depraved talk, but this is immoral foreplay. For a short time in my life, my parents' positive rearing faded from my mind, and I couldn’t imagine myself as attractive. Though I was born big and beautiful, I was blinded, damn near broken for a while. Still, no man has ever made me feel so coveted until now.
Brody’s tongue navigates over the hollow of my neck and finds my mouth again. I lick my lips, shivering at my wonderful reality and how I desire every single second. Vulnerability ribbons through me as if I were naked, flaws and all, beneath his hot gaze. A thrill shoots down to my toes.
I want this.
Need this.
It’s been five years.
My breath draws sharp into my throat at the thought of the last man I’ve ever tasted and how that ended. Oh, gawd, no. I haven’t drawn into myself in ages.
“Naeeee.” Brody’s deep groan vibrates low in my stomach.
I look up. Brody’s handsome face is blurred by an unexpected onslaught of big, fat, uncontrollable tears.
Lance, you’re dead. I gave you love, affection, and my best years. Leave me be.
“I can’t believe I did,” I murmur, fanning my heated face.
Brody steps away from me. I expect an ogre-like attitude and primitive grunts.
The thickness of his chest expands then contracts a couple of times. With my oxygen dwindling, I condemn myself enough for the two of us and wait for him to heap on more guilt.
Brody runs a hand along the back of his neck. “Bad idea, aye?”
No. Yes. Most likely, yes. Over a thousand days have passed. I’m over the thought of Lance taking his life and leaving me to sweep up the pieces. Yet still, I lick my lips, reveling in the taste of another cataclysmic mistake while I nod. “Yeah. Bad idea.”
* * *
An hour later, I’m following Leith’s Chevelle SS as he and his family of three drive. Like Brody had two days ago, he’s not traveling in the direction of their humongous beach home in Laguna Niguel. Our final destination is a lot closer, a row of older houses in Bixby Knolls, a nice area in Long Beach. The home’s quainter, for lack of a better word. Every time I turn around, I’ll feel like a bother.
Brody also followed in his truck. He said it was so that I didn’t have to shove the rest of my items back in my Honda. I’m not sure what’s up with him. He didn’t call me crazy for ruining a perfectly good moment. He didn’t get all broody either.
As I pull the keys from the ignition, parked parallel to the curb, Chevelle saunters over from the driveway.
I slide out of my car, chewing my lip. Earlier at breakfast, she’d almost slipped up about the other house. Something happened to it. Perhaps something that has to do with Leith, I suppose. “I remember this place from when we first squashed our beef. I don’t want to put you out of your house.”
“But if it were the house on the beach, you’d be singing a different story?” Noticing my hesitation, Chevelle beams, saying, “Girl. It might not have the square footage we’ve grown accustomed to, but there are three bedrooms. One of which has your name on it—however long you need.”
I hesitate, and she pulls my arm. “C’mon?”
Sighing, I mutter, “Chevelle. I’m tired of running.”
“You’re not running. You have a job you love. We had this chat over breakfast already. Jamie lifted his head from his food long enough to make a good point. Trust me. He’s got the perfect I-don’t-fuck-with-you’ façade for non-relatives. Him talking to you, that was a big deal.”
Yeah, I agree. The kid is his momma’s bosom buddy, but Jamie opened up earlier, saying they would all be here for me. He seemed dreadfully shy, but I felt his words in my bones like maybe he could sense the crap Lance put me through. Jamie’s words about his family’s support touched my soul.
Chevelle adds, “Besides, we’re like sisters.”
Much to my dismay, the tears that hijacked my happiness earlier in Brody’s arms reveal themselves again. This time, though, it’s only a slight glossing of the eyes.