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“This is ye dressed like a hunk of fecking cake, and me starved to the point of madness.”

My fingertips trail over the slope of her heavy tits. I stop my face from descending and planting right between the two of them. My hand curls around one. I groan against her opposite shoulder. She’s not a wee woman. Justice is a big, gorgeous beauty. I’m blocking anyone’s sight of her quivering lips, focusing on the uneven breaths exiting her mouth. That’s where my cock should be.

My God-given right for all the times she’s denied me.

“Ye would still have a wee bit of trouble choking my dick down,” I tell her. The hard angle of my face smoothes at the thought. “But that’s an easy remedy.”

“Brody,” she gasps.

“Ye dressed like that. It’s only appropriate that I say my piece. Listen,” I order, my index finger stroking down Justice’s throat, “I’d teach ye how to open wide though, then fill ye up, have ye warm, full, begging for more.”

Her mouth relaxes while her throat trembles beneath my fingertip.

“Or maybe ye could take me. That’s all I’ve thought when I fed ye these past couple of days. Making my dick yer new favorite meal.”

I wrap my arm around her and touch the small of her back, centering her gravity. Her knees are weak, but as she said, we’re amongst wee weans, and I relish the effect I have on her. “Ye stop breathing, and we will have real problems, though.”

“Bro—”

“It’s killing me.”

She murmurs, “What?”

“How much I fecking wish to be inside ye right this moment.”

“That’s a bad . . .” Her breasts strain as she takes wee pants of oxygen.

“Bad idea again, aye?”

“It’s . . . Chevelle’s coming,” she whispers.

For a fraction longer, my target’s soft body is encased in my arms. The second Justice seems confident on her own two feet, I slip my arm from behind her. With gritted teeth, I turn around. Twigs never ceases from ruining my life.

Chevelle’s staring between us while offering Justice a champagne glass. I take the one that’s tight-fisted in her hand. Justice’s brain still seems to be stuck in our moment.

When I glance over, my bràthair Camdyn laughs. Cock block is written all over his face.

That fecker.

I gesture for him to come over. Our sister-in-law is blinded by the teen anyway. Since he was a bairn when Chevelle arrived, he has always been loyal to her. God only knows why.

“Justice, you asked for reinforcements.” Chevelle hints at something while Justice swallows the entire drink.

“Thanks, girl. I don’t need any more reinforcements.”

“You sure?” Chevelle’s gaze sweeps across the two of us, but she addresses her mate. “The alcohol will flow all night, got that?”

“She gets it,” I bite out.

A pair of irritated brown eyes pierce through me.

“Make yer rounds, Chevelle. Eddy and the rest of the ladies don’t have drinks in hand. Go, be a good hostess.” Twigs.

Her mouth drops open. I turn toward Justice, blocking her out of the way with ease.

My acquisition sighs. “I asked her to run interference, Brody. Don’t take it personally.”

“Why?” I grip Justice’s arm and start for the exit.


Tags: Amarie Avant MacKenzie Scottish Crime Family Romance